Couple 1
"Mycroft!" Greg calls Mycroft into their bedroom to help him button his shirt. That's the curse of having no use of your right hand, you can't button your own shirt. Luckily Greg is left handed and everything else is fine, it's just buttoning…not so easy.
"You know this is your brother's fault," Greg says as Mycroft finishes his buttons.
"He was actually trying to save you, Greg. It is his fault you fell; not his fault that you were shot at; not his fault that your hand broke your fall."
"Still. He should be the one helping me with…buttons," Greg spits out the last word in a frustrated tone as he tries to fasten his jeans.
"Here, let me."
That's how the past couple of days have been: Greg getting frustrated and Mycroft saying, "Here, let me." Greg doesn't like to feel so helpless, he doesn't like that Mycroft has to take care of him because his stupid broken hand. And then he gets angry and blames Sherlock, even though it really wasn't his fault Greg was being shot at and Sherlock actually did save him.
Mycroft doesn't mind helping Greg because he's hurt; it's just the cursing of Sherlock that gets him angry. However, he knows Greg is just frustrated so he lets it slide.
"It's not going to be broken forever," Mycroft reminds him.
"Yeah, but it might be out of use for a while. Might need to get surgery…"
"It could be worse," Mycroft says, "You could have been shot."
"I would have never forgiven your brother then."
"You'd have been dead and I wouldn't have forgiven him," Mycroft tenderly kisses the tips of Greg's fingers that are poking out of his black cast.
Greg gives Mycroft a faint smile and stares down at his hand. Still no feeling in the tips, that can't be a good sign, he thinks. But each day he and Mycroft try to provoke the nerve endings in the tips of his fingers and each day they fail. Nonetheless they won't give up until it's done.
"Hey," Greg says with an excited tone, "You wanna write on my cast?"
Mycroft gives Greg a confused look, "Write on it? Write what?"
"Dunno. Whatever you want."
"Greg, we are not children, we don't need to—" he is cut off by Greg pushing a silver Sharpie Marker into his hand. "Alright, if you insist," he says, taking the cap off the marker and motioning to draw on Greg's cast. He stares at the blank cast for a few minutes until he informs Greg, "I'm afraid I'm not very creative."
"Come on, just draw something."
Mycroft starts with a single line from the tip of Greg's middle finger to the end of the cast by his elbow. He sits up and smiles at the line.
"What? Is that it? That's how creative you are?"
"I told you, Greg."
Finally Mycroft's imagination makes an appearance and he draws random lines and squiggles on Greg's cast. He's very pleased with his work and Greg is pleased because he is pleased.
After a while they go to bed, and in post-sex energy, Greg gets an idea. He jumps from the bed and gets a Hi-Liter pen and a black light from the spare forensics kit he has. Mycroft's laying on his stomach so Greg straddles his back and begins to draw on Mycroft's back with the Hi-Liter.
"Greg? What are you doing? That kind of…tickles."
"Does it? You'll have to do me next."
"What are you writing?"
"Nothin'."
Greg shines the black light on Mycroft and the Hi-Liter glows to show a mock Orion's Belt on Mycroft's back.
"Well? What is it?" Mycroft questions.
"The extent of my astrological knowledge."
Mycroft thinks for a minute before asking, "Is it Orion's Belt?"
"How'd you know?"
Mycroft wiggles beneath Greg. "I can feel it."
"My turn then, I want to feel. Draw something and I'll guess what it is."
Greg lays stomach down on the bed and lets Mycroft sit on top of him. Mycroft gets to work on drawing a map of Europe, complete with borderlines and bodies of water. He begins to get to work on the major roads, but Greg stops him.
"Hey, hey! What are you drawing back there?"
"I thought you were supposed to guess."
"I have no idea what it could be! There are so many lines and—" Greg cuts himself off and smiles, "Is it a map?"
"Very good, Greg. I'm impressed. What is it a map of?"
"Let me think," Greg pauses for a few minutes, then continues, "Is it Europe?"
