Scars
Summary: John finally finds Sherlock's scars from the 2 years of dismantling Moriarty's network.
One-Shot
It was a taxing case, and Sherlock suffered from 2 broken ribs and a sprained wrist. He had been chasing a criminal on a rooftop when he miscalculated the jump and fell face-first onto the pavement. The building wasn't too high, but high enough to injure him. Sherlock insisted that John took care of him at home rather than going to the hospital, and John complied.
Sherlock passed out on the way back to 221b, and woke up laying on the floor on the flat, John gathering supplied.
"I told you chasing him on the rooftop was stupid, you git." John said to Sherlock.
Sherlock attempted to get up, but this ribs prevented him from doing so.
"Lay down, Sherlock. Let me take care of you for a second."
John started to unbutton Sherlock's white shirt, when Sherlock remembered.
"Wait, John-" Sherlock stammered.
"Shut up."
He unbuttoned the last one, then proceeded to help Sherlock out of his shirt. As he carefully turned Sherlock over, John gasped at the sight.
Sherlock's entire back was covered in faded scars, still slightly red, despite that they were 2 years old. They slashed in every direction, and John's heart ached at the sight. His eyes started to water, imagining how much they must've hurt when they were fresh. He could see how deep some were, that they had touched bone.
"I-I'm so sorry John, I never meant-I never meant for you to see them, at least not like this." Sherlock said guiltily. He sat up with difficulty, grunting in pain, when John made him lay down again.
"Let me fix you up first." John said.
He wrapped Sherlock's torso in an Ace bandage and his sprained arm, making sure nothing else was injured.
"Stay laying down for now, Sherlock." John said. He paused, breathing in deeply.
"Sherlock-Sherlock, I'm so sorry-"
Sherlock reached out, cupping John's face. "Why, John? You did nothing wrong."
"Sherlock, I beat the shit out of you when you came back! I had no idea-I didn't even think-"
Sherlock sat up, despite John's request, and kissed John. He wasn't expecting it, but kissed Sherlock back. It was easily the best kiss John had ever experienced.
"John, I deserved your punches, despite the injuries from the 2 years of dismantling Moriarty's network. I hurt you, John. I never wanted you to see the scars, to think that it was your fault. It was never your fault. You've saved me so many times, it was only fair I return the favor. Because it's you, John, it's always been you. You keep me right, you keep me whole. I...I love you, John, I always have."
John sat next to Sherlock, drinking in his words. "But you could've died! I was so...I was so mad at you, for leaving me in the dark. I didn't even think about what you could've went through, all the torture-"
"It doesn't matter, John. You, you kept me sane. I came out alive and not demented because of the thought of returning to you, John. You are my everything, Watson."
John started crying, small tears pooling out from his eyes. Sherlock embraed him, ignoring the fire in his ribs. "I'm not good at this sort of stuff, you know, Sherlock." John said, pulling away from the detective. "But I love you, too. And you have saved me so many times, Sherlock. I was severely depressed when I limped into you life. You made me want to live again, and I can't thank you enough."
John leaned down and kissed Sherlock's cupid-bowed lips, lingering for a bit. "Now, we need to get you to bed. You must be tired."
Sherlock just nodded with a smile on his face, and John picked up the surprisingly light detective and carried him to his room, laying him on the bed. John kissed his temple and was about to leave before Sherlock grabbed his wrist.
"Stay."
John smiled, walking back to the bed and laying next to Sherlock, lacing his fingers through Sherlock's.
"Till the end of my days, Sherlock."
Well then, I hope this wasn't shit. I appreciate any constructive criticism on my writing, I always like to improve. Thank you for reading!