Prompt:
Sherlock always keeps his arms covered with long sleeves- shirts, jackets, coats, dressing gowns, etc. When John finds Sherlock in a short sleeved t-shirt, John is shocked at what he saw.
It had been six months of the detective and doctor living together, and three months of their established relationship. John was sitting in his armchair, staring into the distance and remembered the first time Sherlock and him kissed. It had been an accident at first. They'd fallen into 221B after solving another case, both of them had had a glass or two of wine leaving the both of them fully aware of their actions, just slightly care free. Sherlock landed on top of John, and started to kiss him. He was woken from his memory with the smashing of glass and the shouting of swear words to John.
"Shit! No, that's my bloody experiment! John, get your bloody arse through here and clean up this mess," Sherlock stormed into the living room, "and look at my bloody shirt! Ruined." John sighed and lazily got up.
"Go put a different shirt on, I'll clean up here." John started to clean up the weird grey liquid, and found latex gloves to pick up the glass.
"John! I don't have any spare shirts!"
John looked away, and shook his head.
"Go into my room, into the chest of drawers, TOP drawer, and get a t-shirt." John smiled to himself as he continued to clean up the shattered glass beaker and Petri dish. Sherlock walked slowly up the stairs to John's room; he'd never been in there before. He opened the door to find everything neat, tidy and organised, just how John would've been taught in the army. Sherlock took a deep breath and he was overwhelmed by the smell of John. He smelt like a wood fire, he smelt like warmth, comfort and home.
Sherlock opened the top drawer, and found that all of the t-shirts were short sleeved. He sighed and realised John would have to find out one day. He pulled on a light blue t-shirt, which was surprisingly the right size. He wandered slowly downstairs, picked up his violin and started to play. John finished picking up all the pieces of glass and walked back to the living room, sitting down and closing his eyes, listening to the music. When the piece came to the end, John opened his eyes, and gasped at what he saw.
Sherlock looked stunning in that light blue t-shirt, but that wasn't what John gasped at. It was the state of his arms. John slowly moved to sit next to Sherlock, and gestures to see his arm. Sherlock sighed and showed his wrist to John, exposing all the burn marks, the cuts and the track marks. All of them were scars other than one place on his wrist, right above were his veins joined together. There were cuts over cuts, and the words freak jumped out. These cuts were only a few days old, but they were deep. John true to remember what they did two days ago. Then he realised that it was the day they finished their last case, and they'd met Anderson. Fucking Anderson. That bastard who always called Sherlock a freak. Couldn't he see that Sherlock had a heart?
John looked up into Sherlock's grey eyes. There were tears running down his face; he looked so vulnerable and delicate.
"Sherlock... I should've realised earlier how much those comments hurt you." John pulled out a packet of tissues from his trouser pockets, took one out and started to dry Sherlock's tears. He pulled Sherlock onto his lap, and hugged him close. John's phone's alarm went off to remind him to get ready to go to surgery.
"Sherlock, will you be ok?" Sherlock didn't reply or even acknowledge that John had said anything. John moved Sherlock onto the sofa, and started to walk away, but Sherlock grabbed his hand. John looked from his hand up to Sherlock, and could see Sherlock was on the edge of crying.
"Please. Please don't go. I n-need you. Please." Sherlock looked up at John as a tear fell. John looked away from Sherlock's gaze.
"Sherlock, I have to. It's my job, and it's the only way of paying the bills. I can't lose it."
"Please John... I n-need you. Please don't go. Not now. Not when I've just t-told you my greatest secret. Please... I l-love you." Sherlock let go of John's hand, curled up into a ball on the sofa and started to cry in his knee's, letting go of the wall he'd put between his heart and the world. He just let go. He didn't realise John was speaking on the phone he was that engrossed in the feelings he'd finally let free.
John pulled him back onto his lap and gently kissed the top of his head.
"I've spoken to Sarah, and so long as you aren't rude to the patients, you can come to work with me today."
Sherlock looked up at John slightly confused.
"W-why?" He spoke weakly.
"Because I want you with me. I need to see you, and make sure you're ok."
"But why J-John? No one else shows any c-care or f-feelings towards me."
John frowned and then smiled slightly at Sherlock.
"I'm not everyone else, I'm me. I love you, and I couldn't possibly leave the person I love at home when they're crying, can I? Come to work with me. It'll only be for a few hours. You could make some deductions about people, help me with my diagnosis." Sherlock looked up at John, straight into his eyes and smiled weakly.
"You mean that? You l-love me"
"Yes, yes I do." And at that moment John slowly moved closer to Sherlock, placing forehead to forehead before gently kissing Sherlock. He moved to whisper in his ear.
"I love you. I love you so much, more than words can ever describe. Now will you come to work with me?" Sherlock smiled a proper smile, through his years and pulled John close to him.
"Yes, I'm coming. And John?"
"Yes Sherlock?"
"I love you too."