"Very, very good, Greg!" Mycroft gets off Greg and lays on his back. "My turn again. I'll keep my eyes closed."
Greg smiles and hovers over Mycroft. He draws a heart over Mycroft's heart, and he writes over the heart. He writes backwards hoping it'll throw Mycroft off, but it doesn't.
"'Property of Gregory Lestrade', really Greg that is sweet of you, but I hardly think I'm—"
Greg captures Mycroft's mouth in a kiss and smiles behind it. When they part, Greg pushes his index finger into Mycroft's chest, "This heart belongs to me."
Mycroft smiles and takes hold of Greg's casted arm. "You big romantic," he says, kissing the tips of Greg's fingers.
"Hey, I kind of felt that!" Greg says before collapsing next to Mycroft and sort of thanking Sherlock because without Sherlock saving him and making him break his arm, him and Mycroft wouldn't be having this fun right now.
Couple 2
Sherlock really likes John's attention. Like all the time. If John's not talking to him and talking to, say, Greg or anybody else, Sherlock will do something ridiculous so that John will say, "Ok, time for us to go home now." And Sherlock likes to take as much attention as he can get. Sure, he'll take attention away from others right in that instant and right in that instant it'll work, but it won't last long. So Sherlock finds ways to coax more attention from John.
Sometimes it's not planned. Like tonight when they're chasing after a criminal, Sherlock a few feet ahead of John and right on the criminal's tail. John sees Sherlock fall from far away but he can't do anything because Sherlock is too far away, but then John sees Sherlock get up and start running again so he keeps after Sherlock. Finally John catches up with him, and Sherlock caught up with the criminal, then Greg catches up with them and the man is arrested, yada yada yada…
On the cab ride home, Sherlock realizes that his leg hurts a lot. The only reason he can think of it hurting is that he may have hit it when he fell. He begins tugging on his jeans, but there's nothing he can do in the cab so he leaves it alone.
"Are you ok, Sherlock?" John asks, concerned.
"Hmm? No, perfectly fine."
And then the pain ends because John is kissing him.
When they get home, Sherlock finds it difficult to get out of the cab and into 221B. He makes it into the building but with one glance of the stairs he feels ill.
"Are you ok, Sherlock?" John asks again.
"Oh, fine." Sherlock braces himself for the pain and climbs the stairs one at a time. He doesn't want to tell John how bad his leg hurts because he knows that if he doesn't, later John will say, "I should have known…" and he'll do everything he can to make it up to Sherlock.
Once he's at the top and into their living room he begins to feel like headed, but he pushes it away because John is kissing him again while simultaneously trying to pull his clothes off. Sherlock stands and lets the smaller man strip him, but when John gets his pants down, John gasps and looks up at Sherlock.
"What is it?" Sherlock asks. He glances down at his leg and sees a gash the length of his middle finger on the shin and he is sure he can see his own bone, which is snapped, but he's not sure because the next thing he knows he's opening his eyes in a hospital bed.
"John?" he asks.
"Here, I'm right here," John says, grabbing Sherlock's hand and squeezing.
"What's going on?"
"Well, I learned that you have a very high pain tolerance, and that even though you play with dead body parts for fun, you can't stand the site of your own injured body."
"What do you mean?"
"You broke your shin, took one glance at it, and fainted."
"I didn't." Sherlock demands.
"You did. I had to pull all of your clothes back on and call an ambulance. That would have been embarrassing," John brushes a few curls away from Sherlock's face, "Why didn't you tell me your leg hurt, baby?"
There it is, Sherlock thinks. There's John sucking up because he feels bad because Sherlock hurts. There's John being affectionate with his boyfriend because his boyfriend is an idiot and didn't say anything when his leg first started to hurt.
"I didn't feel it," Sherlock lies.
John looks at him sympathetic. "I'm sorry, love."
Sherlock takes John's hand. "It's alright, you didn't know."
