Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. This makes me sad :(
John woke up in his bed and looked around in shock. Mary was away for the week with friends so John was staying at 221B for the time being. He heard it again. A whimper of pain coming from the living room. He cautiously got out of bed and walked through the kitchen and into the dark living room. He could vaguely see Sherlock asleep on the sofa. So where had that noise come from? He turned around to go back to bed as it was only around 3am when he heard the whimper again. It was coming from Sherlock. He approached his friend switched on the light. Sherlock was paler than John had ever thought possible and his curls were falling into his face. He held one arm around his torso and the other ne was in a defensive position. He was shaking and mumbling things. Nightmare.
"Sherlock? Sherlock, mate, wake up." John said, softly.
"Get 'way." Sherlock mumbled, waving his arm.
His shaking was getting more violent and he was tossing and turning, fretfully, on the sofa. Not good.
"Sherlock, wake up!" John said more firmly.
"I did what you said. Don't shoot them." Sherlock groaned.
"Shoot them? Sherlock snap out of it!"John shouted.
He placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock's red-rimmed eyes snapped open and his defensive arm grabbed John's wrist.
"Sherlock!" John gasped.
Sherlock looked at John in surprise and worry. Two options came to Sherlock as he realised John was looking at him with his doctor's look. Ignore or flee.
"Go away, John." Sherlock snapped.
"Are you okay, mate?" John asked.
"Of course I am. Stop with the nonsense and go back to bed." Sherlock lied.
"Sherlock, I'm not an idiot, I'm a doctor. Why are you holding your torso like that? Are you in any pain?" John questioned.
Sherlock quickly removed his arm and turned his back on John.
"I'm fine. Go back to bed." Sherlock grumbled.
John studied his friend. He was lying in an awkward position to avoid contact with most of the sofa. He had been squinting in pain before he'd turned around and he'd been almost doubled-up.
"Right, shirt off." John demanded.
"What?" Sherlock choked.
"Shirt off. Let me see what's causing you pain." John explained.
"No." Sherlock said.
"I'm not messing about, Sherlock. I'm your doctor and I need to see what's wrong to make you better." John replied.
"Nothing's wrong." Sherlock lied again.
"Sherlock!" John shouted.
"John!" Sherlock shouted back.
"Why won't you let me help?" John asked.
"Because you'll leave when I show you." Sherlock yelled.
"Try me." John replied.
Sherlock scowled and stood up. He threw off his blue dressing gown and his grey t-shirt and left John speechless. Sherlock's body was covered in red and brown whip marks, surrounded by blue, black and yellow bruises. Where he'd been holding was a large red cut that looked angered and irritated.
John gasped and his hand flew up to his mouth.
"See?" Sherlock said.
His tone shook ever so slightly and his blue-green-gold eyes held pain and shimmered with tears that he was holding back.
"Sherlock." John whispered.
A/N Constructive criticism welcomed.