Couple 1
In his fifteen or so years as a police officer, Greg Lestrade has encountered his fair share of fights. As a rookie, he fought a drug dealer that gave him a broken nose (you should have seen the other guy); in his fifth year, he was hit over the head with a frying pan by the wife of the criminal he was arresting; in his tenth year, he busted his knee being kicked by a victim (she was scared, ok?); and this, the fifteenth year, is the time he walked away with a nice shiny black eye. This is also the first year he's been injured at work while living with Mycroft.
"It isn't nearly as bad as it looks," Greg says as he enters the flat.
Mycroft's not even looking at him. "What is—" Mycroft cuts himself off as he turns around to see Greg's nice shiner. "Oh my gosh," he says.
"That's why I said—"
"What happened?"
"I got in a fight. At work."
"With who? Dear god, please don't tell me—"
"No, no, Sherlock did not hit me," Greg smiles, "I was on a case. I was hit by a criminal."
"Why are you smiling like that?"
"You should see the other guy."
"What does that mean?" Mycroft asks, sitting next to Greg on the couch.
"You've never heard that expression?" Mycroft shakes his head, no. "It just means you should see what I did to him."
"Did you beat him up?"
Greg frowns, "No. They took him away before I could. And you've ruined the idea, so thank you."
"I didn't mean to—"
"Mycroft," Greg says while resting his head on the back on the couch, "It's fine. I'm joking. Stop looking worried like that, it's just a black eye."
"It's not, actually. You need to press charges, you need to—"
"Mycroft, again it is fine."
"Why are you being so nonchalant about this? You were assaulted—"
"You want to know why it's not a big deal? Because look at me, Mycroft. Look at me and tell me I don't look like a bad arse."
"That's not the point, Greg. The point is—"
Greg's head is against the back of the couch and he's looking up at the ceiling. Well, not really, because his eyes are closed. He smiles while still looking at the ceiling. "You don't think it's sexy, Mycroft?"
"What? That's absurd—"
"Really? I don't look a bit heroic? A bit stoic? A bit…what's another word that rhymes? Mosaic. No, no that doesn't work."
"Greg?" Mycroft asks.
Greg's head roles to the side and he looks at Mycroft through one good eye and one swollen. He's still smiling. "Yes?"
"Are you drunk?"
"Are you drunk?" Greg asks with a very serious face.
"Oh god," Mycroft murmurs while resting his head in his hand.
Greg laughs, "I'm not drunk."
Mycroft looks up and at Greg, "Well, that's a relief—"
"High, maybe…"
"Oh god."
"I'm not sure because first there was the pills Sally gave me then there was the drink Dimmock bought me, and—"
"You had a pill then a drink? Greg that's not—"
"Nooooooooo," Greg says. "That's ridiculous, I didn't. Did you?"
"What? Of course not, Greg, I—"
"I don't know your life, Mycroft."
"Now you're just being ridiculous on purpose."
"I think you are."
"I'm going to get you some ice. This is a childish game."
"You are a childish game," Greg says (mostly to himself) as Mycroft exits the living room.
When Mycroft returns, Greg is laying on his side on the couch. Mycroft sits on the opposite end and waits.
Finally, Greg says, "Don't you think it's sexy, Mycroft?"
"What is?"
"M-eye," Greg says. It sounds like one word.
"That's ridiculous—"
Greg is quickly up and in Mycroft's face. He straddles Mycroft's legs and presses his front to Mycroft's. "Just a little bit?" he asks.
"Well, maybe—"
"I think a black eye'd be sexy on you. You'd look like a bad arse like me."
"I doubt that, really—"
"With your black eye and your…" Greg trails off as he leans down and kisses Mycroft's neck. He continues, "Your umbrella."
"What?" Mycroft asks.
"Mmmmm," Greg sounds. He rests his head on Mycroft's shoulder, nose pressing against Mycroft's cheek and black eye up in the air. He doesn't move for a minute and Mycroft hears his breathing get deeper.
