"Sherlock? Where are you?" John called into the empty apartment. It was 11:oo in the morning and Sherlock hadn't been home that night. At least he didn't think he was. They had been out all evening working on a case and Sherlock had stayed all night and refused to go until he had solved it.

"Oh bugger. Now i have to go out and find him." John whispered under his breath as he pulled on his coat and shoes.

Sherlock

3:27 am

Sherlock grumbled under his breath and pulled his trench coat as a defence against the wind.

He was walking down an alleyway where he hoped his main suspect was.

"You lost little boy?" A gruff voice behind him barked out.

Sherlock whirled around to look at the speaker to see a rather large man easily 6'5 and 250 lbs.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock said backing away from the stench coming from the man.

"You look lost, Sherlock."

Sherlock just stared at the man.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, taking a defensive step back.

"That doesn't matter who we are, just what we want with you."

"We?"

Sherlock looked around to see 3 other large men walking toward him.

"Nighty-night Sherlock Holmes." The first man said and threw a hard punch to the side of Sherlock's face. He felt himself tumble back into another one of the men and he felt himself tumble toward the ground. He hit it with such force he nearly blacked out.

Everything felt foggy and far away.

"Maybe this will teach you to stay out of other people's buisness." he heard one of the men say through the fog.

He felt a hard metal object hit the back of his head. By the weight of it, he guessed it was a crow bar.

The last thing he remembered was the force of the men's boots hitting his head and chest.

John

12:45 pm

John walked down the street looking into the alleyways and the doors of the street shops for Sherlock. He had been out in the cold for more than an hour.

"Where are you Sherlock?" John whispered and watched his breath swirl in the cold.

He bagan walking down an alleyway when he heard a groan from a garbage can beside him.

He walked over and flipped up the lid to reveal a crumpled and bleeding Sherlock laying amongst the newspapers and garbage bags.

"Oh my god Sherlock!" John exclaimed and reached down to pull Sherlock out of the trash. Sherlock fell to the ground and started groaning.

John immediately started to examine him.

"What happened Sherlock?" John held him up against the trash can.

"I don't know. I..." Sherlock stopped to cough.

"I'm calling an ambulance." John pulled out his cell phone and began talking while keeping Sherlock awake.

Sherlock

Sherlock opened his eyes to see John sitting beside him in the ambulance.

"John." Sherlock reached his hand up to John only to have it brought back down by the weight of the pain killers.

"It's okay Sherlock. We're heading to the hospital now. You'll be okay." John fought back the urge to hug Sherlock.

Sherlock began to lose consienceness again.

"Just hold on Sherlock." John's voice was the last thing he heard before completely blacking out again.

The steady beeping of Sherlock's heart moniter was the only sound in the white, steril room.

Sherlock fought the fog out of his mind and slowly opened his eyes to see that he was laying down in a hospital room. He turned his head to see John asleep in a very uncomfortable looking chair.

He unconciously smiled at the fact that John had stayed the night there just to make sure he was okay. Sherlock turned his head to the celing and began to think about the night before.

"Sherlock?" He turned his head to see John smiling and stretching his back from the night on the chair.

"How long have you been awake?" John stood up and walked around the small room to stretch his muscles.

"About an hour or two." Sherlock raised his bed to a sitting position. What happened last night?" Sherlock asked as he watched John stretch, noticing the way his back arched and the face he made and stored the images away in his mind palace for later examination.

"Last night? Sherlock, you've been out for 3 days." John stopped stretching and pulled the chair closer to Sherlock's bed and plopped down on it.

Silence filled the room as Sherlock took in the new information.

"3 days?" Sherlock whispered.

"Yep."

"Well, what happened that night?" Sherlock looked unusualy interested, like John was about to tell him about a new case.

Uh, well i found you in a garbage can. You were missing your trench coat, oddly. You were all beaten up and bloody. When the ambulance arived, you had blacked out and were unconcious and i couldn't get you to wake up." John stopped. "I thought you were..."

Sherlock could see the tears threatening to spill out of John's eyes.

Silence again invaded the room as John choked back tears.

John continued. "You had almost bled to death. If I didn't find you when I did..."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Did you stay here the whole time?"

