Author Notes: This story will be three chapters long and I promise to update it regularly. :) I would really like to know what you think of it, so leave me a note, when you find the time.^^

Trigger Warning: Transphobic language and general transphobia in this chapter. Don't read it, if it triggers you!

Recklessness

"Only the staircase now and then you can sit down."

Sherlock almost snorted at the only, but he kept quiet and instead concentrated on climbing the first of the seventeen steps, without passing out from the pain that shot through his leg with every movement. From the length of the knife, combined with the height of their suspect - not to mention from the constant pain - Sherlock had gathered that the injury ran from his right hipbone down to the knee. He had only been lucky that their suspect had missed any vital arteries - and of course that John had been right behind Sherlock to knock the man out, before he could attack Sherlock again. John wouldn't have spared Sherlock a trip to the hospital otherwise.

Sherlock gritted his teeth as they reached the landing and he had to lean against the wall, while John opened the door for them. A shame that Sherlock wasn't allowed to take any morphine or at least some other effective painkillers. John would insist on Paracetamol or Ibuprofen and - if Sherlock was very lucky - he would get a local anesthesia, while his best friend stitched Sherlock back together.

Sherlock glanced sideways at John, who's mouth was set in a thin line, when he grabbed Sherlock around the waist and helped him into the living-room, where he pushed Sherlock onto the couch. "Stay here. I'll get my medical kit and towels. You'll only take off your trousers when the cushions are covered with something to protect them. I don't fancy scrubbing blood out of leather." John's voice was clipped and barely restrained as he ventured in the direction of the bathroom to get the promised supplies.

A quiet sigh escaped Sherlock as he sat awkwardly on the couch and waited for John to come back. It didn't need a genius to figure out that John was angry with him and Sherlock had enough self-awareness to know that he had every right to feel this way. After all, Sherlock could have waited for John to catch up with him - he never waited for the police - or he could have allowed their suspect to flee in the knowledge that the man would be caught in the next forty-eight hours, due to his own stupidity. Yes, Sherlock could have done all of that and more, but then the case would have ended as boring as it had started and sometimes Sherlock just needed a little chase through London. If their suspect hadn't had a knife, then John and he would be eating Chinese now. Instead, John would snarl at Sherlock and scold him for his recklessness and Sherlock would pretend that he didn't care about his friend's opinion and they would spend the remaining evening in silence.

Another sigh escaped Sherlock, accompanied by a hiss as he stretched his leg without thinking. It was far from the truth that he didn't care what John thought of his actions. Actually, John's opinion was the only one that truly mattered to Sherlock, but if he allowed these emotions to show through and if John picked up on them - he could be rather observant when he shouldn't be - then Sherlock would have to explain why he cared so much and then... he would probably lose John. His friend might be open minded, but Sherlock hadn't found any evidence that indicated that John would be comfortable with the knowledge that Sherlock harbored feelings for him... feelings that were far from platonic. The knowledge could easily scare John away and that just wasn't on. Even if Sherlock could never have John in this way, he would take friendship over estrangement every day. He would just have to pretend that John's accusations - which were certainly to come - didn't bother him and the danger would be over for today.

As on cue, John entered the living-room, caring his medical kit, a bowl of hot water and several towels - the darkest they owned. He placed them on part of the couch, without so much as glaring at Sherlock, before he straightened back to his full height. "Coat and trousers off!"

Sherlock tried not to flinch at John's commanding tone, but he couldn't quite hide an unpleasant shudder, while he struggled out of his coat and dropped it to the floor, before turning his attention to his trousers. He wasn't afraid of John, when he fell back in his role as a Captain, but he hated the invisible barrier it created between them. Sherlock always felt like he wasn't more than an annoying patient to his friend, when John spoke to him like this. And especially now, when Sherlock was hurt and... No, if he allowed his weakness to show, then John would notice and ask questions, which Sherlock couldn't answer without giving himself away. Therefore, he only gritted his teeth as he got rid of the belt and then started to work his ruined trousers past his hips, without getting up.

