Thank you all for your sheer awesomeness! please keep me writing!

Sherlock looked at his bowl of porridge and grimaced.

He looked up at John sheepishly who was looking at him with stern expression arms crossed over his chest and gulped.

"When can I eat something nice?" he asked petulantly.

John smiled.

"What do you want to eat?" he asked indulgently.

Sherlock looked up hopefully but suspiciously.

"Something Italian?" he said cautiously.

"If you eat this up properly I'll make you something nice at dinner." John promised.

Sherlock pouted and pocked his porridge.

It had been eight days and Sherlock was recovering fast under the persistent care of John. Mrs Hudson was gone for a week to visit some relative and when she found Sherlock upon returning she was shocked. Yet she didn't probe and instead was very helpful. She had seen John's condition throughout the last year and knew the reason very well. She would do this much for her favourite tenant.

On the other hand John had taken too much time off from work and was getting worried about it. He had to join soon but the thought of leaving Sherlock alone was extremely unwelcome. He knew for sure that the day he would step out he would come back to an empty flat. The thought was eating him. He didn't know what to do. He knew Sherlock noticed, he knew Sherlock understood. Yet the man didn't say anything to refute John's doubts and this further fueled John's suspicions.

"No Italian then." John sighed looking at Sherlock's pout, trying not to give away.

Sherlock looked at him from under the lashes and shoved a spoonful in his mouth. He groaned and swallowed.

John smiled and went to him. He took some medicines out of the drawer of the bedside table and placed them on it beside the glass of water. Sherlock had taken a few more spoonfuls by then and looked at John expectantly.

John laughed and ruffled Sherlock's hair and bent to kiss his forehead. Sherlock's petulance quickly gave away to an eagerness for more kisses. John gave him a scolding look which effectively brought back the pout.

He needed to get to work. He'll make something special for the wounded boy tonight.

But the moment he stepped out of the room the unresolved problem started probing his mind again. He had to talk to Sherlock and he would have to answer, silence was no longer an option. He won't get away this time. John decided to cook something delicious to make the man open his mouth. Not only for food.

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table looking hopeful that evening. John couldn't help but laugh at his childlike expression. A lovable, greedy, hungry Sherlock. John melted for a moment then steadied himself. They need to talk.

Sherlock was engrossed in the bruschetta chicken wraps and made several pleasurable noises indicating John's success. John's clothes hung on the lean figure loosely, too short at places. Sherlock didn't seem to mind, he was as easy and graceful as he was in his own clothes. But John wanted him to be comfortable, Sherlock needed things and to get them he needed to go out.

John gave the man a moment to indulge in the Panna cotta with berry sauce, then spoke.

"Sherlock, you need some clothes."

"Hmmm." He didn't look up.

"Some other stuffs too."

"Ummhmm."

"And I need to join work." John flinched anticipating.

"I know."

John looked up to find the man smiling at him. He licked of the last traces of dessert from his lips. John forgot what he was anticipating.

An answer… to what? Oh yes going out. Oh this man!

Sherlock chuckled. John blushed.

"Since you're the sole bread earner in our household, I can't keep you from work much longer, can I?"

Our household.

It felt like Sherlock had embraced him from across the table. John felt warm. Sherlock had wrapped him in his blanket of warm words.

Sherlock looked at John deeply and reached out to rest his hand on his firmly.

"I'll be here when you come back."