"John" Sherlock said "Give me your phone."
He hadn't looked away from the violin which he had been plucking while deep in thought.
"Where's yours?" John asked impatiently from the armchair.
John had spent a lot of time in that armchair since his accident at work. A patient had lost it and pushed him down a flight of stairs. It should have been more prominent in his mind but the only thing that truly bothered him was the limp that resulted from a shattered knee cap. It reminded him too much of his past.
"Sherlock you can't be serious. My leg-"
"You can walk can't you?"
Sherlock spent the three days of John's time back at the flat doing things for himself. It was as close to caring for John as he'd seen.
"That's bloody ridiculous... Where is it?"
John didn't need an argument right now. He had barely been able to focus on the book in his lap, so he knew an argument was too much.
"On the kitchen table."
"That's... oh nevermind"
John pushed himself out of the armchair with considerable effort and grabbed his cane. His attempts to walk straight were pointless, and he allowed himself to falter slightly as he reached Sherlock stretched out on the couch.
"Here." He said bitterly - dropping the phone onto his chest.
"Ouch. A bit nicer next time."
"I'm going to bed."
John had said this a little too harshly, but it was too late now. He pushed his way up the stairs and sat himself down on the bed.
He had been nippy like this towards Sherlock for a while but he couldn't admit to himself why. Deep in the back of his mind the thought haunted him but there was nothing to be done now. It was two in the morning.
"What is wrong with me..."
John knew exactly what his problem was. In those few moments falling down the stairs - those moments that slowed and felt like hours - everything had left his mind except one thing. Sherlock. His Brilliant green eyes and mess of hair. His deep voice and tall stature. In what he thought was his last moments, John could only think of Sherlock.