"I'm a doctor, Sherlock, I can do it myself," Joan protested, attempting to take the bandages from his hands.
Sherlock was too fast for her, moving the bandages away before she could grab them. Joan groaned. "No, no, no," Sherlock tutted. "This was my fault, so I intend to fix it."
Joan rolled her eyes. "How was this your fault? I talked you into teaching me. I slipped. That's all."
A few minutes prior, Sherlock had been training with a broadsword he had acquired a few days before. He had intended to practice only on non-living targets, but Joan had walked in on him before he had gotten the chance to put away the second sword he had bought. Seeing him practice and eyeing the second sword, Joan had asked him to teach her. To his ultimate regret, Sherlock had agreed. He had focused on teaching Joan the sword movements amd hand techniques, but had neglected to teach her the proper footwork. When they were parrying, she had slipped, causing his sword to graze her arm, which left a cut a few inches long. Sherlock was presently attempting to bandage up that cut.
"Yes, you slipped," he admitted. "But I should have reacted faster, I should have avoided hitting you. Besides," Sherlock protested, "I bought the swords in the first place. Now sit still."
Joan had no intention of sitting still. "Really Sherlock," she said, "I can do this myself." He ignored her, so while Sherlock was applying antiseptic to a cotton ball, Joan grabbed the bandages he had moved earlier. Sherlock looked at her with mild annoyance, but Joan could see a smirk starting beneath his mask of frustration. He held his hand out. "This will go much faster if you just give it back," he mocked.
Joan laughed and clutched the bandages to her chest. When his eyes met hers, Sherlock couldn't help but match her smile. He shook his head at her childish game, but inside he very much enjoyed seeing her laugh. He felt extremely guilty for harming her, and some of his worry melted away when he saw her smile returning. Sherlock let her keep the bandages, for now. Instead, he got to work cleaning the cut with the antiseptic.
Joan watched Sherlock's face as he cleaned off her arm. He looked so intense, so focused, the same way he always looked when he was hard at work on something. He never gave anything less than his full attention to whatever he was doing, and Joan found that it was quite intense to have that full attention focused on her. It made her simultaneously nervous and excited, knowing that he cared about her enough to devote all his energy to cleaning off her cut. To her surprise, Joan found that she rather enjoyed having Sherlock's full attention on nothing but her.
Quietly, she said, "It really wasn't your fault."
Sherlock thought otherwise, but he knew it was pointless to argue with her. His only reply was a simple "Mmm."
Joan knew what that meant. He didn't agree, but he wouldn't argue with her. She didn't want him to feel guilty about this, but his non-response was affirmation enough that he did. "Honestly Sherlock," Joan murmured, "you don't have to feel bad about this. It was an accident."
Sherlock had finished cleaning her arm, and he stood back with a sigh. "Just let me take care of you, Watson," he all but pleaded with her, briefly meeting her eyes with his.
Something in the way he was looking at her was enough for Joan to drop the silly little game with the bandages. Joan could tell he was feeling guilty, but there was more to it than that. His gaze was intense, but also soft and caring. It was as if he wasn't just feeling guilty about causing someone harm, but rather he regretted hurting her. As if somehow, causing her harm was a worse crime to him. As if she were special to him. He'd never looked at her like that, and it excited something inside her that Joan had been trying to deny for a long time. She realized with a start that she had always wanted him to look at her like that, and now that he was, her heart was beating faster than it ever had.
Wordlessly, Joan gave in and handed him the bandages. Sherlock gave her a tight-lipped smile, but he said nothing and began wrapping the bandage around her arm. Joan was intensely aware of how close he was to her, as they so rarely allowed themselves to get this close to each other. When his hand grazed her arm, Joan sighed, goosebumps raising on her arm. They almost never allowed this much physical contact between them, and Joan's face reddened, hoping Sherlock wouldn't notice the goosebumps.
Of course, he noticed.
Meanwhile, Sherlock was mentally kicking himself for his actions earlier. He should have never agreed to spar with her in the first place. Then, when she had slipped and he had seen her bleeding, Sherlock had panicked. His mind went into a fog, and all he could think was Joan is hurt, you hurt her. You hurt her, you have to help her, help Joan, you hurt her, how could you hurt her, what did you do… and that had made him useless. It had been Joan who realized what happened, put pressure on her arm, and went to get the first aid kit. Sherlock had stood there like an idiot, paralyzed by his own mistake, until Joan had returned with the kit. Her return made him realize how stupid he had been acting and spurred him into action. He had taken the kit from her, steered her to the counter, urged her to sit on it and assisted her up so that he could reach her arm better. However, before Sherlock had a chance to apologize for hurting her, she had begun protesting that she could bandage it herself.
Now, seeing her reaction to his closeness only increased Sherlock's guilt about having caused her harm. He wanted to tell her how very sorry her was, how he had not meant to hurt her, would never hurt her, how he hated seeing her in pain, how seeing her in pain caused him pain…
But he couldn't find the words. So instead, Sherlock finished bandaging up Joan's arm without a word. The whole time he was wrapping the bandage around her arm, he was aware of her eyes on his face, though he refused to meet her gaze. He could feel her watching him; he could hear how her breathing quickened when he leaned in closer so he could get the bandage around the back of her arm. He could feel the intensity of her gaze on him, and it made Sherlock's heart quicken in response.
When he was finished bandaging her arm, Sherlock stood up. With Joan sitting on the counter, they were nearly the same height. Sherlock still refused to meet Joan's gaze, the weight of everything he wanted to tell her stopping him. He was afraid that if he looked into her eyes right now, all those words would spill out of him, and he might never be able to stop telling her how he felt. However, Sherlock felt the need to do something. He needed to somehow show her how sorry he was, how much he cared.
So instead of words, Sherlock attempted to convey his heart to Joan with action.
He bent his head down to her shoulder and pressed a soft kiss on her arm, just above the bandage. He let his lips linger on her arms a moment longer than necessary, letting himself indulge in the heady feel of her skin on his lips. He heard her sigh, and when he pulled his face back slightly, he saw that Joan had turned her head toward him and dropped it down to her shoulder, so that her head was just barely above his.
Finally, Sherlock dared to look her in the eye. Her eyes were burning as much as he felt his must be, but Sherlock dared go no further. This was Watson, he couldn't risk going any further and doing something he would regret. The last thing he wanted was to go too far and lose her.
Joan sensed this. She could feel Sherlock's breath on her shoulder, fast and heavy, and the look on his face told her that his feelings were as intense as the ones she was harboring inside herself. But she also knew he was scared, knew how much he disliked physical contact, how he feared connections with other people. But beyond that, Joan knew he feared losing her. He wouldn't do anything that he thought she might take offense to, for he would never risk losing her. So, Joan took the matter into her own hands.
She reached out and put her hand softly on the side of Sherlock's face, tilting it up toward her. She briefly met his eyes before lowering her head down and catching his lips with hers. Her kiss was soft and gentle, as part of her was still holding back, for she too feared his reaction should she go too far.
But she shouldn't have worried. Her gentle kiss was all the permission Sherlock needed. He stood up fully, never taking his lips off hers, and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to the edge of the counter and closer to him. Joan's hands made their way to his hair and she pressed his head closer, deepening their kiss such that it became one of passion, both of them giving in to the emotions they had kept inside for so long, until they had to reluctantly part for air.
Sherlock rested his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry about your arm, Joan," he whispered.
The rare use of her first name made Joan smile. "Don't be," she whispered back, and kissed him again.
A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed the fluff! I tried to make it fluffy but also keep them on character, hopefully it works and isn't too cliche. As always, reviews are very much appreciated! Thanks so much for reading! :)