John merely watched Sherlock, with his arms crossed in front of his chest, and with narrowed eyes. "You know, in a hospital, they would have helped you with this."

Sherlock snorted and bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from crying out, when the fabric of his trousers rubbed against the wound. He had had a lot of injuries in his time as a consulting detective, but usually he had dealt with them on his own. It had the advantage that no one had felt the need to ridicule him, when he had screamed or cried in pain. Sherlock doubted that John would laugh at him, if he gave an indication of how much the pain affected him, but his friend might think that Sherlock was only calling upon John's sympathy.

Sherlock let out a harsh breath, when his trousers where finally down to his knees and he was able to take them off without causing himself more pain in the process. Only then, Sherlock allowed himself to glance at the nasty cut. He had been wrong, it didn't start at his hipbone, but on his thigh, a few centimeters under the hem of his pants. A small relief, considering that Sherlock's skin was smeared with dried blood and the wound was an angry red, with shreds of fabric inserted in it. Cleaning it would be hell.

John must have thought along the same lines, as he leaned over to inspect the wound more closely. "They would have used local anesthesia in hospital, without you having to ask for it and they might have even given you some stronger painkillers, before I could have stopped them."

Sherlock glared at his injured leg and laid back on the couch, so that his leg was placed on the towels and in easy reach for John. "They would have also asked invasive questions," Sherlock muttered quietly, while John arranged his medical equipment on the table.

"You mean about your drug use?! You should have thought of that before playing around with cocaine." Sherlock rolled his eyes and ignored the throbbing in his leg as he threw a low level glare at John. "I don't care if they ask me about that. But I don't like for some semi competent doctor or nurse to question me about the state of my transition."

John didn't even bat an eye at that. "They have to know what medicaments you take or have taken in order to give you the best treatment." John's voice was still impersonal and clipped as he wet a flannel and started to clean the area around Sherlock's injury.

Sherlock clenched his fists and dug his fingernails into the ball of his hands, to stop the humiliating tears from falling as sparks of pain shot through his leg. "Is it also important for them to know... when I got my breasts removed or... if I'm not just confused? Do they have to ask... if I don't regret that I'll never have children? Or is it considered professional... if they... if they take off my pants to check my genitalia, while I'm incapable of stopping them?" Sherlock's voice was laced with bitterness, while the memories of countless stays at various hospitals and visits to numerous doctors ghosted through his mind. He didn't dare look at John, when his friend finished cleaning his wound and rummaged through his medical kit. Sherlock knew that John wouldn't ask transgender people such invasive questions - Sherlock had first hand proof of it - but he was certain that John also wouldn't like to think badly of his colleagues. Soon, he would tell Sherlock that he was exasperating or that it was an exception and that most doctors and nurses he knew wouldn't act like this.

"Sherlock." There, John was already starting to defend his nameless colleagues. "Don't flinch, that's going to hurt a little, but it will feel better afterwards."

Sherlock didn't have the time to make sense of these words, when something pierced the skin next to his wound. A pleasant numbness started spreading through Sherlock's leg and he relaxed back into the cushions as the worst pain abated. He hadn't realised just how tense he had been, until his muscles relaxed slowly.

"You injected me with a local anesthesia." It wasn't a question, but when Sherlock turned his head, he saw John nodding quietly as his friend lowered himself on the floor next to the couch. "We have to wait, until it has taken full effect and then I can clean it properly and stitch you back together, although there will likely be a scar."

Sherlock nodded - he had known that - and then remained silent, just enjoying the feeling of spreading numbness, where pain had surged through his veins seconds ago. "Why did you change your mind?" John frowned quietly up at him and Sherlock sighed as he elaborated. "I could tell that you weren't going to give me anything to numb the pain, because you were angry that I ran off without you and refused to go to a hospital on top of it. So, why... It's not pity, is it?"

