John had been quiet that day. Sherlock didn't know what to think. The doctor was always trying to make him talk (along with eating and sleeping... how boring), but now the man had spent most of the day sitting in his chair silently.
"Why are you doing that?" he asked suddenly.
John looked up, startled by his flat mate's deep, resonating voice.
"Doing what?" he asked. Sherlock pointed to his hand, which was clenching and unclenching in a strange rhythm. One, two, three... One, two... One... One, two, three...
John's hand stopped immediately.
"Nothing." he quickly said. Sherlock tilted his head, daring John to lie again.
"It's something my mum taught me." John was pointedly looking away from Sherlock.
"Show me?" Sherlock asked, surprising John.
"Oh, I... uh... we used to do it while we were... uh... were... holding hands." John stuttered out, blushing. Sherlock blinked slowly a few times, then extended his elegant hand.
John hesitated, then wrapped his smaller, rougher, and warmer hand around Sherlock's. A slight tremor ran up Sherlock's spine, whispering, "This is nice... this is what friends do..."
John swallowed, then cleared his throat.
"Um. It's a sort of code. You squeeze my hand three times. Good. That stands for: 'I..'" John cleared his throat. "'I love you.' Then I squeeze yours two times, like so. That means: 'How much?' Then you squeeze once. Good. That stands for: 'Lots.'"
They tried it several more times, Sherlock's translucent eyes watching his pale hand joined with John's tan one. I love you. John chewed the inside of his lip, trying to remember the last time he had done this. How much? A pleasant feeling spread through Sherlock's chest: "This is nice... this is what friends do..." Lots.
They went through it the fourth time, then Sherlock stood jerkily.
"Well...I should... I should go... do something. Ah, th... thanks." This last bit was just a grunt. Then the detective disappeared into the kitchen.
John was still trying to catch his breath, still trying to get over his shock. And Sarah... Bless Sherlock, he had gotten there in the nick of time. Sherlock had already freed Sarah and let her be taken away by the medics. Now he came over to John, all of his movements precise and fluid.
"Alright?" he asked, his voice so wonderfully soothing and so darn reminiscent of home that John felt every muscle in his body relax and a little sigh escape his lips as the detective's long, slender fingers brushed his wrists as he loosed the doctor's bonds.
"'Course." John gasped out. He closed his eyes, fighting back the urge to vomit. His hand had started to shake, too, which only made him more angry. "I'm fine, fine." he reiterated, just in case Sherlock didn't believe him. He stood up shakily, very aware of Sherlock's presence behind him, his warm breath comforting on the back of John's neck. John froze as a long, slender hand was slipped into his.
One, two, three. I love you. The doctor bit his lip, blinking rapidly. One, two. How much? John's heart constricted and he choked on a sob as Sherlock's hand tightened around his in a warm, protective embrace. Lots.