33 - Love

Sherlock blinked bleary eyes, groaning indistinctly before he gritted his teeth and shakily dragged the clinical sheets higher up his near-nude body.

He was cold, gooseflesh breaking out on his skin and leaving him shivering. He wished he were back at the flat, bundled under blankets which were familiar and not the rough, scratchy sheets.

Squinting, he snuggled as best he could into the hospital covers, eyeing the cold white bedside table, the harsh, bare hospital walls, and the conspicuous lack of John, which was fogging his dizzy eyesight more than anything else.

He'd expected John to be there when he woke up. The flicker of anxiety that he wasn't there to greet Sherlock and make sure he was ok was great, and tightened Sherlock's chest.

Had he gone too far? Was John truly that angry with him that he...didn't care? About Sherlock?

Sherlock could hear the heart monitor attached to him start to get faster, broadcasting his distress, and the door opened, John quickly striding in with a worried look on his face.

"Sherlock-? What is it? What's wrong?"

Sherlock sobbed through a violent tremor of terror that he managed to tamp down by clenching his fists, fingernails digging into his palms to ground himself. Breathlessly, Sherlock panted in entreaty. "John, you're here."

"Course I'm here. I was just out in the hall talking to your brother. He's got some questions for you, of course, since you were out on his assignment." John's voice was clipped, betraying his anger which he was obviously trying to stifle since Sherlock was still in hospital and hooked to IV's and multiple machines.

"Asking how badly I suffered seems..." Sherlock swallowed once more, his tongue fiddling subconsciously with his wobbly molar. "…Bit redundant. Do you still love me?" came the frank, abrupt query.

John stopped squinting at the monitor which readout Sherlock's heart rate and glanced at him.

"What?"

"Do you...still love me?" Sherlock hated the wobble in his voice but couldn't stop it. He didn't know what he'd do if John didn't, he realized, imagining John moving out and the two of them stop speaking.

"Of course I still love you." John sighed, sinking down into the one chair beside the bed. "That doesn't mean that I'm not seriously, incredibly pissed at you, Sherlock."

Sherlock chuckled, still tasting the coppery remnants of blood on his teeth. "Can you do your diatribe after you've gotten in bed with me?" He ruffled his dark curls into a delightful mess with weak hands.

"No." John snapped, eyes roaming over Sherlock's body. "I'm still...Sherlock, I'm angry."

"I would just like a bit of contact. Even vindictive body contact. You're always fucking angry," Sherlock muttered, before turning over and cursing as his wires snagged.

He heard John sigh and then the small bed dipped as he climbed onto it, snuggling behind Sherlock and gingerly fitting his arm around his thin frame.

"It's not vindictive." He murmured softly. "I just… Christ, Sherlock what were you thinking?"

"Perhaps I wasn't," Sherlock whispered, sequestered in an alien room, with the only person who meant anything to him behind him. "But...the closer I keep you, the more danger you're in."

"The more danger we're both in." John stressed, hugging Sherlock tighter to him. The embrace hurt Sherlock's aching ribs but he didn't protest, relishing the contact. "Sherlock...I don't want anything to happen to you. I wasn't there to help and you almost got yourself..."

"...I didn't know it was going to turn out like that. And who's to say that we wouldn't both be there now, tied up and about to be force-fed...well, you know," he trailed off.

John was silent behind him and Sherlock wondered if he should tell John the whole of it. The way the man's hand had fondled him as he leered and talked about eating his genitals. He shuddered in revulsion. "Sherlock?" John asked, worried. "You ok? Should I call a nurse?"

Sherlock felt a hithereto-unknown cold surge of tension, sweat breaking out on his face even as he started to shiver violently, teeth chattering and breathing speeding up.

Great, a smarmy voice in his head said. The ideal time to have your first panic attack.

"Sherlock?" John sounded worried and Sherlock didn't want John to be worried. But it was nice to hear concern for his well-being given voice.

John made to rise, a sudden gust of cold air taking the place where his body had been warm against the detective. Sherlock stopped him with a stutter, tugging him back down as well as he could. "N-no! Don't go. Please."

"Oh my God," John muttered, feeling panicked himself, as Sherlock's body shuddered harder, and he could hear the clack of his chattering teeth. "Sshh, baby, just breathe deep and slow, okay? I'm right here." He hugged him with the kind of force that ordinarily would have been too much, and kissed the other man's bedraggled curls repeatedly.

Sherlock closed his eyes, sinking into the contact. He was safe. He was here with John and- "They wanted to eat me," he blurted out through trembling lips, and John froze.

"I know, baby, I know but I got you out. You're safe now."

"He wanted to eat my...my..."

John waited patiently, politely ignoring the two wet sniffles that followed. "…He touched me," Sherlock admitted quietly.

"Where?" Sherlock shivered at the suddenly deadly tone John's voice had taken on. "Where did he touch you, sweetheart?"

"...Down there," came the very quiet murmur, after an anxious pause.

John inhaled slowly, a tactic Sherlock knew he employed when he was trying to remain clam. "Okay. He touched you...there. And when you said he wanted to eat you...you meant your...?" He trailed off and Sherlock, shivering from the memory, nodded.

"It was the first thing he...went for. I tried to joke about it. But..." There was a thick, audible swallow, and Sherlock's chafed wrists and hands tightened upon John's, as they hugged his chest.

"You're fine now, Sherlock." John whispered, even if he sounded angry and Sherlock could feel the tension radiating from him. "You're fine."

"Will you touch me?" Sherlock asked hesitantly.

John didn't know what to say, torn between outright rejecting him for a deed that might emotionally scar him even more, and grudgingly accepting. He felt Sherlock's large, cool hands slowly, so slowly, pull his own towards his crotch.