God, Sherlock hoped it wasn't. He didn't want John to pity Sherlock for what he had gone through during his transition and for how he had been treated by some idiots. It was over and done and Sherlock had deleted most stupid remarks - only choosing to remember a few to remind him that trusting wasn't always an advantage - and what others thought of him didn't bother him anymore. Not only about him being transgender - although not many people in Sherlock's life knew about his gender identity - but also about his fascination for crime scenes and experiments. Therefore, no reason for John to pity Sherlock and he hoped that his friend saw it the same way. It would only make things awkward if John started walking on eggshells around him.

Thankfully, John shook his head at Sherlock's question, even as a faint blush colored his cheeks at the same time. "No, it's not pity, but... I should have given you something for your pain right away and instead... I was a right bastard, because I assumed you wanted to make my life miserable by insisting that I should treat you at home. If I had known..." John clenched his fists and Sherlock realised that he was angry. Not angry at Sherlock, but angry on Sherlock's behalf and how he had been treated in the past.

"You didn't know," Sherlock sighed and gestured for John to get back to work on his leg. "And I doubt that you would have ordered to put a transgender man in a room full of women, because he was assigned female at birth."

It was good that John was only cleaning the wound with hydrogen peroxide at this point, instead of stitching, or the needle would have missed its mark, when he jerked upright in shock. "They didn't do that?!"

The question wasn't filled with disbelief, but with outrage and Sherlock allowed himself a second to imagine John giving his former doctor a piece of his mind, before he replied with a sneer. "He did and then he told the women in the room with me that I was put together with them, because I didn't... have a penis and that I could still be considered one of them, although I didn't have breasts anymore."

Sherlock only noticed that he was shaking with remembered, helpless rage, when John's hand squeezed his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "I'm sorry that you had to put up with that, it's... he should have been sued for treating a patient like this. There is no excuse for how he insulted you and I know that it's over, but," Sherlock watched fascinated as John took a deep breath to calm himself down. "I wish I had been there, back then to let this bastard know..."

"I wouldn't have been at the hospital, if you had been with me, back then," Sherlock reminded his friend with a smirk and even managed to coax a laugh out of John.

"Right," John nodded and reached for a small needle. "And I'll never again force you to go to hospital, if an injury isn't life threatening or force you to endure pain, when I have the means to numb it." There was a brief silence, in which John sterilized the needle once more and then - just before setting the first stitch - murmured: "I'm sorry that I acted like such an idiot and I'm... I`m glad that you trust me... as your friend and as your doctor."

Sherlock was glad that John had to concentrate on his handwork, so that he couldn't notice the sappy look that crossed Sherlock's face as he remembered just how he had come to place so much trust in John.

"Good morning."

Sherlock nodded to John on his way to the kitchen counter and then stopped dead in his tracks, when he spotted an extra mug of steaming tea. He raised an eyebrow at John, who barely glanced up from his breakfast - or early lunch, considering that it was past eleven - and shrugged. "I heard you in the bathroom and I thought that a nice cup of tea is always the best way to start your day, especially after such a night."

Sherlock blinked slowly. No one - especially not his former flatmates - had ever prepared tea for him. Not even after he had landed himself in hospital and had to wear a splint for a couple of weeks. Last night hadn't even been this spectacular - injury wise - if you didn't count the bad cabbie and John's perfectly aimed shot through two windows.

Sherlock's eyes flickered to John, who was busy buttering another toast and who could easily be confused with any other boring man in his thirties - especially dressed as he was in such a horrible jumper - but Sherlock knew that he wasn't like most people. Maybe not as extraordinary as Sherlock, but still special. John would make a perfect flatmate for Sherlock and he might even be willing to help him with his cases, but firstly... Sherlock sighed inwardly and added two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of milk to his tea, before he sat down opposite his potential flatmate.

"John," Sherlock started and closed his hands around the mug to keep them steady - he hated these types of conversations. "I have to tell you something, before we sign the rental agreement."