"Mostly. I took the time off from work. I went and got your cloths from the apartment by the way." John pointed toward the table where Sherlock's favorite purple shirt and a pair of pants lay neatly folded.

"Thank you John. Really." Sherlock smiled a half smile at John. "Why don't you go find a nurse and figure out when I can get out of here." Sherlock asked and began to get up from the bed.

John sighed and got up to go look for a nurse. He stopped and turned to see Sherlock with the pants on and reached for the shirt. He couldn't help but notice Sherlock's muscular back and pale skin. He felt a shiver go down his spine.

What the hell? John quickly walked out of the room and down toward the reception desk.

I'm not gay. Am I? No. I'm not. John began to wonder if what he was telling himself was true.

Back in the room Sherlock could feel John hesitate before leaving. Sherlock pulled on his shirt.

Sherlock cursed under his breath as he tried to pull on the shirt over his bandages and his arm cast.

"Sherlock?" He heard John's voice from the door. He turned around to see John with a stack of papers in his hands. John stifled a laugh when he saw the detective.

"Uhm Sherlock?" John laughed.

Sherlock had managed to get stuck in the shirt with his casted arm and all the bandages.

"Oh shut up and help me will you" Sherlock seemed almost out of breath from the hastle with the shirt.

John set the papers down on the bed and went over to help Sherlock with his shirt.

"I find it funny that the one and only Sherlock Holmes who can take on basically anything in the world gets stuck in his own shirt."

Sherlock just huffed as he put his casted arm through the hole in the shirt.

"Do I even want to know how that happened?" John asked as Sherlock turned to face him.

"Uh, no." Sherlock smirked.

Silence seeped into the room once again.

John cleared his throat and looked away from Sherlock's eyes and went to pick up the discharge papers.

"Ready?" John asked, heading toward the door.

John

John and Sherlock walked in the door of 221b and heard music playing.

Sherlock sighed. "Mycroft." John chucked.

"You should have called Sherlock. I have a phone you know." Mycroft sat on Sherlock's chair twirling his umbrella.

"I must've dropped it when i was beat mercilessly in an alley." Sherlock shot an irritated and slightly sarcastic look at Mycroft.

"You what?" John and Mycroft look at Sherlock in awe.

"Yes, that's what happened. Didn't I tell you John?" Sherlock motioned for Mycroft to move so he could sit down.

"Uh, no. You didn't."

"Oh, well that's what happened."

Mycroft's phone pinged. "I have to go. Some idiot from Iran tried to declare war on us. Please excuse me. John, Sherlock." Mycroft nodded and headed toward the door.

They heard the door slam and almost instantly John looked from the door to where Sherlock sat and glared at him. Sherlock didn't seem to notice.

"Why didn't you tell me that's what happened?!" John yelled. Sherlock opened his mouth to answer but John cut him off. "Seriously Sherlock. What if they intended to kill you? I could barely stand 2 years without you. How would I stand an entire life without you?" John whispered more to himself but Sherlock heard anyway.

"I don't see the big deal John. So I didn't tell you how I got hurt. It's in the past, why should it matter?" Sherlock seemed unfazed.

"Dammit Sherlock! Don't you get it? I care about you! God, you are so thick you know that?" Sherlock could see the tears threatening to spill out of John's eyes.

John stood up and walked into the kitchen and (violently) started to make tea.

"Sentiment is only a downside to being human John. Don't let it control your actions." Sherlock said, picking up a newspaper from the table.

John stopped. He felt the tears begin to run down his cheeks. He slammed the kettle down on the counter. He walked to his room and slammed the door, startling Sherlock from his reading.

Sherlock stood up and padded quietly to John's room and stopped at the door. He knocked lightly before opening the door, revealing John lying on his back on his bed. Sherlock could see that he was crying.

"John I didn't know it was that big of a deal. I'm sorry." Sherlock began to feel bad for not telling John what had happened.

John stood up and walked over to Sherlock, stopping inches from his face. Sherlock could feel John's ragged breath on his face.

