Notes: Sorry I took so long to update, I've been busy with school! I probably will do another chapter, but it would be the last. It's a short fanfic. Hope you like it!
John had forced Sherlock to stay put in the apartment. The very first thing John did was wrap Sherlock's foot with warm towels, then even warmer towels, then burning hot towels. Sherlock hissed and demanded why John was doing this "absurd and elementary treatment" but John replied briskly that he was the doctor and his patient had to shut up. John then proceed to medicate Sherlock up with pain meds and to move the dizzy Sherlock to bed, making sure to keep the feet warm.
Sherlock awoke to the burning sensation of a very hot towel touching his feet.
"John," Sherlock mumbled. "I'm sure my feet are fineā¦"
John snorted from across the room, he was apparently fixing new warm things of Sherlock's feet. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
John was worried, the frostbite was minimal and should heal pretty fast, but Sherlock's stubborn stupidity about the shoes worried. Yes, he knew that Sherlock is very much like a child, but all this for shoes? The fact that Sherlock would allow himself to be hurt so in the name of such a small matter worried John, for even though Sherlock was safe, what else would he do? If he could endanger his life for shoes, how extreme could he get? What would he do if his friends were in danger?
At this John promptly got up from his seat in the main room, trying to distract himself. He should not think of this, Sherlock was just being Sherlock, right?
It was about a week after the incident. Sherlock's feet have recovered enough so he could walk once more, but John still ordered him home. Lestrade tried to call them again about the murder, but John answered with a 'Sherlock's unable to come, he's injured', which led to more questioning on Lestrade's side. John just said Sherlock hurt his feet, which satisfied to other end of the phone conversation. All of this happened while Sherlock was enjoying the universe of Netflix, unaware of the outside world.
After that call, John yelled out that he needed to go shopping and he left, leaving Sherlock staring at the computer screen. It wasn't until ten minutes later when Sherlock called out to John that his feet were getting cold that he realized that John wasn't home. Flipping through his memories, he finally came to the solution that John must be shopping. That still left his feet cold, in need of some sort of warmth. Sherlock hesitated, then shuffled over the bed.
Underneath the bed was the Ugg's. John decided that the boots would be returned, but he never got to it; which was lucky for Sherlock. He quickly pulled out the box and took out the boots, walking back to the couch with the much-hated shoes in hand. Once sitting down, Sherlock slipped the boots on. Since they felt like slippers, they were going to be his slippers.
Sherlock has decided that he is okay with them, for this function. The sheep fur inside kept his feet toasty and happy, and he never felt such boots before. After about fifteen minutes of watching Netflix and wearing the boots, Sherlock came to a final conclusion: he likes them.