Light blue eyes looked calmly up at him. "If that's about the fingers in the fridge, I have already noticed them, as well as the ears, by the way. I know that you are a scientist, but... I would prefer if you labeled the body parts in the future." The speech was delivered with absolute calm and Sherlock almost gaped at John. No one had ever accepted body parts in the fridge like this. Even his mother had screamed at Sherlock occasionally and Mycroft had been utterly disgusted - one reason why Sherlock always left at least one experiment in the fridge. His former flatmates had all run away from Sherlock after a month and only the last one - Stephen - had lasted three months, before he had left in disgust as well, although it hadn't been aimed at Sherlock's experiments. The train of thought brought Sherlock back as to why this conversation with John was so important and he took a small sip of his tea to calm his nerves as he returned John's grin with a small smile of his own. "That's not about body parts, experiments or chasing murderers. It's rather more... personal."

John's eyes narrowed at that and Sherlock noticed the exact moment, when he slipped in his role as a doctor as his gaze swept over Sherlock. "Are you ill? Some chronic disease I mean. The Detective Inspector mentioned drug use, yesterday, if you caught something... I'm a doctor, I know how to handle these things. I'm not going to change my mind if you..."

"No, I'm not ill." Sherlock interrupted John, although his words warmed him, but he would never get to the important part, if he allowed John to keep on talking. At least, John's easy acceptance of Sherlock's former drug use and possible diseases had calmed Sherlock`s nerves somewhat. Therefore, his next words fell from his lips, before he could think about them twice. "I'm transgender."

Silence greeted his words and Sherlock forced himself to remain quiet as he watched John absorb the information. So far, John hadn't jumped up and hurried to the upstairs bedroom to pack his things. He also hadn't started laughing at Sherlock or insulting him and he didn't appear to be in shock. All in all, John appeared completely calm and Sherlock was about to relax, when the next words took him by surprise. "So, you are actually a woman?"

Sherlock couldn't help the flinch at this hateful question, which had been directed at him numerous times in countless variations. Really, he should be used to it by now - and he hadn't even cared what his former flatmate had screamed at him - but somehow it was different when this insult came from John. A man, who had killed for Sherlock and probably saved his life. Someone, who had prepared tea for Sherlock and hadn't fainted at the sight of body parts in the fridge. All in all, he was the perfect flatmate and partner for Sherlock, if only... if only, he wasn't transphobic.

Sherlock pushed his mug away and got to his feet, aware that John was watching him with a confused look on his face. Idiot, Sherlock snarled inwardly at the man, did John expect Sherlock to have tea with him, after he had insulted him like this?! Certainly not. Especially, since Sherlock had better things to do... like finding himself a new flatmate or begging Mrs. Hudson to lower the rent, so that Sherlock could stay. She would probably do it, if she was told why John wasn't a suitable candidate.

"Sherlock?" John`s voice sounded bewildered as he stared up into Sherlock's cold eyes and he sneered down at the man. "I'm a man, John. Since you can't accept that, I don't think..."

"No, wait!" John was on his feet faster than Sherlock could blink and his hand on Sherlock's wrist kept him from leaving. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that. He didn't think that John was prone to violence, but if he thought that he would be able to overpower Sherlock, then he was deeply mistaken... although it didn't look like he was attacking Sherlock. The grip on Sherlock's hand was light enough for Sherlock to break it with a twist of his hand and John's eyes were wide with horror and confusion as he met Sherlock's gaze.

"I thought," John licked his lips. "I'm not sure of the correct terminology, but... I assumed that you were... born with XY chromosomes and that you wanted to transition..."

"I have already transitioned!" John flinched at Sherlock's glare and held up his free hand in an appeasing gesture. "I get that now, but at first I thought..."

"You assumed that I was a trans woman?" Sherlock asked, his mind finally catching up with John's words about chromosomes as hope blossomed in his chest. Maybe, this was all just a terrible misunderstanding, although Sherlock didn't dare believing that just now.

"If that means that you changed your gender from man to woman - I told you that I don't know the correct terminology - then yes, that's what I thought you were trying to tell me. I'm sorry," John added and a sigh fell from his lips. "I didn't want to offend you. I should have asked what exactly you meant and... I never wanted to call you a woman, when you are a man."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply and closed it again. He didn't know what to say. John was telling the truth - it was easy to read his open face - and Sherlock wasn't sure how to handle so much acceptance. It was rare that people had accepted him so fast, after being told that he was transgender - not that Sherlock had told many people - and even rarer for them to apologize for their incorrect terminology. Hell, even Mycroft had needed a whole day to wrap his head around the fact that he didn't have a sister - and had never had one - and to embrace Sherlock as his brother - literally.