"I never left that room. I waited there for you to wake up, wondering if you ever would. And you're sorry? Well so am I. Sorry for wasting my time and energy on something that is apperently small and insignificant to you." John fought the urge to begin to cry again.

Sherlock didn't say anything. Instead he studied John's face. He had never had the chance to look at him this close before. He noticed the coloring of his eyes, a steely blue. He noticed the perfectly tan color of his skin, smooth and flawless. He noticed his mouth, a straight line, soft and unmoving. He noticed his sandy hair, short and perfectly cut. He was practically flawless and he was beautiful. Sherlock felt an unfamilliar fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach.

John also looked at Sherlock intently, never having the chance to study the detective's face either. He noticed theamazing blue-green color with a touch of gold around the black. He noticed the pale ashen color of his skin. He noticed the ebony curls sitting motionless on top of his head. He noticed Sherlock's mouth, curvy and just the right color. John felt his heart melt.

Sherlock looked down and left John standing there and returned to his chair and continued reading, shaking off the fluttery feeling as being part of the slight guilt.

John stood in the doorway of his room just staring at the wall, still picturing Sherlock so close to him. He realized that the thought had quickly turned dirty and discarded it. He walked slowly out into the sitting room and sat down.

"I really am sorry John. I didn't know it would be this big of deal." Sherlock was peering over his paper at John.

"I just don't know what I would do if you didn't wake up. It's a miracle that you are alive at all. The doctors said you wouldn't pull through after all the blood you lost."

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Sherlock

2:07 am

John had gone to bed and now it was just Sherlock. He stood by the window, composing a new song on his violin.

He couldn't stop thinking about the time spent just looking at John and studying his features. He kept replaying the scene in his head over and over. He wished he had more time to just look at him.

Sherlock began to wander his mind palace. He wandered to where he kept his personal information. He looked at a room marked, John. He bagan to wonder why there was an entire room dedicated to him. Mycroft didn't so why did John? He opened the door and pulled out a file and began reading.

NAME: John Hamish Watson

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'7

EYE COLOR: blue

HAIR COLOR: Sandy blonde

He stopped to think. Was this all from that glance? He put the file back and wandered around the rather large room. He saw photos of John at the most random times. When he was eating, drinking tea, watching the telly, writing about his blog, and then there was one photo that was on a wall on its own. It was the close up of John. Sherlock stood there, staring at it.

He spent the rest of his time going through the folders of was abruptly taken from his mind palace by a spoon being thrown at the back of his head.

"Sherlock!" John was standing in the kitchen in his pajamas and robe holding a cup of tea.

"Why are you throwing eating utencils at my head?" Sherlock set down his violin, realizing he had held it up to his chin all night, and walked into the kitchen.

"You weren't answering me." John went to sit down on his chair. Sherlock had followed, rubbing the feeling back into his arms.

"Were you trying to talk to me?" Sherlock asked, sitting down.

"Yeah."

"What about?"

John hesitated, wondering if he should repeat what he had said.

"Nothing important. Just that I have the day off." John took a sip of his tea.

John's point of view from the spoon throwing incident

John woke to his alarm clock. He checked the time, 9:30 am. He rolled out of bed and threw on his robe.

Out in the sitting room, next to the window was Sherlock, holding his violin but playing nothing, staring off into space.

"Good morning Sherlock." John waited for a reply as he made his tea. No sound came from Sherlock. The only sign he was alive was the steady rise and fall of his shoulders.

"I was thinking about last night. I shouldn't have yelled at you. You were right. It really wasn't a big deal you didn't tell me." John stopped talking to think.

"I was actually thinking about..." He stopped and turned to look at Sherlock. Most likely not listening so John continued to talk.

"I was thinking about how amazing you looked when I stood close to you and how you smelled so good. Like aftershave and tea." He stopped to see if Sherlock had moved.

"Sherlock, you're making me question my sexuality. You and your hair and your cheekbones." Sherlock hadn't moved an inch. "You are amazing in a lot of ways and you are beautiful in a lot of ways but you can also be a dick." John sighed. He looked at the spoon in his hand and chucked it at the back of Sherlock's head. It bounced off and fell to the ground and Sherlock whirled around.

End chapter 1