"My leg hurts," Watson complained for not the first time that night as he shifted again in his chair.
"Did you try the ice?" Sherlock asked not looking up from his perch next to the sink.
"Yes I tried the ice; it isn't even taking the edge off. Do you have any pain killers?" Watson asked rubbing at the old bullet wound on his thigh. Determinedly not asking why on earth Sherlock was sitting on the counter.
"No. though I would think the corner store does." Sherlock said still as unmoving as a statue.
"Well I should think they do, which wouldn't be so much of a bother if my leg didn't hurt. And since you're not likely to volunteer, do you have anything else that might help?" Watson could hear the irritation is his voice; it did finally seem to draw Sherlock's attention.
"I would try heat if I were you John." Sherlock said tapping the kettle with the chopstick he was holding. "That and some massage might do you good. I usually find both quite instrumental in reliving body aches."
"You couldn't have mentioned that when I was hopping about making ice earlier? Could you at least put the kettle on?"
Sherlock mutely turned the stove on and continued to read.
"uh, thank you." Watson said puzzled, Sherlock was being even more uncommunicative than usual this evening. "I'll be right back down." He added as he started the painful trek upstairs for his hot water bottle. By the time Watson made it back down again the water was nearly ready, the water bottle had been at the bottom of one of his boxes. When he entered the kitchen and made to pour the water however Sherlock hopped off the counter suddenly.
"I've got it, sit down." He said taking the bottle and practically shoving Watson into a chair at their dining table.
"Thanks," Watson said when the bottle was returned to him, now full of steaming water. "You don't happen to know a place where I can get a massage at this hour?" He asked Sherlock, half joking.
"Not any place that actually gives massages," he replied. "Though I do know one young lady, Snow Lilly, whom I imagine would be quite adept. Would you like to give her a call?"
Watson blinked, "you imagine?"
"I've never actually been to her for a massage." Sherlock said giving Watson a strange look over the top of his book.
"Oh, oh…I see." Watson stammered, "Well then I should think not, no." he was having trouble picturing Sherlock with a woman, or with a man for that matter. He hadn't thought of Sherlock as the sort of person that would have such desires.
"Well I could do it myself then, I did study massage briefly and this will afford me a chance to practice my technique." Sherlock offered matter- of-factly.
"I, uh, no, no that's quite alright. I think. Wait, you studied massage?" Watson tried to shift uncomfortably and only succeeded in sending a bolt of pain through his left leg.
"Yes, for a short time. It would be most effective if you would change into something a bit more pliable, tracksuit bottoms or pajamas should do." He eyed Watson who was still sitting, staring at Sherlock motionless. "Well go on then!" he said hopping off the counter again, "I'll be ready when you are." And with that he took off his jacket and began to roll up his sleeves.
"I, well…Um, okay. I'll just be a minute then." Watson said making for the stairs and wondering why he was agreeing to this.
When he made it back downstairs he found that Sherlock had cleaned their dining table off and added leaves to it.
"Lay flat on your back." Sherlock said looking over his shoulder; he seemed to be warming his hands over the stove.
Watson made his way over to the table and gingerly lay down on it, all the while asking himself why on earth he was doing this, and hoping that nothing corrosive had been spilled during one of the detective's many chemistry experiments.
"The answer is quite simple really," Sherlock noted turning around and glancing at the look on Watson's face.
"The answer?" Watson asked, playing for time, though he was quite sure what Sherlock meant.
"Yes, you are uncomfortable with this mostly because of my gender, rather boring really. However you would feel no better if I were female. Your leg pains you and you know, even if only implicitly, that I am the most likely person to be able to assist you. Quite simple as I said."
"How do you know I'm uncomfortable just because I don't trust you?" Watson knew that Sherlock would see though his ploy in a second, but he couldn't help feeling annoyed at being called boring.
Sherlock let out a small sigh "I see that I have to explain you to yourself, short version then." he allowed himself a minute eye roll in place of saying 'how dull' "very well," he went on " in simple terms, you are not the type of person that easily trusts however you trust me in spite of yourself. Can we move things along now?" Sherlock gestured to Watson's leg; Watson looked down at himself and realized that without knowing it he had clapped his left hand firmly over the old wound.
"Um, yes. Yes let's, let's move things along then." With a force of will Watson removed his hand from his leg and folded his arms behind his head. As near an approximation of relaxation as he could manage.
Sherlock smirked slightly at this and turned the stove off, briefly probing the area above Watson's left knee with his fingers Sherlock soon turned his knuckles into the muscle and began to knead slowly.
Watson tensed, the kneading hurt but it also started to unlock a deep muscular knot in his leg and slowly he convinced himself to relax to Sherlock's touch.
"Good, it'll hurt less if you relax." Sherlock said running his knuckles up the back of John's thigh along the tendon the bullet had nicked on its way through.
Watson jumped at this and he did not manage to resist the reflex to pull away from the accidental invasion.
Sherlock straightened up quickly when Watson squirmed away and waited for the doctor to resettle himself.
"The tendon at the back of your leg appears to have been injured when you were shot." He tilted his head to the side slightly; it looked as though he were trying to see into Watson's leg.
"Yeah, part of the hamstring was damaged badly as the bullet passed through." Watson uneasily lay down again, "that's the bit that really buggers me."
"Yes it would, did much scare tissue form in the area?" Sherlock had started again at Watson's knee having decided that working down through the calf would be the better route. It seemed to work and the doctor slowly relaxed again.
"What sort of infection was it that sent you home from Afghanistan?" Sherlock asked once Watson had relaxed enough to shut his eyes.
Watson didn't open his eyes and simply shook his head, "it was Typhoid, I was recovering from the shot to my shoulder when we were struck by an outbreak of it."
"You developed your limp while recovering then."
"Yes, right on all counts, something do to with the infection made the leg flare up." Watson chuckled, and without thinking said, "you know usually I have a bloke buy me dinner before we get to this point." Instantly regretting it as the other man looked up.
"I did the shopping this week," Sherlock said slyly.
"oh well then by all means," the doctor said dryly, throwing an arm over his face.
"Don't worry John," Sherlock said sensing his flat mates' unease. "I'll make you dinner before taking you up on that offer."
Watson wasn't quite sure how to respond, so he bit his tongue and didn't ask if Sherlock could cook, instead settling for a simple "I see." And with that finally allowed himself to slip into a half dream as Sherlock worked at the knotted tendon.