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“Careful”. John maneuvered the Inspector into the worn chair. Grabbing his first-aid kit, he sneaked around Sherlock, currently sitting on the edge of the desk, and crouched next to the armchair.
John started to examine the bloodied arm, full of shards of glass. “You realize, Lestrade, that I’m going against my best instincts by not taking you to A&E?”
The wounded man was staring resolutely at the wall in front of him. Only the tightness of his voice betrayed his discomfort. “Believe it or not, I agree with Sherlock on that one. Hospitals are not my favourit-“
He stopped abruptly, taking a sharp intake of breath. John noticed, but went on with the cleaning of the wound. Delaying was not going to make it less painful. Sherlock choose that moment to intervene.
“You always agree with me, Lestrade, because I’m right. It’s not as if you had a choice.”
“Yeah, whatever, Sher- Bloody hell, what was that for?!!” Lestrade went from quiet muttering to an outraged, and quite undignified, yelp.
“Distraction.”
“Distraction?!”
“John is moving on to the bigger shards, which is going to be more painful. My pinching you provides a distraction. The new pain covers the underlying one.” Sherlock looked quite smug.
“Dunno if I want your help.”
His hand stayed in Sherlock’s one, though. Making everything more bearable.