AN: *coughs awkwardly* I have not had inspiration for a while and I found this idea and had to write it. And don't ask why I'm up at this time. Long story. Anyway hope you enjoy I'm not satisfied with the ending. Not Johnlock. Just in case you were wondering...

Sherlock followed John's path as he walked out the door of the flat.
Once he was sure John was out of sight, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, hands shaking slightly as his shoulders cracked from the past years of torment.
He gently unwound the bandages around his torso, reaching across the table to grab the ointment to apply to his various wounds inflicted by everything from knives to blazing hot irons.
He froze as the door reopened and John's heavy footsteps resounded on the stairs.
He hastily tried to re-button his shirt but failed as John's voice rang out, "Lestrade was at the door, he had some-" he cut off at the sight of Sherlock's opened bandages. "What the-" he started.
"Hello John," Sherlock said, trying to retain his cool but paling slightly. John wasn't supposed to know.
"And you let me punch you," John breathed.
"Oh, don't get sentimental John. It wasn't-"
"No," John cut in. "Shirt off, now."
Sherlock huffed, but obliged grudgingly.
John gently unwound the bandages and hissed in sympathy.
"John-" Sherlock started, furrowing his brow slightly at John's concern.
"Just- shut up," John said, adding, "Before I punch you again."
Sherlock kept quiet after that, letting John examine his wounds, watching his anger grow at every new mark he found.
Then he found what Sherlock was dreading he would find:
The burns.
The new ones.
From when he saved John.
"Sherlock," asked John, sucking in a breath, "Why are these new?"
Sherlock tensed a bit but lied smoothly, "Just a recent case."
"No," John denied, shaking his head, "No, these are from when you-you," John faded off.
There was a pause before, "Has Mycroft even done anything about these?"
"Yes, of course," Sherlock quickly replied, "He took care of the life-threatening ones and-"
John didn't let him finish, "The life-threatening ones? Yeah, like all of these don't qualify as life threatening. And then you go and put burns on top of it, you IDIOT."
"John, your life was threatened."
John sighed, running his hand over his face.
"Just- let me know next time, okay?" John said, finishing up and allowing Sherlock to re-button his shirt himself.
Sherlock nodded hesitantly.
"Call me if you ever need me," John called, walking out the door.
Sherlock didn't reply, but John didn't miss the slight smile that graced his face for a moment before he buried himself in the case file.