An Emergency of Sorts
John was just casually browsing through his laptop when Sherlock Holmes comes in, bleeding and basically heaving himself across the room to the couch. John's eyes widen and he's immediately by Sherlock's side, his medically trained eyes inspecting his head for any cracks and his wounds for any signs of bullet debris. "What the bloody hell happened to you?!"
The detective just closes his eyes tiredly, wanting nothing more than to sleep the pain off. "Explosion." he mutters simply.
"Explosion?! What explosion? Bloody hell Sherlock, we have to get you to a hospital now!"
Sherlock groans. "Stop overreacting, John. It's just a few scratches."
The doctor could not believe what he's hearing. "A few scratches? You're bleeding, you dolt! Come on, lean on me and we'll go to Bart's."
"No!" he exclaims, almost too quickly. "No. I'm fine, seriously. I just need a few bandages here and there. No bones are broken, I already checked, and the worse thing that could be happening to me is internal bleeding but you are qualified enough to check for that."
John blinks, before sighing. "Are you sure about that? You look really awful, mate."
"Thanks." he replies sarcastically.
"No but seriously, what happened? Where was the explosion? Was it a case? Why didn't you bring me along?"
"The case was hardly a two person job."
"What was it? If it was so easy, then how come you look like you've fallen down from a building again?"
Sherlock doesn't respond, but John wouldn't let this go easily. "I'll go get the first aid kit, and you better have your story ready, or else I'll call Lestrade and we'll drag your stubborn arse to the A&E."
John comes back and once again plays his part as doctor to the danger-loving detective, and it's when he puts the last bandage on him does Sherlock talk. "Molly's cat was caught in the wire of Molly's neighbor's outdoor gas grill. His struggling had somehow turned the thing on and it started overheating."
John blinks. "So you saved him?"
Sherlock responds with a duh look. "If I hadn't, Toby would have been barbecued."
"You're calling him Toby now? I thought you thought naming animals was juvenile?"
"I've grown accustomed to it. You're forgetting that I lived with Molly during my death."
John smirks. "And so you've come to care for the cat."
"Don't be ridiculous, John."
"Oh please. You just risked your life to save a cat. Why would you do that if you didn't care for it?"
"Molly wouldn't want her cat to die."
John's face lights up in understanding. "Ah."
"Get your mind straight, John. I know what you're thinking and you're wrong."
"Whatever you say." A pause. "By the way, what were you doing, lurking around Molly's building?"
"Shut up."
Two hours later, the door to the living room of 221B is flung open by a rather frantic pathologist with a bored cat in her arms. Spotting Sherlock reading something at his desk, she puts down Toby and rushes to him, engulfing him in a hug that is impossibly tight for such a small person. "Oh thank you thank you thank you!" she exclaims, not noticing the slight blush on his face. "John told me what you did. I would have been devastated if Toby had died in that explosion!" she says, giving him one last squeeze before releasing him. "I brought some of my favorite cupcakes as a thank you. I k-know you don't eat much but they're really good, so… uhm, yeah, t-thank you…"
When Sherlock doesn't react for a few seconds, she takes that as her cue to leave and she takes Toby, who was lounging on the comfy 221B couch. "Anyway, t-that's all we came here for. I h-hope you guys enjoy the cupcakes and, uhm… thanks again…" She walks to the door when—
"Wait."
"Yes?"
"I'm a bit hungry. Do you mind if we eat some of the things you brought now?"
She blinks. "Of c-course. I gave them to you, you could do whatever you want with them…"
He nods. "Well then. You don't mind making tea for the two of us, right? Second column, middle drawer. That's where the tea is." he says before turning back to what he was reading before Molly came. As Molly awkwardly moves to the kitchen to do as he said, Sherlock allows himself a small smile. He didn't save Toby for Toby. He saved Toby for Molly, he knows that much.
Toby climbs into his lap and purrs, settling comfortably on his savior's lap. Sherlock blinks. Alright, maybe I do like you a little bit too, you abominable creature.
Note: Toby and Sherlock are definite friends-pretending-as-enemies, in the author's headcanon.
In this wave, the author would like to dedicate every note to thanking the people who have started the challenges too, and also to those who are planning to join, and also to those who are still thinking about it. The more the merrier, as they say, and it definitely inspires her to see people express desire to participate.