"Sherlock, will you please stop fussing? I'm fine!" John hollered when Sherlock insisted on fluffing his pillow for the fifteenth time that hour.
"This pillow is no good, I'll go ask the nurse for a different one." He said stealing the pillow altogether.
"Sherlock, it's fine. I'm fine." John insisted and put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder to make him sit still for a second. The Consulting Detective reluctantly sat for all of five seconds before jumping back up again.
"Tea!" he exclaimed. "That's what you need, tea. I'll go get you some."
"Sherlock Holmes, if you don't sit down this moment, I will literally punch you in the face." John threatened, using his commanding Captain John Watson voice. Sherlock plopped down into the seat and crossed his arms and legs, pouting. He started drumming his fingers against his arm and was twitching to get up.
"Sherlock." John groaned, covering his face with his hands. "You're driving me mad. There's no reason for you to be here, just go home."
"Do you want me to leave?" Sherlock asked, looking somewhat hurt.
"No, I don't. But you obviously don't want to be here." John reasoned, trying to get Sherlock off the hook.
"I never said that." Sherlock countered defensively.
"Sherlock, you can't sit still for a second. You're obviously restless." John pointed out.
"I'm not restless, I'm nervous, there's a difference."
"What are you nervous about?"
"We didn't catch the assassin, in fact we have no idea who sent them after me and the case is still unsolved. What if they come back and actually succeed in killing you?"
John fell silent for a moment, feeling guilty for not telling the truth. But then he couldn't exactly tell Sherlock that Jim had sent the assassin without saying how he knew. So he kept his mouth shut. "Well, they weren't coming after me anyways, they were coming after you. If anything you should be worried for yourself."
"I wasn't the one who got sliced down the middle."
"I'm fine. I'm all stitched up, nothing important fell out, in a few weeks it'll be like nothing happened."
"Apart from the long scar across your abdomen." Sherlock scoffed, up out of his seat again and pacing in front of John's bed. John opened his mouth to say something, probably reassuring or the like, when there was a knock on the door. Mycroft stepped in without waiting for an invitation to do so.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Sherlock asked angrily, hands curling into fists at his sides. He walked over to his brother and if John hadn't known better, he would have sworn Sherlock was trying to shield him from Mycroft's view.
"Sherlock!" John scolded for the rude greeting to his brother, unable to do much more from where he was bedridden.
"I'm here to inquire after the health of Doctor Watson." Mycroft replied calmly and tried to sidestep Sherlock. The younger man jumped in his way again. "Sherlock, you're being childish." Mycroft said with an exasperated sigh.
"You know perfectly well how he is. I'm sure you've been over his hospital records and seen the footage of the scene. So why are you really here?" Sherlock asked, eyeing his older brother suspiciously.
Mycroft rolled his eyes and walked around his brother. "How are you John?"
"Oh, so it's John now, is it?" Sherlock asked in irritation, turning on his heels to glare at Mycroft. "A moment ago it was Doctor Watson."
"I'm fine." John shook Mycroft's outstretched hand and shot Sherlock a warning look. "Thank you for coming by."
"We've been looking for the man who attacked you but with very little success so far I'm afraid."
"I'm sure you're doing your best." John said with a gentle smile. Sherlock snorted from the chair he was currently lounging in, his long legs stretched out straight in front of him, crossed at the ankles.
"Well I just wanted to come by and make sure you were alright."
"Yes, I'm doing well, all things considered."
"I'm very glad my brother hasn't gotten you killed with his antics."
"Oh piss off Mycroft." Sherlock shouted, staring out the window.
"Sherlock!" John yelled again, unsure why Sherlock was in such a fowl mood.
"It's quite alright John. Get well soon." He placed his hand on John's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. John's eyes flickered over to Sherlock and saw the man was watching their brief contact out of the corner of his eye, silently fuming away with the corners of his mouth turned down into a deep frown.
"It was very kind of you to come visit."
"No problem at all."
"Goodbye Mycroft. I'm sure you're busy so no need to come back." Sherlock told him and turned away to pointedly not look as his brother left.
"You could have been a bit nicer." John said when they were alone again.
