Sherlock Holmes never did anything anyone asked of him unless he was already thinking of doing it himself. He never said "Please.", "Thank you.", or "Sorry." no matter how much they whined, grumbled, or screamed at him. He never felt guilty because everyone deserved what they got and if they didn't, well it was their problem. No one could break Sherlock or wiggle their way through his defenses. Then he met John Watson.

"Sherlock? Why is there anarm in the fridge?" John called, annoyed and amused at the same time.
"Experiment. I'll just have a cuppa, John." Sherlock said without opening his eyes from his place on the couch.
"Why do I even bother?" John muttered under his breath as he started making them tea. Sherlock had heard him and sensed his exasperation. An emotion stole over him that he couldn't name, troubling him a great deal. He mentally wrestled around with it for a couple minutes until he felt a nudge on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see John down at him holding two mugs full of tea. Sherlock's heart tugged a little at the scene he saw. He stretched a hand out for the blue mug, it was his favorite, but John pulled it out of his reach with a smirk
"What do I have to do?" Sherlock said grudgingly, irritation creeping into his voice.
"Say: please" John said with a bemused smile
"No." Sherlock said crossing his arms. He looked like a little boy pouting.
"Fine, I'll just go dump your tea out the, since you won't be needing it." John said, making to turn away trying to hid a smile. Sherlock grabbed his arm to stopping him before he could take a step.
"Fine. Please." Sherlock growled.
"Please what?" John said innocently
"Please, can I have my cup of tea." Sherlock snarled viciously, but John just laughed
"Now, say: Thank you" sand John, completely amused at Sherlock's revulsion to manners
"Thank you." Sherlock said through gritted teeth, wincing like the words physically hurt him. John laughed and handed Sherlock his mug, while Sherlock glared at him fiercely. Sherlock took a sip and pondered what had just happened Why didn't I just keep refusing him? Why did I give in? I could've made myself a cup of tea. To Sherlock's surprise a voice in the back of the head said Because it's John. You also didn't want his efforts to go to waste. Sherlock ignored this.

After a case with a particularly vicious serial killer Sherlock and John returned home to their flat. Sherlock flopped down on the couch and removed his hand from his shoulder, where he had a wound he managed to hide from John and the turned to say something to Sherlock, but stopped as he caught sight of the blood on Sherlock's hand and traced it to his shoulder. He didn't say anything, but his skin got paler by more than just a couple shade. He ran up to his room for the emergency kit and came back with the box gleaming in his hands. He treated the wound for an hour, touching it with great care. He treated Sherlock like he was made of glass and at the slightest touch, he'd shatter right under his fingers. Once he was finished he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock noted the look on his face was mixed with worry and anger.
"Why didn't you tell me?" John asked softly, looking Sherlock straight in the eye. There was that nameless emotion tugging at Sherlock again, He didn't like it, it mucked up his brain. Why hadn't he told John? a voice whispered back Because you didn't want John to worry...and you didn't want to sen to the hospital. The second reason made sense, but the first...Why would I care if John worried about me? the voice whispered back Because your not a heartless bastard like everyone thinks...While this internal battle raged, John and Sherlock stared silently at each other. Sherlock didn't know what to say, but he was becoming uncomfortable under John's harsh gaze. He wanted to squirm, but he forced himself to stay still. After a few minutes, John shook his head and out his head in his hands.
"Whatever, Sherlock. Keep your mysterious reason to yourself, but just know i"m still waiting for an apology for scaring me half to death." Sherlock smiled.

The monitors screamed, but someone might as well've punched Sherlock in the gut. He cursed himself. He had messaged Moriarty out of selfishness. To prolong the game, stave off the boredom. He didn't think for an instant about John. He didn't think John would get kidnapped or risk his life for Sherlock or barely make it out alive. He'd spent two days in the hospital and John still hadn't woken. He hated himself deeply at the present.
Sherlock hadn't eaten or slept, but that was nothing new. The problem was the worrying. The strain of having John in the hospital and beating yourself up about it because it was all your fault. Stuck in the hospital room with nothing to do but hope, Sherlock had finally identified the nameless emotion as guilt. For hours he examined it, poked it, prodded it, tested it, and memorized it. For the sake of science or himself, he couldn't say.

When the doctors came in to treat John, Sherlock thought it was wrong. Doctors shouldn't have to treat his doctor. The doctor that was always taking care of Sherlock whether he wanted him to or not. It felt odd to finally have to take care of him. Odd that their places were reversed. Odd that he was now having to deal with emotion that he hadn't had before. Odd how all the wrongs you've done to a love one come back to haunt you. Odd how his life had changed.

On the third day John finally woke, but Sherlock found the only think he could say was "I'm sorry" in a thick raspy voice that didn't belong to him over and over again, whle his eyes pleaded with John. John just managed to give Sherlock and odd look and half-smile before falling back to sleep. This happened more than a few times this that day, each encounter longer by a minute or two until Johna and Sherlock would sit there looking at each other for who knows how long. Sherlock murmuring "I'm sorry." and their eyes having silent conversations.

On the fourth day a doctor came in to talk to Sherlock early that morning.

"We need you to keep John awake during and operation in" he looked at his watch "five minutes." The doctor said getting right to the point. Sherlock looked at him blankly and said
"Why?"
"Because if John falls back to sleep during this operation, he dies." The doctor finished grimly. Sherlock nodded and prepared himself. He took a swig of water fro the first time since entering the hospital, he would need his voice. He scooted closer so it would be easier for John to hear him. He tried to wrack his brain, but couldn't concentrate and just sat there looking at John until the doctors arrived to start. The doctors shocked John awake, making Sherlock wince and Sherlock bagan.
"John. John! Hey, I'm sorry. Okay, I really am. I can;t believe I got you into this. Why the hell do you out up with me?" Sherlock said frantically, but he could see John nodding off. He patted John's face, jerking him awake. He quickly wracked his brain for something that would keep him awake. Song lyrics came to mind. They belonged to a song they're heard when they first met and John was quite fond of it. Sherlock took a deep breath and sang:
I've been coming up short
Here on the road
So far from anything I could know
And I need your voice singing out loud
Calling me up just to say you're proud

And soon I'll be away
Flying so high above
Spinning round
and oh all that I need
Your arms to bring me back
To solid ground

And oh, love
We're gonna make it
I feel it down in my bones
It's been so long since I felt something
And suddenly you feel like home

Take me away
Take me away
'Cause I wanna know where you are
It's been so long
I started falling apart
You were so strong
Said it would all fall in place
If I followed my heart...

While Sherlock was singing he realized he wasn't just singing for John, he was doing it for himself too. He sang for them softly, but sufficiently. He cut and edited the song int his own little put all the feeling and words in it he didn't know how to express. He put all the hidden desires, thoughts, and emotions into it. He finished with John smiling widely up at him, his happiness etched on his features.
"Did you like it?" Sherlock asked quietly. John nodded still smiling.
"Again." croaked John. So Sherlock obliged. Sherlock sang until the doctors were done and John could sleep. He sang until John nodded off into sleep. After that he murmured it to himself under his breath, watching his confusion weave the truth in his head.

On their way home from John finally getting out of the hospital, John noticed Sherlock staring at him intently.
"What are you thinking?" John asked curiously
"Just wondering why you put up with me." Sherlock replied, going for honesty instead of lies. John smiled.
"I love you too, Sherlock."