"Did I muck it up completely?" John's tentative questions, interrupted Sherlock's thoughts and he managed to shook his head. "No, I just... you are fine with it?" It sounded like John was, but Sherlock would rather make sure of it now, instead of throwing John out at some point in the future, because Sherlock had drawn to the wrong conclusion.

"You mean, if it's a problem for me that the gender on your birth certificate doesn't match with the gender on your ID?" Sherlock nodded and John shook his head at the same time, a small smile on his face. "No, it's not, although," Sherlock tensed and prepared himself for the kind of insults he was used to. "Why did you even tell me? I mean," John cocked his head to the side. "As far as I know, it's not something you have to tell someone after they only know you for a day - or at all."

Sherlock gently freed himself from John's grip and sat down in his chair. Now, that he was certain that John wasn't transphobic, he could tell him the whole story and enjoy his tea, while he did so. After a second, John followed Sherlock's example and sat down, a look of curious interest on his face. Sherlock took a mouthful of tea and then shrugged. "I didn't tell any of my former flatmates, most of them fled as soon as they spotted the body parts in the fridge, but the last one... Stephen lasted longer - he is a pathologist - and one day, he walked in on me in the shower." Sherlock gritted his teeth at the memory of a surprised gaps, the assumption that Sherlock was a woman, who hid her gender, in order to be taken seriously by the police, until Stephen had noted the absence of breasts. At this point, Stephen had only had disgust to spare for Sherlock and he had left their shared flat at the evening of the same day... not without making sure that Sherlock knew exactly what Stephen thought of him.

"He didn't take it well, I assume." There was a note of anger in John's voice and Sherlock allowed himself a small smile, when he noted that the anger was directed at Stephen. "No, he didn't. I think he called me a freak at least five times, before he switched to calling me tranny, bitch, slut and every other insult associated with the female gender."

It was John's turn to grit his teeth. "Such a wanker! You don't know his address by any chance?"

A low chuckle escaped Sherlock at the question, but he shook his head, although a warm feeling flooded his chest, when he thought of John paying Stephen a visit. Strange, that John could provoke such emotions from Sherlock, when most people usually earned nothing more than his scorn. He was suddenly even more relieved that he didn't have to throw John out, it would have been a great loss.

"You already killed a man for me, no need to prove your worth any farther." John's eyes widened at Sherlock's phrasing and Sherlock almost bit his tongue at his choice of words. He had made it sound like John was only a tool for him, when he was... Sherlock wasn't sure exactly what John was for him, but at least of more worth than an unanimated object. Before, Sherlock was able to undo his mistake, John grinned cheekily at him. "Yeah, I knew from the start that it would take drastic actions to convince you of taking me as a flatmate."

They shared a chuckle over that and Sherlock had to stop himself from analyzing just how the lines on John's face shifted when he was happy or how pleasant his laughter echoed through the kitchen. Such fruitless observations didn't lead to anything.

"So, we are going to sign the rental agreement?" John inquired, when they had both recovered from their mutual silliness.

"Of course," Sherlock assured him with as much aloofness as possible, although he felt giddy with relief, because he had finally found a flatmate, who didn't only enjoy cases and didn't mind body parts, but who was also fine with Sherlock being transgender.

"Good," John nodded and then collected Sherlock`s and his mug. "More tea for both of us and toast and eggs for you, I guess."

Sherlock groaned. "If I must." John merely raised an eyebrow at him and that was the end of their conversation and the start of their routine as flatmates.

"So, finished!"

Startled, Sherlock blinked down at his leg, which was covered in gauze bandage from thigh to knee. He hadn't even realized John winding it around his leg, not to mention stitching the wound, that lay underneath, back together. His trip down memory lawn had robbed Sherlock of all his observation skills for the present.