"I should have. I'm a doctor and more than that I know you better than you know you."
"You see and you know, but you do not—"
"Are you trying to lecture me, now? I'm trying to console you and apologize because, yes, I should have observed you cracking your shin in two, but I didn't, so if you don't mind I'd like to go back to pampering your daft ass." John ends the long sentence with a light kiss to Sherlock's forehead.
Sherlock smiles at him and tries to sit up more in bed but finds that he can't because his leg is constricted.
"Here, here," John says, "Let me." John pulls more pillows up to put behind Sherlock's back to help him sit up more. He does everything so caring and tenderly, Sherlock soaks it up like it's the only sort of compassion on Earth.
"I love you," Sherlock breathes as John fluffs his last pillow.
"I love you, too, my poor little baby."
Sherlock takes John's face in his hands. "Little baby? John, I'm hardly—" Sherlock cuts himself off by kissing John.
"Stop, stop," John says, "Wouldn't want you to get excited in your hospital gown. These things leave nothing for the imagination."
"Orgasms help with pain, John, and breaking my shin has cause me a lot of pain—"
John's cheeks go red and he halfheartedly tries to pull away from Sherlock, "Sherlock, not at the hospital."
Sherlock laughs lets John go. "Fine, when we get home, then."
However, when they get home Sherlock finds he doesn't want to move much unless it's to reach for his phone or to lift his tea. But John is there to take care of him, that's for sure.
Couple 3
Normally, Jim wouldn't give a rat's ass how Sebastian feels. Sebastian's sick? Alright. Sebastian's dislocated his shoulder? Just a regular Tuesday. However, Sebastian gets shot? The world stops.
"Are you alright?" Jim asks, right in Sebastian's face.
"I'm fine, I'm fine."
"Do you need me to get you anything?"
"You want to fetch things for me? I should get shot more often."
"It's not a joke, Seb. Shot is shot, and next time shot could be dead."
"Relax, I'm only joking. And besides, I didn't get shot. My arm was grazed by a wild bullet. Much different."
"Well, let's not let there be a next time, grazed or shot or whatever," then he mumbles, "And you were shot. Bullet through your skin is not a fucking graze, idiot,"
Sebastian smiles as Jim adjusts the bandages on his arm. "You were scared, weren't you?"
"No, I wasn't."
"You can admit it. I'd be scared if you'd get shot at."
"I have been shot at, you didn't care much then."
"That was before."
"Before what?"
"Before I started to love you," Sebastian says as he pulls Jim's face down for a kiss.
A while later, Sebastian gets out of bed and goes to the living room. "So, when's the next client?"
"I've postponed them all a few weeks."
"What? Why?"
"You need to recover."
"Awww," Sebastian mocks, "You're concerned about me. Baby, that's so swe—"
"Besides, I can't have you shooting people with one arm. Your steadiness will be totally off. That's unprofessional."
"And there it is."
"What? I am concerned about you, but this is a business we run, not some half assed pretend organized crime. I'm the only consulting criminal for a reason, it's not like we have an office building where there are many and their own snipers on disposal."
"Well when you put it that way…" Sebastian pouts.
"I don't care if you pout. We're not taking clients for a few weeks."
"Fine." Sebastian plops himself onto the couch and is mindful of his shoulder. "Jim? Can you get me some tea?"
Jim does get up and get the tea, and over the next few weeks he does anything Sebastian asks. Sebastian thinks he can get used to this until the doctor told him he's fine to go about his business. Then Jim puts him back to work and soon he wishes he would get shot again just to lessen the workload that piled up in their absence. But ever since the shooting, Jim's been more affectionate and clingy-ish to Sebastian, so he hopes and prays to never be shot again because next time he might not be so lucky.
*Thank you all for your lovely comments last chapter! I appreciate it, as always. I hope you enjoy this chapter about what happens if one of them gets hurt. It might have been prompted once upon a time but I can't remember. I'm sorry! But obviously I loved it enough to use it.