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Sherlock heard the sound of John's footfall on the stairs leading up to 221B. He smiled to himself, grateful that his friend was home. The smile was wiped off his face, however, when he heard a clatter and a loud thump. It was followed by the sound of John uttering every expletive in his vocabulary. Sherlock's heart started pounding. What if John had really hurt himself? Rushing out onto the landing, Sherlock took in the scene. John was in a pile at the bottom of the stairs. “John! Don’t move! You may have broken something.”
Feeling embarrassed, John called out, “I’m a bloody doctor! I think I would know if I was injured seriously.” John started to right himself, emitting small grunts of pain as he moved. He was going to be black and blue. There was no doubt about it.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Sherlock arrived on the lower landing. He crouched down, holding out his hand. “Let me check you over before you try to get up.”
John waved off the hand. “I’m telling you, I’m fine.”
“What would you say if our positions were reversed,” Sherlock asked.
John sighed, letting his shoulders slump. “Fine.” Leaning back against the wall, John let Sherlock examine him. “Be careful,” John said as Sherlock's hand neared his right ankle. “I think it’s a sprain.” The moment Sherlock touched it, John hissed. “Yeah, definitely a sprain. A bad one.”
“I thought I was the one doing the examination,” Sherlock quipped, relieved that John hadn’t obtained any other major injuries. “Let’s get upstairs.” Without so much as a 'by your leave,' Sherlock lifted John in his arms and started up the stairs.
“Bloody buggering- Put me down!” John insisted. He flailed about, but it didn’t slow his friend’s ascent, nor did it get him put down. He was going to have words with Sherlock about this, there was no doubt.
Sherlock ignored his friend. “Do be quiet, John.” After navigating the stairs, Sherlock placed his friend on the sofa. “It’s fortunate that Mrs Hudson is away. You’d wake her with your complaining even if she had had her soothers.”
“Well, maybe you can ask the next time instead of just picking me up,” John complained, his cheeks burning. “I’m not a child.”
Sherlock shot him a crooked smile. “That’s usually my line. He sat on the edge of the sofa next to John. “Let’s see how bad it is.” He reached down and gently took John's ankle in his hand, and then he carefully removed the shoe and sock. The ankle was already swelling and turning purple. He hissed in sympathy with the hiss of pain that John made. “I’ll get the ice pack,” Sherlock said as he stood.
John poked and prodded at his foot, reassuring himself that nothing was broken. “Damn. I don’t think anything is broken or torn, but this is bad.”
Sherlock returned with the ice pack. He pushed the coffee table closer to the sofa. “Rest your foot on there.” When John complied, Sherlock placed the ice pack on his ankle. “Mm. That can’t be comfortable.” He found the Union Jack pillow. “Lift your leg.” Placing the pillow under John’s ankle, he nodded to himself.
“Ta.” During all of this, John had been following all of Sherlock's actions. He was a bit bemused by them. The last thing he had expected was for Sherlock to take care of him. If asked, John would have said Sherlock was 'above' all that and that he would have left him to fend for himself. “I suppose we'll have to pull out the crutches,” John said, decidedly unenthusiastic.
“They will need to be adjusted,” Sherlock muttered. He had been the last person to use them. “They'll be too long for someone as short as you.”.
John shot Sherlock a glare. “”Ta for that,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Hm?,” Sherlock hummed. “Oh, no insult intended.”
“That makes me feel ever so much better,” John said.
Sherlock ignored the bite in John's words. He knew his friend was hurting. Going to the bathroom, Sherlock got out the first aid kit and brought it to the kitchen. There, he drew a glass of water and then took everything through to John. “Here you go,” he said, handing his friend the water. He opened the first aid and kit, took out the paracetamol and handed the bottle to John.
'I- Thank you,” John said simply.
Sherlock didn’t respond verbally. He simply smiled. “Once you take those,” he said, indicating the bottle, “I’ll see to that scratch over your eye.” Sitting down next to John, Sherlock used some gauze and alcohol to clean the scratch. His touch was surprisingly gentle. “It doesn’t look like it needs switches.”
John barely heard his friend. He was too preoccupied looking at Sherlock's face and the expression that was on it. Sherlock's expression was... tender. John couldn’t think of another word for it.
Sherlock's fingers traced their way across the wound and down John’s cheek. The paused at John's jawline, hesitant.
John could feel something almost electric between them. He read an unasked question in Sherlock's eyes. He swallowed hard. This was it- the moment that could make or break them. He summoned his courage and answered, “Yes.”
Sherlock's eyes widened. He hesitated only a moment before moving in for a kiss. Pressing his lips against John's, he felt his heart leap.
John's response was immediate. He kissed Sherlock back, running his tongue over Sherlock's lips.
They kissed for several long moments, and then they separated. Looking at one another, they were both amazed by what they saw.
John spoke first. “Sherlock, I’ve wanted to do that for so long, but I-“
“You were afraid,” Sherlock interjected. “I was too.” He cupped John's cheek. “When I heard you fall, I was terrified. You could have broken your neck.”
The hand cupping John's cheeks started shaking. “I’m fine,” John said, taking the shaking hand with his own. “Nothing horrible happened.”
“I know,” Sherlock said with a tremor in his voice. “I don’t know what I would have done-“
“Don't. Let’s just be glad I’m alright.” John licked his lips. “If it would reassure you, you can kiss me again.”
Sherlock smiled and leaned in, kissing John.
They exchanged such 'reassurances' for several minutes until all anxiety was gone. All that was left was the love they shared.