John woke up with a massive migraine. He tried to open his eyes but his vision swam in front of him and the lights were nearly enough to blind him. He let out a groan. John heard the shuffle of footsteps beside the bed where he lay. "Where am I?" he asked the unseen figure.

"Hospital. You have a concussion."

"Sherlock?"

There was a heavy pause. "Yes."

"Why are you... never mind." John wanted to ask why his teacher was at his bedside, why Sherlock Holmes would come to visit his unconscious body and stay until he awoke. "Did we win?" he asked instead.

John could nearly hear the smirk on Sherlock's face. He didn't need to open his eyes. "Yes," Sherlock responded. "One nil. I believe they're hailing you as some sort of hero now."

John laughed even though it hurt. His skull felt as though it were being compressed when the sound shook through his body. "Well at least I was of some use."

"You stupid boy. You almost broke your skull."

"But I scored the one and only winning goal, the first goal of the season, didn't I?"

"You knocked yourself out."

"A necessary sacrifice."

Sherlock's voice got serious. "John."

"Yeah, Sherlock?"

"They wouldn't let me go on the field. I tried. I needed to know you were okay. They made me wait. Don't... don't do something like that again."

John tried opening his eyes again but it was too painful. "Sherlock, why are you here?" he ventured.

"To make sure you're okay."

John's head was muddled, but it did seem slightly strange to him still. "But you could have checked in and left. Why are you here, now? Why did you wait for me to wake up?"

"I..." Sherlock began. "Because you're different." It came out as a whisper.

"You'll have to explain yourself this time."

"What do you want me to say, John? Because there's nothing I can really say without admitting to uncertainties and internal confusion that I would prefer not to face. I tend to keep all emotions to a minimum, and the ones I've been experiencing lately I don't know how to deal with. So I try to avoid them. And then you're always there, John, and I'm torn between trying to stay away and trying to stay as close as I can. Because you're different and magnetic and you make me feel things and I'm not supposed to feel things. Holmes children don't feel anything."

"Sherlock."

"I can go now if you would like."

"Shut up, Sherlock. When I get out of this damn bed, we're going to dinner."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm asking you out, Sherlock." John wanted so desperately to see the look on his teacher's face. He forced his eyes open and saw the hints of surprise on the normally stoic demeanor.

"That's illegal."

John could feel the heat spread across his face. He squeezed his eyes shut as his migraine grew worse. In his moment of brief bravery, he had been absolutely reckless. It must be his concussion. Who in the right mind would ask out his teacher?

He tried backtracking but wasn't sure how. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean... I don't know what I'm saying. Concussed and all." It was desperate and pathetic.

There was another pause in which John could hear the rapid beating of his heart. Then Sherlock spoke.

"I have been known for breaking a few laws now and then," Sherlock mused aloud.

John forced another look to see Sherlock grinning.

"Are you... what... huh?"

"John, your concussion is showing. Get some sleep. When you're better, I'll show you the best restaurant there is around here."

John heard the footsteps fade away. He let out a sigh. He had won the game. He had scored. And he had (successfully) asked out his teacher. His teacher. He should be scared as hell at that, but instead he was thrilled.

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