In Which John And Sherlock Bond and Sherlock Develops Internal Bleeding
Title: In Which John And Sherlock Bond and Sherlock Develops Internal Bleeding
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: K+
Genre: Humor, romance
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin, to quote TV Tropes.
“Oh my God, that was ridiculous!”
The door of the flat bursts open and they stumble in, John’s arm around Sherlock’s waist, Sherlock leaning into
John, both of them giggling like mad. John’s got a black eye the size of Wales and Sherlock is hunched over, but their eyes glitter brightly with leftover adrenaline, the thrill of the chase still strong. They collapse onto the sofa,
breathing heavily.
“The next time you decide to jump on the back of a lorry, tell me first, okay?” John wheezes. Sherlock nods.
“Only if you stop trying to fight people twice your size.”
They dissolve into laughter again, trailing off eventually. John stands up, taking a long moment to get to his feet.
“We need peas.”
Sherlock cocks an eyebrow. “Peas?”
“Yeah, for my black eye. I should get the first aid kit out and give us both a going-over.” He smiles, his split lip stretching. “Stay here, ‘kay?”
“Not really planning on moving, John.”
When John gets back with the rubbing alcohol and plasters, Sherlock is dozing, his mouth open slightly and his
head thrown back against the sofa pillows. John shakes his shoulder gently and he wakes with a start and a
wince.
“Sorry to wake you, but I need you conscious for a bit longer.” He frowns. “You’re looking awfully pale, Sherlock. Are you alright?”
“I always look pale.”
“Yeah, but…” he gestures vaguely. “More than usual.”
“I’m fine.” He brushes dark curls off of his forehead. “Proceed.”
John rolls his eyes and sits down next to him, dabbing a wet cotton ball to a cut above the consulting detective’s sharp cheekbone. He doesn’t flinch as John tends to his other cuts and bruises, applying antibiotic ointment and plasters.
John rubs his hands on his jeans as he puts the last of the medical supplies away. “That should do it. Thanks for staying still for so long, I didn’t know you had it in you.” He grins, but it promptly falls away as Sherlock attempts to stand up, wobbles for a moment, and then collapses back onto the couch.
“I told you, John, I’m fine!”
“I just want to make sure.”
“Don’t you believe me?”
John huffs. “No.”
Sherlock pouts. “Whatever.”
“So can I?”
Silence.
“I’m taking that as a yes, Sherlock.”
“I know that.”
The doctor presses his fingers against Sherlock’s abdomen gently, just a whisper of a touch. Sherlock hisses and pulls away, groaning. John’s brow furrows.
“You got hit in the stomach?”
“Of course.”
“Do you feel stiff around here?”
“… yes.”
John produces a tissue. “Here, cough into this.”
“I don’t want to.”
A glare. “Do it now or else I won’t buy the milk.”
Scowling petulantly, Sherlock takes the hanky and obliges. When he pulls it away from his mouth, it’s stained with red.
“Oh dear.”
“Can’t we just take a cab?”
“No! Sherlock, you’re bleeding internally! Doesn’t that WORRY you?!”
“Not really.”
“It should. Here, it’s ringing…”
“Really, that’s so unnecessary.”
“Hello? Emergency? Yes, my friend’s had a bit of an accident…”
“Hm. The room is spinning. That’s never happened before.”
“… no that’s not code for ‘I hit him’… He’s NOT my boyfriend and I’m certainly NOT abusing him…!”
“I don’t believe blood is supposed to be that color.”
“…Look, he’s bleeding internally, can you PLEASE send over an ambulance? The address is 221B Baker Street…”
“Oh my-” -thud-
“Sherlock? SHERLOCK?!”
He wakes up with a dull ache in his stomach and a worried ex-army doctor talking to him.
“-so I’m thinking maybe I’ll get a dog…”
“Excuse me, what?”
John’s eyes widen as he sees Sherlock croaking awake. “Oh, thank God!”
“Don’t talk so loudly, you’ll frighten the oysters.” Sherlock lifts an arm and waves at the air near John’s head
lazily. “Shoo. Bad oysters.”
“Um… Sherlock, there are no oysters. I think they’re putting pain meds in your IV.”
“Shhhh, you’ll upset them.” He puts a hand to his lips. “Now what’s this about a dog?”
John shakes his head. “Uh… nothing.”
“Why does my tummy hurt?”
“Because-” John does a double take. “Did you just say ‘tummy’?”
“No.”
“But-”
“NO.”
“Right, sorry, of course. You got punched, remember? By the guy with the lorry?”
“Ah yes.” The detective nods as sagely as one can while heavily does with painkillers. “Of course. Internal
bleeding. I remember.”
“That’s good.”
“Will I be okay?”
John smiles. “Yes, Sherlock, you’ll be okay.”
The detective’s eyes close and he relaxes against the pillow. He suddenly opens them again and stares at John.
“Did you mean it when you said you weren’t my boyfriend?”
“Sherlock, you’re NOT my boyfriend.”
“When we get home, can I be your boyfriend?”