Sherlock shrugged. "It's Mycroft, I'm never nice."
"You didn't have to be such a twat to him though. People are allowed to visit me in the hospital, you know."
"Your concern for my brother's feelings is really very touching."
"Oh no, not this again. For the last time, I am not shagging your brother!"
"Then who is it?" Sherlock asked, jumping out of his chair and looming over John. "Who are you seeing?"
"It's none of your business! Anyways can't you "deduce" who it is?" John pressed his lips together. That had been entirely the wrong thing to say. It sounded like a challenge when in fact John didn't want Sherlock to know the truth.
"I don't understand why you won't just tell me."
"Because I don't want to. Because I want something for myself Sherlock."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you see everything, you know everything. I don't have a personal life or private thoughts. I came home from Afghanistan and you took over my life. In a lot of ways I let it happen, I know I did. But look at where it's gotten us. It hurts Sherlock, do you understand that? It hurts to be in love with someone who doesn't love you back and I know, I know I never actually told you I loved you and I'm regretting saying it now but Christ Sherlock, you must have known. You had to have known. Being around you isn't easy for me anymore and I'm finally moving past it, finding someone who loves me back and is finally something that's just mine, not ours but mine. I need it and I want it to stay that way because if I lose this and we go back to how things were, I'll lose you too or I'll leave because I won't be able to stand it any longer. But this is making things better, it's what's keeping me with you. If I didn't have him then I would have moved out a long time ago because being in love with you, it's fucking horrible. So please, please, if you value my friendship at all, let me have this."
Sherlock swallowed hard and turned away.
"Sherlock, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I'm just trying to make you understand why I'm not telling you."
"I do, John. I understand." Sherlock nodded, unable to meet John's gaze. "I think I'll just step out for a moment. Can I get you anything?"
"Some tea would be lovely, thanks." John answered, giving his flatmate a tentative smile.
"Okay." Sherlock said quietly before leaving the room.
John sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. He sunk down into the pillows and closed his eyes, feeling drained. He concentrated on his breathing, in and out until he felt relatively normal again. He wasn't sure if he had been too harsh or had overloaded Sherlock with information. All he knew was that Sherlock had looked more than lost when he had retreated from the room and that it was all John's doing.
His eyes snapped open when he felt the bed shift as someone sat down beside him. Instead of a face he was greeted by a dozen dark red roses with baby's breath interspersed between them. Jim peeked out from behind them, a small smile on his lips. "Surprise! I would have come earlier but that stupid flatmate of yours refused to leave."
"Jim. Leave. Now." John said through gritted teeth.
"But I brought you flowers." Jim pouted, placing them on the bedside table.
"Yes and they're lovely, but Sherlock's here, Mycroft just left. You're taking an awfully big risk coming here to see me." John reasoned, eyes glancing at the door every so often to make sure Sherlock wasn't on his way back.
"Oh stop worrying, he's in the cafeteria lost in thought and I made sure the flowers blocked my face from any of the camera's view. We're fine."
"We're really not."
"What do you mean?" Jim's brow furrowed and he stared at John, somewhat perplexed.
"I mean that you sent an assassin after Sherlock. I mean that you're the reason I've been spliced open. I mean that I'm really bloody angry with you!" John kept his voice down but there was real bite to his words.
"What's the big deal? You're fine, Sherlock's fine, we're all fucking fantastic."
"Jim, that's not the point. I could have been killed, Sherlock could have been killed. God, do you have any compassion in you at all?"
Jim rolled his eyes and got up off the bed. "Psychopath, remember?"
"Would you have even cared if your bloody assassin had killed me?"
"Of course I would have cared!" Jim shot back, offended by the accusation.
"Well you're pretty blasé about this whole thing. Do I need to remind you that I'm in the hospital, where you put me?"
"Come on Johnny, don't be like that. I came to see you, didn't I? What more could I have done?"
"You could have, I don't know, not sent trained killers after me and my friend."
"They weren't after you!"
"You're not even going to admit you were wrong." John shook his head incredulous.
"No. Come on, you know I didn't mean for you to get hurt." Jim reached for John's hand but he pulled it away roughly.