"Greg?" he asks, shaking his shoulder. Greg's head bobs up and down. "Greg, did you fall asleep?"
He doesn't get a reply, because the lovely bad-arse D.I did fall asleep on Mycroft's shoulder while still straddling his hips. Mycroft sighs and rests the ice pack on Greg's eye, then stays very still while Greg dozes.
Somewhere in the night Mycroft manages to move Greg from the couch to bed. The next morning, Greg wakes up with a bit of a headache (he never handles alcohol well) and a throbbing eye pain. It's more swollen than before and he can barely open his eye. And sadly the poor sober D.I. thinks himself less of a bad arse when his eye won't open and he realizes he was hit by a woman.
Couple 2
Sherlock Holmes has also been in his fair share of fights. Growing up he was in at least seven (not so much fights as bigger boys beating him up just because he was smaller) before Mycroft paid for his martial art training. After that he held his own in fights. He was very good at fighting; he was small, limber, but he covered a lot of ground. When he was a junkie, Sherlock fought many dealers that just didn't like him. And since he's worked as a Consulting Detective, he's fought many, many suspects. Heck, just since John's showed up he's fought an Asian thief in an apartment that was trained to fight, more at that crazy circus they went to, The Gollum who was twice his size, The Woman and the riding crop, the American that he threw out a window, the assassins he sword fought on behalf of The Woman, and he's even been hit in the face by John himself. So over the years, Sherlock's learned how to take and give a beating.
Not many times has he actually had to go to the hospital or something for getting in a fight. He's sent people to the hospital plenty of times but he himself being injured to that point is rare. Which is why he's so upset when he needs stitches for his split lip he received from the foot of a kidnapper.
"I really don't think—"
"Shut up, Sherlock. You're getting stitches and that's final."
"But John, I—"
"No 'buts', Sherlock. Stitches."
Sherlock sulks and looks out the window of the cab they're in. He presses the towel a bit firmer to his lip. John looks at him and rolls his eyes.
"Fine, you big baby. I'll put them in myself at home, alright?"
Sherlock nods.
At home, John gets his supplies ready while Sherlock paces and pouts. When John's ready, Sherlock sits quietly but scowly on the toilet.
"Stop frowning," John says.
"How am I supposed to hold my mouth then?"
"Any way, just don't frown."
Sherlock smiles, making his lip split just a tiny bit more.
"Damnit, Sherlock," John says. "That's not what I meant."
John wipes the blood away one last time and rubs numbing cream on the area. He gets the tweezers in hand and gets to work.
Now, four stitches along the bottom lip should take, what? Not even ten minutes. I'm no expert, but John Watson is and that means it should take practically no time at all to get four stitches in. But since Sherlock Holmes is the single most difficult person in all of the world, it takes Doctor Watson forty-five minutes to administer four stitches. John's trying his hardest to be sympathetic and patient, but damn, Sherlock.
"The least you could do is sit still."
"It hurts."
"Of course it hurts, I'm sewing your face back together."
"Make it not hurt."
"What do you want me to do?"
Sherlock glances up at John. "Kiss it."
"What?"
"Kiss it better."
"You know, kissing it won't put it back together."
"Kissing it will make me feel better. I might be able to sit still longer if I have a kiss to hold me over."
"You're a pain, you know that?"
"Yes, I've been told."
John sighs and gives Sherlock a tiny smile. He leans in and kisses Sherlock. It's a tiny, tiny, tiny, quick peck to the other half of his lips; the half without stitches.
"What the hell was that?" Sherlock asks as John sets back to work.
"A kiss."
"That most definitely was not a kiss, John Watson."
"Yeah? Well I don't usually kiss my patients and right now you are my patient who is testing my patience."
"You kissed that little girl's skinned knee at the park last week."
"That's because she was four years old and I felt sorry for her."
"You don't feel sorry for me?"
