John wasn't sure how long he laid there holding Sherlock. It was rare that Sherlock allowed such affection but both of them were still shaken over the events of the night before. It didn't matter to John that Sherlock had retreated to his mind palace almost the moment he laid down together. Most people would have thought Sherlock was asleep with the way his eyes were closed but John prided himself on knowing the difference. He spent many hours studying the way that Sherlock was breathing to determine when he was truly asleep or when he had just slipped into his mind palace for a while. That knowledge allowed John to know when he could coax him gently out of the palace for a cuppa or something to eat or when to allow his weary body to rest for a few hours as Sherlock had pushed himself far enough to collapse outside of the safety of his locked room.
John felt a wave of anger pass over him and he clenched his fist slowly being careful not to disturb the man in his arms. He wanted to personally track down and hurt every single person who had hurt Sherlock over the years. Who had made it impossible for him to feel safe enough to sleep in his own home unless it was behind several locked doors. Thankfully, he could take solace in the fact that Mycroft would have taken care of those men long before he got the chance. He had no doubt in his mind that Mycroft would have tracked every single one of those men down long before they even met. Unclenching his fist, he resumed the gentle rubbing of Sherlock's back. He wasn't even sure if Sherlock could tell in his mind palace that he was being held but he took comfort in the act.
At some point, John heard the familiar click of Mrs. Hudsons heels as she made her way up the stairs and into their kitchen. She didn't call out for them as she usually did instead she put something into the fridge before heading back down to her flat. But it was only when his stomach growled reminding him that he had yet to eat dinner. He wondered briefly about the Chinese food that he had ordered as he carefully untangled himself from Sherlock. Sherlock didn't stir as John got off the bed making his way into the kitchen. Opening the fridge he found the Chinese food that they had ordered. He heated up a portion for himself as Sherlock had yet to stir in his room. Leaning against the counter he stared towards the room as he ate. He wanted more than anything to go back in there and make Sherlock forget about every man who had ever hurt him. It was clear though that Sherlock was still traumatized by his experiences and if John came on too strongly he could end up scaring the younger man away. Instead, he would have to take it slow. He would slowly show Sherlock that he could have sex without it hurting or being one-sided. Maybe one day, they could even have penetrative sex but for now, he would settle for frotage or even mutual masturbation but he would need to do some research first to find out what was the best approach to take.
His cell phone ringing startled him out of his thoughts. He quickly pulled it out of his pocket and upon looking at the screen he was surprised that it was Lestrade. Lestrade only ever contacted him when Sherlock refused to answer his own phone or to invite him to the pub. Being that it was a danger night and he hadn't heard Sherlock's phone ring, he couldn't figure out why Greg would be contacting him. Answering the phone gave him no clues as he couldn't make out anything in the background behind the man.
"How is he doing?" Lestrade asked after their initial greetings.
"We had a rough start but right now he is laying on his bed playing in his mind palace," John answered. He knew that if Sherlock could hear him he would be offended John called it playing. Studying, filing, working, or rearranging were all perfectly acceptable terms. Playing or anything that suggested enjoyment got met with a scowl and a reminder that he was an adult and therefore did not play.
"Well, I have a case for him but it is up to you on whether or not I should bring him in. Just be aware that it is a beheading and I doubt he would forgive either one of us for not telling him. Even if I am pretty sure that it was the drunk friend who wielded the ax," Lestrade informed John. In normal circumstances Greg knowing who was behind the murder would mean the case was a one or two at best for Sherlock. Still, it would be good to get him out of the house for fresh air that didn't involve seeking out one of his dealers.
"Text me the address and we will be there soon," John told him. He hung up with Lestrade, placing his plate in the sink to wash later. His phone beeped with the address and he glanced at it as he made his way to the room. Upon entering he found Sherlock was no longer laying on the bed. Instead, he was sitting in the window with a lit cigarette in his hand. He didn't look at John as he took a slow drag holding it in his lungs for a moment before blowing it slowly out into the cool London night. "I thought I got rid of all of those."
"Please, I have been pickpocketing cigarettes off of Mycroft since I was a teen," Sherlock answered slightly amused.
"We'll discuss you quitting later along with all the health reasons," John told him a matter of factly. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he took another long drag of the cigarette. He made sure that John was watching him the entire time daring him to say anything about putting out his current cigarette.
"Is there a reason you are in my room again or did you just come back to lecture me about my smoking?" Sherlock questioned him.
"Greg just called me," John started. Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion.
"Who?" He wondered as he pulled a fresh cigarette out of his pocket. Putting it in his mouth he used the previous cigarette to light the new one.
"Fine, he had a beheading case for you but if you want to pretend you don't know who he is we can just stay in tonight," John stated. It was a little worrying how quickly Sherlock's eyes lit up as though it were Christmas and he had just received the only gift he wanted that year. He kept the cigarette in his mouth as he got quickly out of the window. He swept by John heading to grab his coat as John followed him. He was halfway down the stairs by the time John got to the landing.
"You don't even know where we are going," John huffed at him. Sherlock held up John's phone causing him to curse. He grabbed his coat running down the stairs after Sherlock. He made it to the sidewalk as a cab pulled up at the kerb. Sherlock took one last drag from his cigarette before throwing it aside in order to enter the cab. John climbed into the cab next to him taking his phone back as he pulled the door closed. Sherlock informed the driver of the address then leaned back. The ride to the site was short and in the end, Sherlock was disappointed by the fact that Lestrade was right. It was the friend who had performed the beheading. Still, he spent more time than normal looking at the corpse, followed by a verbal sparring match with Donovan. Everything seemed to be back to normal as Sherlock flipped his collar up as he headed off. The only thing that showed that he wasn't back to normal was the fact that he didn't bother to hail a cab as he sauntered down the road. As John caught up to him he found that Sherlock once more had a lit cigarette in his mouth.
"How many of those do you have left?" John wondered.
"Six," Sherlock answered without hesitation.
"Just six?" John clarified not quite believing him.
"From Mycroft's pack. I think Lestrade's pack was newer," Sherlock answered with a smirk. The doctor in John screamed all the health issues associated with smoking and all the reasons why Sherlock should stop. The friend and partner was just thankful that it was a cigarette over cocaine or one of the other drugs that Sherlock seemed to favor in the past. Still, come morning they were going to have a serious discussion about Sherlock quitting. Pulling his coat tighter around himself, he fell into step beside Sherlock as together they made their way back to the flat.