Stitches

by brealeylou

A ficlet I wrote for the wonderful Sakibatch, prompted by a Tumblr ask she reblogged from Wsswatson. (prompt from Thatsenoughtobegoingonwith: Sherlock seeing red blossoming over John's shoulder and panicking, ripping John's shirt open even as John is trying to tell him it's nothing. It's just a cut that will need a few stitches, but Sherlock is practically hyperventilating...)

[Sherlock and John have just been mugged outside their flat.]

"Oh my god, John-"

"Sherlock, really I'm fine-"

"John, you're bleeding, you're not fine-"

"Sherlock-"
"I can fix it, I can help, what do I do-"

Sherlock." John raised his good arm and rested his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "I'm good. Really. Do you want to help?"

Sherlock's lips were parted in a feeble attempt to get in a few deep, calming breaths. He nodded.

"Well then I'll walk you through it. Sound good?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Help me inside and then grab the first aid kit from the bathroom."

"Right." Sherlock gently lifted John off the sidewalk and assisted him up the stairs to 221B. He lowered his blogger into his chair and then practically flew to the bathroom to retrieve the medical supplies.

When he returned, John began feeding him instructions. "Okay, first you need to clean the wound."

Sherlock unbuttoned the top four buttons on John's shirt and then frailly pulled back the part over his shoulder. He winced and scrunched up his nose for a second and then gently dabbed at the cut with a damp washcloth soaked in soap and warm water while John looked on patiently.

"Great. Now find the antibacterial cream in the kit and apply a bit of that." Sherlock did so. "There you go."

Sherlock let out a shaky breath. "What next?"

John locked eyes with Sherlock. "This is the hard part. And I trust you completely, okay?"

"Oh no. No no no. Don't tell me I'm going to have to-"

"You're gonna have to stitch it up. I can't do it myself."

A brief pause. "Okay."

Sherlock readied the suture and knelt down in front of John. He stared at the fresh wound. His brow furrowed in frustration and concentration, and he held the suture up to the cut.

"Sherlock."

Still no stitches taking place.

"Sherlock."

His hands were shaking.

John reached over and gently grasped Sherlock's hands. He tried to meet Sherlock's eyes, but Sherlock couldn't look away from John's shoulder.

"Sherlock. Hey."

Finally he broke away from the wound to look at John.

"It's okay. I'm okay. Do you understand? I'm going to be fine."

Sherlock exhaled. "Right. Of course."

John gave him an encouraging smile and squeezed his hands tightly. "You can do it."

Sherlock followed John's directions to finally stitch up the wound, after which he covered it with a patch of gauze.

Still kneeling between John's legs, Sherlock asked, "Did I do okay?"

John leaned in and kissed Sherlock.

"You did perfect."