"I'm trying very hard to fix your lip and I'm worrying about leaving a scar. Now, I'm good at my job, or at least usually I am, but right now I'm under pressure. I don't have time to feel sorry for you. Just let me get back to work and I'll get back to pampering you like I have to when I feel sorry for you."
Sherlock's eyes move away from John and he sits still and quiet as John finishes. When he's done, John dabs scar cream on Sherlock's stitches and lets Sherlock stand to look in the mirror.
"Oh," Sherlock says, "I look awful."
"Really?" John stands behind Sherlock and wraps both of his arms around Sherlock's waist. "I think they look great."
"Great? They're stitches."
"Yeah, and they make your lips red and swollen. I like your lips anyway, but a bit of swelling never hurt anyone." John runs both hands over Sherlock's stomach. He pulls Sherlock's shirt from his pants and begins unbuttoning his shirt.
"I look awful. I better not have a scar," Sherlock finally notices John undressing him. He squirms as one of John's hands disappears into the front of his pants. "What are you doing?"
John pulls Sherlock's shirt off with his free hand. "Pampering you," he says.
The next day, Sherlock whines about his lip all day. 'It hurts,' or 'The stitches,' or 'Scar,' is all John hears all day. He applies and reapplies scar cream to Sherlock's lip so often he wants to give Sherlock a black eye to go with his split lip for being so damn annoying. But he doesn't because he hopes that if he was hurt, Sherlock would do the same.
Sherlock doesn't leave the flat until the stitches are out and he's sure there's no scar. He thinks he looks ridiculous no matter how many times John tells him he looks fine. Sherlock's just embarrassed because he actually needed stitches. John thinks it has something to do with feeling flawed, like he can be beaten. Like Achilles and his heel. But Sherlock assures John that that is not it, that his stitches just look ridiculous. But John doesn't hear it. He tells Sherlock over and over that the stitches are sexy and scars are hot.
"Scars are not 'hot', John."
John quickly removes his pajama shirt. He points at the scar on his shoulder and asks, "No?"
"Well that's—"
"Is mine ugly, Sherlock? Is my scar bad to look at?"
Sherlock is up and out of his chair almost instantly. He wraps one arm around John's neck and rests the other against John's chest so his fingers trace over John's scar.
"Yours is," Sherlock says, "Yours is special. Yours is beautiful because of how you got it, John. You're a hero, you're…you're more." Sherlock wraps his other arm around John's neck. "Mine is—"
"You once told me heroes don't exist."
"I was wrong."
"Then all of your scars from saving people, Sherlock, they're not ugly either."
Sherlock smiles as much as his stitches will let him and John pulls Sherlock to him. Sherlock bends down and kisses John without irritating his lip.
Later, they go to Angelo's for dinner. Angelo makes a fuss when he sees Sherlock; he asks what happened to his lip and how he got the stitches.
"He got them saving a few kids from a kidnapper. You saw it on the news the other day," John says, smiling at Angelo then Sherlock.
Angelo makes a fuss and kisses Sherlock's cheek, then the other, then get Sherlock a bottle of wine. On the house, of course, anything for a hero.
Couple 3
When Sebastian was a kid, he got in a fight with a neighborhood bully and the other kid hit him in the face with a large stick. Sebastian's two front teeth were knocked loose but didn't fall out, the doctors were able to realign them and make sure no further damage was done. Sebastian never had any more problems with them until twenty-five years later.
Not often do these two get in fights with victims or the people hiring them. Every once in a while, Sebastian needs to do something that causes him to get mixed up with the victims, and of course the victims try to fight back. Well, only once has the victim actually fought back. That is how Sebastian got hit in the mouth and knocked his teeth loose for the second time.
It shouldn't have happened. The doctors got those things up there so tight that nothing should have been able to pry his teeth loose, well except for an aluminum baseball bat. Why the victim even has a baseball bat, Sebastian's unsure, but he saw that thing coming right for him and he knew it would end bad.
