John silently cursed as he saw Sherlock disappear around the corner, his long coat flapping behind him. They were chasing a man with diabetes, who had killed his sister, by giving her a insulin injection. John had to admit he was impressed, of course he knew the risks of an overdose of insulin, he was a doctor after all, but he had never thought about the fact you could actually use the hormone as a murder weapon.
The fact that it took Sherlock a few hours to figure that out made him feel less stupid. Even the great consulting detective was at a loss until Molly had found the injection scar in the victims right armpit. That little scar was the breakthrough in the case. At once, the heightened insulin levels in her blood made sense to Sherlock, and the tall man had bolted off, leaving John to follow.
For once, the doctor had been in time to catch the same cab as his friend, and he secretly suspected Sherlock had waited for him. He didn't ask for an explanation, but Sherlock started to talk about his theory anyway, obviously trying (and succeeding) to impress John.
Apparently Sherlock had noticed something was off about the behavior of the victims brother when they first met him. "He's nervous, maybe because he's having an affair." He had told John as they left the crime scene for the first time.
"I was wrong, he is having an affair, but he was nervous because he killed his sister." Sherlock stated in the cab. John blinked, and was about to ask how the hell the man knew that, but the detective cut him off before he could open his mouth to speak. "It's obvious isn't it?" Sherlock asked. "Oh don't give me that look John. The man is the only one with access to insulin, have you looked at his finger tips?" John slowly shook his head. He knew what Sherlock was insinuating though. "He has diabetes?" He asked, although he already knew the answer. Sherlock nodded. "he has tiny scars all over his finger tips, probably from measuring his blood sugar levels."
John snapped out of his thoughts and dashed after Sherlock. 'The mad man.' He grunted to himself. The tall detective could be such a pain. He rounded another corner, and the sight before him made him stop death in his tracks. The man had somehow managed to work Sherlock to the ground, and was now holding a syringe dangerously close to the man's neck. John whipped his gun out and shot without a second thought as he saw the man pushed the needle in to the detective's flesh, slowly pressing down the pestle of the syringe, injecting the liquid in to Sherlock's bloodstream.
A pained cry sounded in the alley as the thug fell back, holding his arm. John ignored him completely and rushed to Sherlock's side, searching for his phone to call Lestrade and an ambulance for Sherlock, who was close to slipping into unconsciousness.
John carefully propped his best friend up against a brick wall, before striding over to the man who'd almost killed his flat mate.
"Give me food." He demanded, voice low and threatening.
"W-what?" the man stammered, crawling away slightly. John groaned annoyed. (This probably was how Sherlock felt when he complained about people's stupidity, although he didn't have to fear for his friend's life if people were being stupid.)
"You've got diabetes, you have to have sugar full food with you all the time in case you've got a hypo. Give. It. To. Me."
The man quickly rummaged through his jacket pocket, and handed a package of candy over.
"All I've got." He muttered. John glared at him, and went to kneel at Sherlock's side. He cursed softly at how languid his friend moved.
"Come on, eat this." John ordered his friend, gently putting the gummy bears in his mouth. Sherlock didn't get a lethal dose of insulin for most people, but his blood sugar levels couldn't be high with the little amount of food he ate, and John was afraid it would be lethal to Sherlock.
He was trying to keep his calm as he kept feeding Sherlock the gummy bears. He was trying hard to keep himself from shouting profanities at the man behind them, who was still clutching his arm, or at the reinforcement that just wouldn't hurry up. Finally he heard the sirens, and after a few moments the running footsteps of the police and medical team echoed through the alley they were in.
The medics handled quickly, taking care of Sherlock and the man they had been chasing. Lestrade sat down with John to take his statement, although the doctor only wanted to go to Sherlock, to make sure the man would be okay.
It was quite easy to arrest the victim's brother for the attempt murder at Sherlock, and the actual murder of his sister, and John was soon able to make his way to the ambulance. One off the medics saw him coming up to them and hopped out of the vehicle.
"Are you his emergency contact?" He asked, brushing a hand through his rosy hair. John thought about that, he wasn't exactly sure who Sherlock's emergency contact was, so he decided to act like he was for now.
"I'm John Watson, his flatmate, we work together." John said. The medic nodded in response.
"We'll have to take him to the hospital to check up."
"Can I come with him?" John asked immediately, he knew how Sherlock felt about hospitals, and refused to let him alone. The medic looked at him, and at the ambulance, and smiled.
"Sure, we've got enough room."
A few hours later John sat next to a hospital bed with his sleeping friend in it. He rubbed his face, feeling extraordinary tired. It was just wrong to see Sherlock like that, the great consulting detective reduced to a pale form in a hospital gown. The doctor who had ran the tests had explained to John how important it was to get Sherlock to follow a regular diet, and the blogger agreed. "I'll do my best to get him to eat regularly." He had assured the man, but he was afraid keeping his promise would proof to be harder than it seemed.
"You're such an idiot, you know?" John sighed, not looking up. "You always do that, just running off, leaving me behind. You could have died today, Sherlock." He kept quiet for a moment, listening to Sherlock's steady breathing.
"It scared me, seeing you like that. I don't want to return to a life without you, you mean so much to me." John stopped again, trying to form the words he'd wanted to say for so long, but didn't have the courage to.
"I like being around you. People always say you just like to have me around because I'm easily impressed, and that might be true. But I don't mind, because what you do is amazing. A while back, something changed. No matter what people say, I'm not gay. I never felt anything other than friendship for another man, but then you came around." John smiled sadly, combing a hand through his messy hair.
"What I feel for you... It was just friendship at the start. God, I don't even know when it changed. Now, I just want to be around you, help you with the cases, see you happy. When I saw he had put that syringe to your neck... Please, I don't care what happens between us, just never do that again." John trailed off.
"Because I think I love you."
John let out a shaky breath. Why had he even said all that? It was not like Sherlock heard him, because the man was still asleep. Did John even want Sherlock to hear what he'd just said? He sighed again, regretting what he had said. 'At least Sherlock didn't actually hear it.' He reasoned with himself as he stood up, walking away from Sherlock's bedside to get himself some water out of the tab a few metres away.
"Took you long enough, John." Sherlock spoke softly. John whirled around wide eyed, knocking the cup he had put next to the sink to the ground. John's gaze never left Sherlock as the cup broke with a loud crash. The detective had hoisted himself up into a sitting position, and was looking at John, waiting for his reaction.
"H-how long have you been awake?" John stuttered, feeling his cheeks flush. Sherlock shrugged, although the movement lacked his normal suppleness.
"I woke up just in time to hear you call me an idiot." He smirked. John felt like he could die from embarrassment, and he avoided Sherlock's eyes.
"Why didn't you say anything?" he wondered. Sherlock smiled at him, a genuine smile, and it comforted John, that smile meant he wasn't upset about his flatmate falling in love with him, so that was a good thing, right?
"You would have stopped talking." Sherlock replied. "And I wanted to know if you felt the same about me as I do about you."
A/N: This is a one shot I wrote for Arleta's (tumblr user holmescest) birthday. The characters and universe aren't mine, I do this just for fun, don't make any profit out of it, yada yada yada, you all know the drill. I tried to avoid mistakes and characters being out of character, but if you notice something (or just want to comment) please review.