"Eight stitches and you are lucky that the knife missed any major blood vessels," John announced in a grim voice and Sherlock noted that he had already put away his medical supplies. "It's probably good that you vanished into your Mind Palace, since I only gave you a small dose of anesthesia, but you can have some pain killers now."

Sherlock accepted the pills and the glass of water gratefully as sparks of mild pain shot through his leg. The next few days would be hell, especially since Sherlock wouldn't be able to run around London. No, he wouldn't even be able to play his violin while waltzing around the flat or working on his experiments for any length of time... Boring!

Instead of voicing any of his concerns - and getting a lecture of how he brought that on himself - Sherlock gulped down his medicaments and then shook his head at John. "No."

His friend raised an eyebrow at that. "No? Did I miss some part of our conversation or did you hold it in your head without me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that. Only because he had done this one time - or maybe two or three times - didn't mean that John had to assume that Sherlock held conversations with him in his Mind Palace, whenever he couldn't follow Sherlock's train of thoughts. "Your former statement." When John frowned in bewilderment, Sherlock huffed an impatient breath. "About vanishing to my Mind Palace, I didn't."

"Oh?"

"I merely recalled our first day as flatmates."

If John had been confused before, he looked completely lost now, but before Sherlock could elaborate, a grin turned John's lips upwards. "Was it the part, where you melted the pan or where you contaminated everything edibles with E. coli?"

Had he really done that? Sherlock frowned in concentration, but he couldn't remember these parts. He didn't think that John had made them up, although these accidents could have happened at any other day during the last year they had spent together. It probably just hadn't occurred to Sherlock to save these memories. Unimportant, in comparison to what had happened in the morning at their first day as flatmates. "I meant the part, when I told you that I was transgender."

"Ah." John's eyes widened momentarily. "You still haven't given me Stephen's address."

A laugh escaped past Sherlock's lips. "I will not risk it, otherwise you are going to do something stupid."

Sherlock didn't know what he had said wrong. One second, John's eyes were twinkling with mirth and the next one, his face was closed off and his lips pressed into an angry line. "John?" Sherlock tried carefully and was met with an angry scowl. Alright, something was definitely wrong and Sherlock didn't have the first clue of what it was. Either the painkillers were slowing down his brain or John was a step ahead of him. Sherlock didn't know which possibility was more frightening.

"You mean something as stupid as running after an armed criminal, who already killed four people in cold blood," John hissed through clenched teeth and for a second Sherlock feared that he would forget his Hippocratic oath and hit him. Instead, John merely balled his hands into fists and kept glaring at a point on the wall, behind Sherlock. "I have told you numerous times to wait for backup. It wouldn't have killed you to wait another minute for me."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest - the killer would have escaped by then - but John kept him silent with a deadly glare. "I know what you are going to say and I'm telling you now that catching a bloody killer isn't more important than your safety." Sherlock frowned at the slight tremble in John's voice and how his eyes flickered to Sherlock's leg. John had often expressed his anger at Sherlock's recklessness, but this time he appeared to be... frightened for some reason. "I was right behind you Sherlock - and so was Greg - and we - I - watched you go down. You screamed and then you toppled over." There was a hitch in John's voice as he recalled the incident and Sherlock was tempted to reach out to him and offer his friend some kind of comfort, but he didn't dare to, for fear that his offer would be rejected. "For a second... God, I thought you were dead, Sherlock!" The words were screamed and Sherlock was glad that Mrs. Hudson was away with Mrs. Turner, otherwise she would have come up to check on them.

"There was so much blood and you... you lay so still - you must have passed out for a few seconds - and I... I didn't know what I would do if you... losing you would have destroyed me." Sherlock looked stunned at John. No one had ever expressed so much emotions for him. Of course, Sherlock was aware that Mycroft, Mummy and Dad would be devasted if he was to die. Lestrade would mourn the days in which he hadn't needed to use his brain and Molly would shed a lot of tears over his body, but... none of them had ever told Sherlock in so many words what he meant to them. Actually, he wasn't certain where John's emotional outburst left them.