He went straight to the hospital and there they were able to save his teeth from falling out. Barely. Sebastian's not sure if he'd rather have needed fake teeth or what they did instead: which is basically, painfully, push them back in and put braces on him.
Yes, you read correctly: braces.
They are temporary, of course, like all teeth braces are. Six months top, they said. Four months if he takes care of them. Shouldn't be bad, really. Well, unless you live with James Moriarty: the single most heartless human being ever.
"You have braces," Jim laughs as Sebastian opens his mouth the first time to show him.
"It's not that funny," he says.
"It is funny. Braces are for kids, Seb! You're thirty-seven years old!"
"Shut up, Jim. I got them saving your arse."
"You lost a fight to a baseball bat!" Jim laughs again.
"You're gonna lose your life to me here in a second, baby." Sebastian pouts and throws himself on the couch.
Jim laughs and sits next to Sebastian. They sit in silence and watch TV. After fifteen minutes, Sebastian (without realizing it) sucks in excess saliva trying to exit his mouth that won't close all the way over his braces. Jim lifts his head that he was resting on Sebastian's chest and looks at him.
"What?" Sebastian asks.
"Are you drooling?"
Sebastian wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. "No."
"You are!"
"I can't control it, ok? You try wearing these bulky things and closing your mouth!"
Jim laughs. And laughs. And laughs more. Finally Sebastian grows so angry that he goes to their room.
The next day, Jim laughs at Sebastian because he gets spaghetti stuck in his braces. Later, he laughs because Sebastian can't chew gum or eat popcorn. After that, he laughs because Sebastian's smile is very shiny.
"Enough!" Sebastian shouts at Jim when he's (obviously) had enough. He's had the braces now for about a week and Jim will not stop laughing.
"I'm sorry, ok? It's just funny."
"Would it have been funny had I lost my teeth? Hmm? Sometimes, not often, you tell me I'm handsome; would you like it if I didn't have teeth? Because I can go down to the dentist office right now and have these taken off."
Jim laughs one last time. "Stop, Seb, I'm sorry. Ok?"
"No! Not ok. You're being really mean!"
"I'm being mean, am I? I could be mean. I could make jokes."
"Laughing is enough," Sebastian sits on the couch and crosses his arms at his chest. He has a very angry look on his face. He looks so childlike with his braces and his pouting face.
"You look very childlike," Jim tells him. He sits on the couch next to Sebastian.
"Gee, thanks, Jim."
"It's kind of," Jim takes Sebastian's chin in hand, "Cute."
Sebastian looks at Jim. "Cute?"
"Kind of…" Jim leans in and kisses Sebastian's lips, "Kind of makes you seem younger." Jim sucks Sebastian's bottom lip.
"Are you calling me old?" Sebastian asks while Jim's still got hold of his bottom lip.
"I didn't say that," Jim kisses Sebastian, this time pushing Sebastian's lips apart with his tongue.
They kiss for a second, maybe two, until Sebastian pulls away. "Ouch, my mouth is sore," he says.
Jim laughs one last time and gives Sebastian many, many closed-mouth kisses.
After that, Jim is more sympathetic toward Sebastian. He helps Sebastian tighten them, he only laughs a little when Sebastian gets food stuck in them, he buys Sebastian a new toothbrush at least every two weeks. Jim knows it could be worse; Sebastian could look like an old man without teeth instead of a teenage boy who drools because he can't close his mouth.
*Number 51 and still more to come. Thank you all so much. Thank you this chapter McMonster for sharing a well relatable story about having a swollen lip, I think it was? And this is our men with a temporarily altering injury. (Don't be ashamed, McMonster, once I dropped my laptop on my face and, like Sebastian, knocked my two front teeth loose. Luckily I did not need braces but I did have a swollen lip and gums for a long time. Also once I got a black eye and bruised ear from slamming my head in a car door. Don't ask, ok? Don't ask.
