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John stumbled into the flat, His chest hurt remarkably, Probably side effect of being shot, but what did he know, Sherlock followed after him. A distant look in his eyes, John found the couch and sat down, sighing, he touched the bruise on his chest and winced.
The bullet had hit his heart right and square.
He was lucky to have had a bullet proof vest on because he would have undoubtedly died instantly without it. Funny how such a delusional person could have been such a good shot.
but at the end of the day... he was alive.
Sherlock looked slightly worse for the wear than John. The detectives expression was distant and horrified.
"Sherlock" John said slowly, "You look like you've seen the American presidential debate." John chuckled awkwardly.
Sherlock didn’t respond. "Non verbal, mate?" John tried again. Sherlock finally turned his head to look at John.
"Sherlock?" John asked concerned. He walked up to the detective.
Sherlock grabbed John's arm and put his thumb over his pulse. John's heartbeat was steady and sure and perhaps a bit fast, but he was clearly alive. "You alright mate?"John asked
"You were shot." Sherlock said softly.
"He can talk!" John said quickly, realizing shortly after that was the complete wrong thing to say. Not only insensitive, but also stupid, way to go John!
Sherlock dropped John's arm and sat down on the floor. He looked visibly very upset. So they were going to have to talk. John didn't want to, he was a typical man and liked to hide his feelings through either joking or flat avoidance, stoicism, manly stuff that.
But Sherlock was Sherlock.They were past that, they didn't have to do all that male conforming iffytish. They were best mates. John walked to Sherlock and went to put a hand on the other man's shoulder but stopped. "Is touch okay?"' John asked, "Or are you overstimulated."'
Sherlock shrugged vaguely.
John took that as a 'it’s okay John' because Sherlock was usually very outspoken about his feelings.
He didn't 'mask' around John as he put it.
Sherlock was anxiously stimming. He was biting his nails on one hand and drumming his other hands fingers.
John sat across the floor from Sherlock. Wincing, not so slightly, because being shot bloody hurt.
"That was a taxing case." John said after a moment.
Sherlock doesn't look at the doctor. John sighs and clears his throat. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked finally, feeling very awkward and having to constantly remind himself that this was
Sherlock that he was talking to.
Sherlock finally looks up. "Affection." he started
"Love." He said, almost bitterly.
John tilts his head, "Sorry? I don't follow."
"A trifling matter." The detective continued, ignoring John completely. "What I did..." Sherlock said shakily, "I..I understand if you don't want to be my friend anymore."
John sighed and looked at Sherlock. “What you did was… morally questionable.” John admitted, remembering the horrifying look on Sherlock’s face as he choked the dying man who shot him. "But… I would have done the same in your situation." John said.
"Choke someone?" Sherlock asked bitterly.
John tilted Sherlock's chin so that the detective was making eye contact with him.
"Everyone does things they regret for the people they care about." John said softly.
Sherlock still looked vaguely upset. "What's wrong,
Sherlock." John asked, his eyes searching the detective's. He had thought that he had cleared up any qualms that the detective had and realized that they, unfortunately, still had to talk.
Sherlock looked down and John got nervous for a second that all the emotional stimuli would cause Sherlock to go into another verbal shutdown. But the detective eventually looked up, "For a second...
I thought that you had received a fatal shot to the heart."
John opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, his actions akin to that of a fish. His heart squeezes slightly. There was many things that he wanted to say, but he instead said the most obvious and stupid thing possible.
"Well I'm still here mate." John said, then tried to redeem his words by taking Sherlock’s hand. John’s pulse raised annoyingly at the detective's smooth, soft, and warm hand in his. John was so caught up in trying to calm his heart that he didn’t realize that Sherlock still looked mildly distressed and largely unconvinced.
"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." John squeezed ...Sherlocks hand in reassurance.
Finally, an adorable ghost of a smile flickers across the detective's face. And out the window went John’s attempts to calm is heart.
"Sherlock," he said continuing, "What happened was in the past, what matters is that I am here with you. We are safe, you are loved. Everything is going to be alright." John cringed inwardly at his sappy words but, nevertheless, he completely meant them.
The detective's face softened and a smile brightened his very handsome face.
"Can I-'' Sherlock hesitated then decided to follow through with his question. "Can you give me that thing that creates compression stimulation, releasing dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin."
John blinked blankly for a second. "Yes,” He said, relaxing, “Of course! Always! Hug away my good friend! The hugging man cometh!”
Sherlock smiled shyly and leaned forward to gently hug John. It hurt slightly, but it was worth it as Sherlock buried his head into the doctor’s shoulder.
They sat like that for a minute, both content in each other’s company, before Sherlock spoke up.
“I think some people might refer to you as a ‘big sap’,” he said, the detective said it completely innocently, but John was sure that Sherlock was hiding his smirk by burying his head further into the doctor’s shoulder.
John scoffs and flicks Sherlock’s head lightly and playfully. They both burst into laughter.
After a few minutes John wipes his eyes and sighs. They sit in silence for a bit. Both not stewing in their own thoughts. Sherlock’s head leaning against John’s shoulder and the doctor puts his cheek on top of Sherlock’s head. Sherlock’s curly, dark hair tickling his nose.
Suddenly an overwhelming exhaustion takes hold of John. "Erm," John said awkwardly, breaking the silence, his need for sleep taking over his enjoyment of this comfortable and intimate moment with Sherlock . "Its a bit late."
Sherlock nods, and lifts his head from John’s shoulder. John’s heart squeezes at the loss of Sherlock, but his decisions come with consequence and he must deal. John realizes that Sherlock looks distant again.
John squeezes Sherlocks hand again.
"Tell me," He says, ..."Remember that we are past all of that."
Sherlock sighs, "Can I sleep in your bed
tonight?"
"Му bed is a bit small mate." John says, assuming Sherlock meant it to contain him as well.
"I don't mind." Sherlock says, his brow slightly furrowed.
"Ok," John says after a moment.
John stands up painfully. The bruise on his chest was rather painful, and the fractured rib also pinched a bit. Sherlock looks like he wants to help John, but he stands back awkwardly. After a second of looking at each other, They both get ready for bed.
When John got out of the bathroom, he proceeded to stand awkwardly outside his bedroom. He was half waiting for Sherlock and half having an existential crisis about life, the universe, and frankly everything, because, well, who doesn’t after being shot, or going to share a VERY small bed with the person you may or may not have a teeny tiny… doesn’t really count… crush. John had a crush, and yes, it was a bit bigger than he cared to admit.
Sherlock joins him and they walk into his room, only to stand awkwardly over the bed. John makes the first move and gets into the bed. He lays stiffly on his side in the far corner of the bed. Its not that he didn't want to touch Sherlock, he was just so used to conformed ways of interaction that it didn't feel right to be close to his best friend and instantly cuddle up the way that he wanted. He didn’t know if Sherlock wanted him to do that either, so alas he lay there stiffly and uncomfortably with his thoughts circling.
The detective climbed into the other side of bed.
But to John's relief, he didn't have the same qualms about conformity that John did. He just promptly decided to wrap his arms lightly around John's chest and fall asleep.
It was slightly painful, being shot and all with the.. you know, fractured rib. But Sherlock seemed happy, so John was happy. Sherlock nuzzled John’s neck and soon contented snoring came
from the detective. John thought that Sherlock’s snores were too adorable to be allowed, but alas, here they were. He relaxed into Sherlock’s embrace and also fell asleep. His dreams were comfortable and remarkably unnightmarey. He was warmer than he had ever been in his life and not unpleasantly so.
When he woke up, Sherlock was there with him a small smile on his lips and his lovely hair a adorable mess.