Hello everyone. I'm sorry for taking so much time to update...I hope you can remember what happened.

-MW

As strange as it may seem there are spoilers for Shutter Island in this chapter...trust me...just read. But if you haven't seen the ending, I'm severely sorry. And for the record, I SO called the ending half way through the movie. I was thrilled so I decided to add that in.

VVVVVVVVVVV

John POV

The next morning, I was woken up by the sound of breaking glass. I rushed from my room to see what happened, completely expecting Sherlock to be responsible for it. I wondered how many new plates we were going to have to buy.

Sure enough, when I got to the kitchen, where the sound had come from, Sherlock was bent on the floor picking up glass.

"You're an idiot." I said, "Look at your hands, there's glass sticking out of them."

"There is?"

I'll never know how he couldn't have noticed before I pointed it out, but Sherlock had visible shards of glass embedded in his hands. He looked at his hands more thouroughly as if he had just discovered they were there. Then he went back to picking up the glass with his bare hands. There was blood all them. The man was a complete idiot.

"That's enough. Stand up and go sit on the couch. I'll clean it up."

"But then you'll get glass in your hands and you'll be of no use to either of us."

I sighed. Sometimes he was so stupid.

"We have a broom, Sherlock."

I got the broom out of the closet and cleaned the glass while Sherlock watched from the couch. I could tell he hadn't even known we had a broom. It hurt to bend down and pick up all the glass in the dust pan. I ached everywhere and the pain didn't seem like it would diminish any time soon.

Before I went to Sherlock, I pulled out a pair of tweezers, some antiseptic and a long tensor bandage from my work bag in my room. The stairs weren't good for my legs, but that glass couldn't possibly be good for Sherlock's hand and that was most important right now.

When I sat down on the couch, I just stared at him, waiting for him to explain. He clearly didn't understand.

"What the hell? Why were you even in the kitchen at-" I looked at the clock. Jesus. "Two-thirty! Ugh!"

"I was hungry and Mrs. Hudson never wakes up this early. I figured I would try cooking and took a bowl form the cupboard because she always mixes eggs in a bowl before she cooks them but then I saw the stove and I gave up. It wasn't worth burning the house down for eggs."

"So you smashed the bowl?"

"No. Well, yes, but I didn't mean to. I tried to put it away but I didn't open the cupboard enough and I hit my head. Then I put my hand on the inside of the cupboard and a few more dishes fell." He said. He was clearly embarrassed. It was kind of a funny story.

I resisted the urge to laugh at him because if I laughed he'd leave and his hands would get infected. And it would have been my fault. So i kept quiet.

"Give me your hands."

He lifted them and I saw clearly the extent of his injuries. I felt sympathetic towards him-he'd be in pain for days.

"Why didn't you think to stop picking up the glass when it started impaling your hands, Sherlock? That was rather dumb, don't you think?"

"I was distracted."

"With what?"

"Cleaning the glass."

I laughed. I couldn't hold it in. The sheer ignorance of his pain was just-ridiculous. That what Sherlock was. He was ridiculous.

I took up the tweezers and began pulling the first piece of glass from his hands. He flinched and I told him that pulling out the glass would hurt more than when it went in. He closed his eyes at the pain and I studied his face. He looked out of place-in pain and actually showing it. I knew he was ashamed and embarrassed but he really shouldn't be. I was glad to help even if it was at...well, three in the morning now.

When I got to the last piece of glass I hesitated.

"Sherlock this one is going to hurt."

"They all hurt."

"No, look at your hands. Open your eyes."

He saw what I meant. The last piece of glass that was embedded in his hand covered half way across his palm and stuck out about an inch and a half. I purposely left this one until last because I didn't even know where to begin. I didn't want to hurt him but I didn't want him to get infected. And I couldn't leave him to take it out alone. If the glass wasn't taken out gently, it could leave shards behind in his hands. If that happened, there would be no way of getting it out without surgically removing it.

"Just do it." he said quietly.

"Are you sure?"

"Well, it has to come out sooner or later. The longer we leave it in, the more it'll hurt."

I nodded and took the tweezers to his hand. He flinched and gritted his teeth. I slowly pulled out the glass. It actually amazed me how deep it went. I was surprised it hadn't gone directly through his hand. He closed his eyes again and bent his head back, trying to resist the urge to move his hand against the pain. It was obvious he was trying to hide his vulnerability from me. But we lived together. I'd seen him worse.

"All done. Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright." He said, but his hands were shaking. For his sake, I didn't point it out.

"Well, since we're up and it's nearly time to get out of bed-if we had been in bed- why don't we watch a film?"

"Do we own films?"

"Well, no but we can buy one off the telly. I've seen them there before."

Sherlock said that would be fine and began searching the channels for a decent film. Apparently he was picking the movie. He told me he got to chose because he was the 'wounded' one. I did feel bad for him so I just let him.

I got up to get myself a beer while he was busy searching. We could honestly be here all night. He told me to get one for him and I stopped dead in my tracks.

"You drink?"

"Of course. Who doesn't?"

"Well, you don't eat half the time so I figured you'd have some kind of rule about alcohol... maybe that it destroys valuable brain cells or something."

"I obviously have rules and restrictions to my personal alcohol consumption but only when I'm on a case. Otherwise, I'll drink. Can you get me a beer?"

"Uh, sure."

I was a little surprised. I laughed to myself. I was always surprised when it came to Sherlock. Why should his drinking habits be any different?

When I got back, I handed him his beer then risked a glance at his choice of movie on the telly. Shutter Island... God, could he be any stranger?

"You only picked this because you want to solve the surprise ending before the character does."

"You've seen it."

"No, but I've heard about the ending."

"Well I haven't but you can't go wrong with a film about an in investigation to a mental asylum."

I sighed.

"I still can't believe you're drinking a beer." I simply couldn't let the subject go. Seeing Sherlock so casual with his feet upon the coffee table and beer in his hand-it was so weird.

"I told you, I drink only when I don't have a case. In fact, I had a few glasses of wine with Molly last night."

"I'm glad."

"No you're not. You're jealous. Not of Molly for having me, of course, but of me for having Molly."

He was always right.

VVVVVVVVVV

Ooooohhhhhh...What do I mean by that? You'll just have to wait and see. Please review.

_MW