"Jim, just go." John said turning away. "I need time, just away from you."
"Are you ending it?" Jim asked, suddenly terrified.
"No, I just…need some space from you for awhile. I need to process, or whatever, and I need to heal. We'll talk about this later."
Jim got back on the bed, crawling up John's legs until he settled, straddling John's thighs. "But you still love me, right?" Jim asked, putting his finger under John's chin and forcing him to meet his gaze.
"Yes." John said quietly.
"I love you too." Jim moved his hand so it was cupping John's face and then leaned in so their lips could meet. He gently pushed John back against the pillows and deepened the kiss. John kissed back without meaning to; it was almost instinctual at that point. His mouth opened and he grew pliant against Jim's lips, moving his own mouth against Jim's, for a moment forgetting how furious he was. Jim pulled away and then leaned back in to nip gently at John's lower lip. "You'll miss me."
With one last kiss to John's forehead, Jim gently eased off the bed. He grabbed a surgical mask and put it on, giving John one last lingering look before he disappeared into the hall. Five minutes later Sherlock entered, glaring at the flowers that now adorned John's table. John was sitting completely still, a little dazed until Sherlock cleared his throat and handed John a cup of tea. John took it and muttered his thanks while Sherlock flopped into the chair next to his bed. Sherlock didn't seem in the mood to talk and for once John was thankful for that. He sipped his tea quietly and every so often his eyes would land on the bouquet of flowers.
XXXX
John was finally home, having been released from the hospital after a few days. He hadn't spoken to Jim in all that time and he was doing his best not to think about him. Although when he'd come home, he'd found a new suit waiting for him on his bed with a note saying it was to replace the one that had gotten ruined. Sure enough it was the same exact suit, tailored to fit him perfectly. He smiled as he hung it up in his closet and had to force himself not to call Jim and thank him. Instead he tidied up the flat, watched telly and tried to keep things from getting awkward with Sherlock. They hadn't spent so much time together in awhile and sometimes it was fine and others it was almost unbearable.
After an excruciating night of awkward silence between them, John went to bed early, not wishing to prolong the evening. He'd left Sherlock downstairs working on some experiment or other. Naturally just before he drifted off to sleep, his thought turned to Jim and wondered what the Consulting Criminal was getting up to in his absence. John imagined a number of horrible things and it made his stomach churn to think of Jim performing any of the gory images running through his head.
"I'm not all bad, you know." Jim said softly from the shadows of John's room.
"I know that."
"I don't think you do."
"What are you doing here?" John asked sitting up.
"Came to apologize."
"You think that's enough to make this better?"
"What if I were to show you how sorry I am?" Jim asked, licking his lips before slipping onto the bed. He pulled the covers down and got on all fours, his face directly above John's groin.
"Jim." John said warningly.
"Let me." Jim said tugging down the waistband of John's pyjama bottoms. He pulled them down and John's erection sprang free. He wasted no time taking John deep, sucking him hard and fast, tongue pressing firmly against the underside. John was groaning, both his hands fisted in Jim's hair as Jim worked his prick, moaning around it and causing the vibrations to surge through John. He dropped down against the pillows and gripped the headboard, already so close.
Jim grabbed the lube from John's nightstand and slicked up his fingers. They pressed against John's hole and moved in small circles until he unclenched and fluttered open. They slipped in and moved against the rhythm of Jim's mouth. The contrasting sensations had John writhing, thrashing against the pillows until he came suddenly and violently, his hips thrusting up into that mouth over and over until he had nothing left.
John was jerked awake and sat up, hissing in pain from the strain it put on his stomach. He glanced down to find his hand grasped tightly around his substantial erection, leaking freely. He groaned and finished himself off quickly before turning on his side, feeling pathetic and deflated. With his clean hand, he reached for his phone and called.
"John?" Jim picked up on the second ring.
"Alright Jim, you win. You were right. I miss you. I want to see you, tonight if possible."
"Of course. I'm sending the car."
"Okay."
XXXX
"Hi." Jim said when he opened the door. He pulled John through and instantly crushed him against it, kissing him hungrily.