He could feel Sherlock still shaking and was about to protest when- "Please, John. I...I can still feel him. I want...I don't want to feel anyone other than you." Sherlock said softly.

"…If you're sure," John murmured soothingly. "One second." Sitting up and peering around the empty private hospital room, he gently nudged the curtain of the bed all the way round, shielding them. Sherlock made a little sigh of relief, and turned to face John. The older man's heart panged at the sight of his split lip, the blooming bruises on his high cheekbones and chin.

Someone had hurt Sherlock. Had touched him and violated and damaged him. John was glad he'd killed the bastard. He only wished he could do it again, more slowly this time. Make them suffer like his beautiful love had.

He slid back into the bed, which seemed oddly-shadowed now the curtain encompassed it. He leaned forward and kissed the tip of Sherlock's nose, nuzzling it with his own, before speaking softly against his mouth.

"Love you."

"I love you, John." Sherlock said in a rush. "And I'm sorry I didn't-"

"Sssh. It's alright. We'll talk about it later, okay?" Sherlock nodded and John smiled crookedly at him. "My beautiful boy." He gently kissed Sherlock's lips, hand palming his hip. He softly took the hem of the detective's hospital gown, and raised it under the sheets, lightly fingering the fine hair on his upper thigh.

Sherlock breathed out sharply and closed his eyes- but John was having none of that. "Look at me." He encouraged. "Watch me touch you, Sherlock."

The detective groaned out a faint little noise when John's feather-light touch skimmed his bare testicles, weighing them carefully in his knowledgeable palm.

"Did he...these?" John asked carefully.

Sherlock nodded, incapable of words, shuddering at the memory of how the man had weighed them, considering. "Said...they were...sweet."

John narrowly avoided squeezing them hard as his fist tightened reflexively. He reined his anger in just in time, and gritted out more words as he stroked Sherlock's velvety shaft. "And...this?"

Sherlock whimpered, eyes closing again before he forced them open. "Said...it was juicy."

"...Sherlock...do you want me to - make you feel good? Or just touch you?" His caress was still light, gentle.

Sherlock swallowed reflexively. "I...I don't know. Maybe just...touch. But...I might-"

"If you get hard and want me to do more I will." John's fingers stroked carefully along Sherlock's flaccid cock, gentle and sure.

"Okay." Sherlock relaxed, watching John's face as he touched him.

"Anything you need," John began soothing him with little sentences, interspersed with delicate, closed-mouth kisses. It was oddly quiet in the sterile hospital room, at nearly 2am. He listened with a practised ear as Sherlock's heart monitor slowed to a calmer pace with every passing moment.

He stroked Sherlock's cock reverently, not trying to get him hard but realizing he needed the comforting touch. He dipped down further and fondled his sac, carefully rolling his testicles in his hand and feeling Sherlock shake minutely against him. It was only after long minutes of this that John felt the change in Sherlock's body. The growing rigidity. Sherlock canted his hips forward, the movement almost totally obscured by the blanket. John nearly didn't feel it at all.

"Mm," Sherlock murmured unconsciously, eyes now closed, and his bruise-painted face relaxed and open. He nudged his head affectionately against John's cheek, sighing.

John stifled a grin, gliding the pads of his fingers teasingly up the length of Sherlock's shaft. He was slowly getting hard against John.

"John...you're so..." Sherlock's deep, grating voice caught and he let out another indulgent sigh, hips definitely pumping slightly now.

John tightened his hand on Sherlock's cock, giving him something to thrust into. Sherlock groaned, staring almost disconcertingly into John's eyes while he did it.

"So...so," Sherlock swallowed a few times, huffing a sharp exhale as he started a deliberate, slow, hard rhythm. His sore hands twitched as he sought the anchor of John's shirt.

John was afraid to speak, afraid he'd break whatever tenuous peace Sherlock had gained from his touch. He held his breath, watching a flush stain Sherlock's cheeks, the knowledge that this mad genius had almost been taken from him hitting particularly hard.

A carnal thrill marred John's grin, which he sharply tamped down, in light of the brunette's imminent, beautiful orgasm. Gritted teeth and clenched fingers, a crinkled frown and breathless, gorgeous noises added to the glorious sensation.

Sherlock spilled between them, warm wetness spreading across John's hand. Behind him, the heart monitor had picked up speed, beeping erratically, and John knew in a few seconds a nurse was sure to come in and check on the patient. He didn't stop stroking Sherlock, wringing the rest of the orgasm out of him as he bucked against him.

Sherlock shuddered through his aftershocks, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. The delightful shock of his orgasm left him lax but shaky.

"John, you're perfect," he whispered through heart-shaped lips.

"You're perfect, you crazy tosser." John murmured back gently, cupping his hand around Sherlock's softening cock and testicles, giving him the comfort of warmth and touch while he was at his most vulnerable. "You drive me mad, you do. But...it only drives me mad because...because I love you. So damn much."

Sherlock sighed delicately through the deep, penetrating throbs of his climax, and nuzzled aggressively against John with little sighs and wordless moans.

"Can I touch you?"

John chuckled. "Probably not the best idea. A nurse is sure to come in any second and make sure I haven't killed you." As if on cue, the door opened and a nurse hurried inside, twitching aside the bedside plastic curtain and stopping and staring at the sight of the two men on the bed.

John made a perfunctory move to adjust himself, whilst Sherlock made no such effort, and anchored John with spidery fingers.

"Ignore her. Stay here?" the taller man asked, his sweet smile tainted with the garish purple bruises decorating his face.

"Let her check you over." John murmured, giving the nurse an apologetic glance while he openly ogled. "I won't go far."