“…I think I need to give you painkillers more often.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
He falls back to sleep and John joins him soon after, curled up in he chair beside his hospital bed.
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: K+
Genre: Humor, romance
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin, to quote TV Tropes.
“Oh my God, that was ridiculous!”
The door of the flat bursts open and they stumble in, John’s arm around Sherlock’s waist, Sherlock leaning into
John, both of them giggling like mad. John’s got a black eye the size of Wales and Sherlock is hunched over, but their eyes glitter brightly with leftover adrenaline, the thrill of the chase still strong. They collapse onto the sofa,
breathing heavily.
“The next time you decide to jump on the back of a lorry, tell me first, okay?” John wheezes. Sherlock nods.
“Only if you stop trying to fight people twice your size.”
They dissolve into laughter again, trailing off eventually. John stands up, taking a long moment to get to his feet.
“We need peas.”
Sherlock cocks an eyebrow. “Peas?”
“Yeah, for my black eye. I should get the first aid kit out and give us both a going-over.” He smiles, his split lip stretching. “Stay here, ‘kay?”
“Not really planning on moving, John.”
When John gets back with the rubbing alcohol and plasters, Sherlock is dozing, his mouth open slightly and his
head thrown back against the sofa pillows. John shakes his shoulder gently and he wakes with a start and a
wince.
“Sorry to wake you, but I need you conscious for a bit longer.” He frowns. “You’re looking awfully pale, Sherlock. Are you alright?”
“I always look pale.”
“Yeah, but…” he gestures vaguely. “More than usual.”
“I’m fine.” He brushes dark curls off of his forehead. “Proceed.”
John rolls his eyes and sits down next to him, dabbing a wet cotton ball to a cut above the consulting detective’s sharp cheekbone. He doesn’t flinch as John tends to his other cuts and bruises, applying antibiotic ointment and plasters.
John rubs his hands on his jeans as he puts the last of the medical supplies away. “That should do it. Thanks for staying still for so long, I didn’t know you had it in you.” He grins, but it promptly falls away as Sherlock attempts to stand up, wobbles for a moment, and then collapses back onto the couch.
“I told you, John, I’m fine!”
“I just want to make sure.”
“Don’t you believe me?”
John huffs. “No.”
Sherlock pouts. “Whatever.”
“So can I?”
Silence.
“I’m taking that as a yes, Sherlock.”
“I know that.”
The doctor presses his fingers against Sherlock’s abdomen gently, just a whisper of a touch. Sherlock hisses and pulls away, groaning. John’s brow furrows.
“You got hit in the stomach?”
“Of course.”
“Do you feel stiff around here?”
“… yes.”
John produces a tissue. “Here, cough into this.”
“I don’t want to.”
A glare. “Do it now or else I won’t buy the milk.”
Scowling petulantly, Sherlock takes the hanky and obliges. When he pulls it away from his mouth, it’s stained with red.
“Oh dear.”
“Can’t we just take a cab?”
“No! Sherlock, you’re bleeding internally! Doesn’t that WORRY you?!”
“Not really.”
“It should. Here, it’s ringing…”
“Really, that’s so unnecessary.”
“Hello? Emergency? Yes, my friend’s had a bit of an accident…”
“Hm. The room is spinning. That’s never happened before.”
“… no that’s not code for ‘I hit him’… He’s NOT my boyfriend and I’m certainly NOT abusing him…!”
“I don’t believe blood is supposed to be that color.”
“…Look, he’s bleeding internally, can you PLEASE send over an ambulance? The address is 221B Baker Street…”
“Oh my-” -thud-
“Sherlock? SHERLOCK?!”
He wakes up with a dull ache in his stomach and a worried ex-army doctor talking to him.
“-so I’m thinking maybe I’ll get a dog…”
“Excuse me, what?”
John’s eyes widen as he sees Sherlock croaking awake. “Oh, thank God!”
“Don’t talk so loudly, you’ll frighten the oysters.” Sherlock lifts an arm and waves at the air near John’s head
lazily. “Shoo. Bad oysters.”
“Um… Sherlock, there are no oysters. I think they’re putting pain meds in your IV.”
“Shhhh, you’ll upset them.” He puts a hand to his lips. “Now what’s this about a dog?”
John shakes his head. “Uh… nothing.”
“Why does my tummy hurt?”
“Because-” John does a double take. “Did you just say ‘tummy’?”
“No.”
“But-”
“NO.”
“Right, sorry, of course. You got punched, remember? By the guy with the lorry?”
“Ah yes.” The detective nods as sagely as one can while heavily does with painkillers. “Of course. Internal
bleeding. I remember.”
“That’s good.”
“Will I be okay?”
John smiles. “Yes, Sherlock, you’ll be okay.”
The detective’s eyes close and he relaxes against the pillow. He suddenly opens them again and stares at John.
“Did you mean it when you said you weren’t my boyfriend?”
“Sherlock, you’re NOT my boyfriend.”
“When we get home, can I be your boyfriend?”
“…I think I need to give you painkillers more often.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
He falls back to sleep and John joins him soon after, curled up in he chair beside his hospital bed.