"I'm still angry with you." John murmured against Jim's lips.
"I know."
"You're an arsehole."
"I know."
"And you haven't even apologized."
"I know."
"I can't stop thinking about you."
"I know."
"Can you please say something else?" John asked in annoyance.
Jim smirked and kissed John some more. "Fuck me."
"Jim, my stitches haven't even come out yet."
"We'll be careful." Jim insisted.
"Jim."
"Please Johnny, I need it. Take me. Fuck me now." Jim rolled his hips, his cock sliding against John's. John groaned with resignation and grabbed Jim's arm, leading him to the bedroom.
"Strip." He ordered and Jim complied, pulling off his pyjamas quickly and sprawling out on the bed. John divested too, taking care with unbuttoning his shirt. Jim scooted over and slipped it off his shoulders. His fingers traced the long scar across John's abdomen as John yanked open his trousers and pushed them down.
He didn't take much time preparing Jim, just quickly shoved three fingers in straight away, making Jim hiss in pain. He worked his fingers quickly until Jim felt stretched and then pulled them away. He applied an ample amount of lube to his prick, hoping it might compensate for the lack of preperation, and then shoved in. Jim was on the edge of the bed while John stood. He barely had to move his hips to thrust into Jim like this. He had his hands braced on the bed while Jim's legs were parted, his knees clasped to John's side.
Jim had his hands up above his head, twisted in the sheets and John fucked him hard but slow, taking his time. "Yes, Johnny yes. I needed this so bad. Haven't thought about anything else all week." Jim's words came out broken as he threw his head back.
Each thrust was sharp as John snapped his hips. Jim moved one hand down and began stroking himself faster than John's thrusts in. John grabbed Jim's hips and pulled his entire body down to meet him as they collided together. Jim was already coming undone, moaning John's name over and over as he jerked himself with twisting upstrokes. John would have been close too if he hadn't come earlier that night.
John started moving as quickly as he dared, always cautious of popping his stitches open. Jim came with a loud gasp as his come shot out and spilled over his chest, all the way up to his chin. His hole fluttered and spasmed around John's cock as he shoved into the overwhelming tightness. Jim's legs held him tighter until John came, hips stuttering uncontrollably through his release.
John pulled out and dropped onto the bed next to Jim. The other man grabbed a few tissues and cleaned up the mess he'd made all over his front. He'd missed a bit at the hollow of his neck and John dragged his finger though it and brought it to his lips. Jim groaned at the sight of John sucking the come off his finger and rolled over to fit his body against his.
"Don't do that again Johnny." Jim said after a moment of silence passed between them.
"Do what?"
"Push me away like that. There's no space between us, we own each other, don't create one. Don't leave me like that again."
"Well then don't send assassins after my best friend."
"Everything would have been fine if you'd hadn't gone blundering in there like an idiot. "
"Jim, just say you're sorry."
"I am. I am sorry that you got hurt. It wasn't my intention. I'm not sorry for what I did though."
"Jim."
"What? I'm not."
"Jim, you have to stop trying to kill Sherlock."
"Why?"
"Because if you keep trying one of these times you might succeed and if you ever did kill Sherlock, I'd never forgive you. So you have to decide what's more important to you."
Jim was quiet for a moment, contemplating this before he spoke. "You have no idea, do you?"
"About what?"
"How much I need this, need you. I need distractions. For a long time Sherlock was my distraction. I'd never met anyone who could keep up with me intellectually before. Mycroft might have been one except he hardly comes out to play, the lazy bastard. And then there's you. I'm fairly certain loving you will destroy me, tear me apart from the inside out. You've ruined me John Watson, completely ruined me. Do you understand that? I can't even go a week without you. You're under my skin, inside my lungs, over every inch of me. So don't disappear on me like that."
"You knew where I was." John pointed out
"Yes but you weren't here, were you? I need you here, by my side. Always John, always. So I don't care how angry you get with me, don't go away like that again. I can't stand it."
"I won't. I'm not going anywhere." John promised, running his hand up and down Jim's back soothingly.
"I'm sorry John, I'm so sorry." Jim said, burying his face in the crook of John's neck.
"I forgive you."