"I... you are melodramatic," Sherlock tried to play John's words down, even as his heart hammered away in his chest. "You would find a new flatmate and..."

"Do you think that's all we are? Flatmates?!" John's voice was laced with so many emotions that Sherlock was barely able to identify a fraction of them. There was anger, disbelief, hurt and sadness, all mixed together and Sherlock flinched inwardly at being the cause for them, when all he wanted was to make John smile. "Of course not," Sherlock tried to save the situation. "We are also partners and... friends, but," Sherlock licked his lips and averted his gaze. "You have other friends. You could move on if something were to happen to me."

It was different for Sherlock of course. If John were to be killed - or just left him - then Sherlock would be lost. Without John, his life would be grey and meaningless and Sherlock shuddered when he even thought of it. Still, someday John would find himself a partner - if man or woman seemed unimportant if Sherlock's observations were correct - and leave Sherlock alone at Baker Street. They would only see each other sporadically, before any kind of contact would cease and Sherlock would be nothing more than a chapter in John's life. A closed chapter.

"And they say, you are a genius," John muttered and before Sherlock knew what was happening, soft but determined lips were pressed to his.

It was brief kiss - over much too fast - and Sherlock mourned the loss of contact, when John pulled back. A faint blush stained his cheeks, when he met Sherlock`s gaze. "Sorry, I... that was uncalled for." John's Adam's apple popped up and down, when he swallowed and Sherlock found himself mesmerized by the movement. So much that he almost missed John's next words. "I know that you consider yourself married to your work, but..." A helpless shrug of shoulders and Sherlock cursed his tongue, which appeared to be glued to the roof of his mouth. "I just wanted you to know that you... you are so much more than a friend to me, Sherlock."

It was too much. Too much information. Too much... everything. Sherlock needed time to sort everything out. Time to analyze this change in John's and his dynamic and figure out what it meant, but he didn't have that time now. If John's panicked look was anything to go by, then he was seconds away from fleeing the flat and leaving Sherlock alone and that just wasn't on. Say something, Sherlock's mind urged him, anything at all will do.

"I... My marriage to my work is a rather more open relationship than you might think." Sherlock cringed at how pathetic the words sounded, once they had left his mouth, but if John's hopeful smile was anything to go by, he wasn't put off by them.

"So," John's hand stroked Sherlock's cheek gently. "You say that you aren't averse to the idea of cheating on your work with me?"

Sherlock nodded and then forced himself to press out a verbal reply. "I would be delighted to."

A brilliant smile lit up John's face. "Good," was all he said, before he dipped his head down to claim Sherlock's lips in another gentle kiss.

Their noses bumped together, when Sherlock angled his head to the other side to deepen the kiss and a small chuckle echoed between them, before John rearranged their mouths to lick at Sherlock's lower lip. Sherlock hummed contently into the kiss and turned on his side to tangle his hands in John's hair or at least... he tried to do that. A wave of pain reminded Sherlock of his injury and why he was lying on the couch in the first place. He hissed, when his leg protested against the sudden movement and John moved away from him to watch him with a worried expression on his face.

"It`' fine," Sherlock tried, but John didn't fall for the obvious lie. "No, you are in pain and we shouldn't be doing anything that makes you move carelessly."

Sherlock pouted - although he would have denied it, if asked. Here, he was with John, who was willing to kiss him and just then his bloody transport had to ruin everything. Not that John would have kissed him, if Sherlock hadn't been injured, but still...

"Oh, don't look like that." John's teasing tone, only made Sherlock pout harder. "Your leg will be better in a few days and until then... Lift your head and upper body." Sherlock frowned at the order, but did as he was told. His eyes widened, when John got up from the floor to sit on the couch and then guided Sherlock back in a lying position, with his head bedded on John's thigh. "There, that's nice as well, isn't it?"

Sherlock's only response was a purr, when John's skilled fingers ran through his curls and massaged his scalp. It was really nice, although snogging would have been even better, but Sherlock couldn't really complain. Not, when John's scent surrounded him and Sherlock's eyes were slowly drifting shut, while the tension drained from his body, with every caress of John's hands.