A/N: Hello darlings! Chapter two is up for your viewing pleasure. I'm going to try to keep to a weekly schedule, updating on Saturdays. I have five chapters written up, with another one or two more to go.

Thanks to my wonderful beta, old ping hai who makes sure this stuff is all pretty for you people. :D

Sherlock huffed, "This is hateful." London passed by the windows, lights of the city flashing patterns on their faces as the cab made its way back to Baker Street.

"It's only for a couple days, it's not like it's going to be weeks or months. You'll be back before you know it and giving the criminals of London hell," John murmured in the detective's ear as he stroked those curls.

Sherlock sighed and they rode on in silence. They were almost home when Sherlock spoke again.

"Do you know you keep stroking my hair?" he whispered against the doctor's coat.

"Oh," John said, and his hand stopped. "Is it bothering you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, it's fine, it's soothing."

John resumed his carding. "It is for me, too."

Sherlock lifted his head and John's fingers coiled in his locks. Sherlock gave his friend a questioning glance.

"I was so worried, Sherlock. You've never fainted before. There are a dozen things I could think of off the top my head that it could have been instead of lack of food and sleep."

Sherlock buried his head back into John's shoulder.

"I miscalculated."

John smiled down at the detective. "I know," he whispered back, as they pulled up to 221. He got up and went to open all the their doors to make getting Sherlock in easier. He came back and paid the cabbie.

John reached out his hand to the detective, "Ready?"

Sherlock looked at the outstretched hand with skepticism. "How are you going to get me up the steps?"

John grinned. He pulled Sherlock to his feet. The detective wobbled, but before he could fall, John caught him and scooped him up by the legs.

The cabbie laughed before he drove off, leaving Sherlock clinging to the doctor, like a blushing bride on her wedding day. John carefully carried the long-limbed man up the stairs, bridal style.

He deposited Sherlock on their sofa and then made his way to the kitchen. "Mycroft's minions have been by, I see," he chuckled when he saw that it had been scrubbed clean. He opened a cupboard and it was filled with food; a check to their fridge confirmed that it, too, had been restocked.

"He does like to meddle," Sherlock called from the sitting room.

John spotted a covered pot on the stove and lifted the lid. "Also, Mrs Hudson has made her homemade chicken and rice soup. Want a bowl before you go to bed?"

It was quiet a moment and John went to the sitting room. Sherlock looked up at him shyly.

"Will you be having some, too?" he asked John.

"Yep! I never pass up a chance for her soup. It should be made a sin to eat that stuff."

Sherlock chuckled. "I noticed you didn't say illegal."

"Oh hell, no. I wouldn't be able to eat it, then."

John reheated two bowls worth and brought it in to Sherlock, where they lapsed into a companionable silence as they ate. When finished, John took the bowls back into the kitchen and set them in the sink. He then made his way to Sherlock's room, where he got some things for Sherlock to sleep in.

He came back out and Sherlock's eyelids were already starting to droop. John went over and gently shook his shoulder.

"Hey, let's get you into something more comfortable," John said.

Sherlock blushed and John laughed.

"No, I meant your pajamas, you berk."

Sherlock removed his clothes and John helped when Sherlock had trouble. Thankfully putting the clothes on was easier, and Sherlock didn't require John to assist. He turned the t-shirt on inside out and John cast him a questioning glance.

"I've always wondered why you do that," John said as Sherlock pulled on the sleep trousers.

"Do what?"

"Turn your t-shirts inside out."

"Oh," Sherlock said with a shrug. "I have sensitive skin and the seams chafe."

"On a cotton t-shirt?"

"It itches," Sherlock defended.

"Whatever you say, mate," John conceded.

He looked at the detective and scratched the back of his neck. "We should get you into the bedroom. It'll be more comfortable and closer to the bathroom."

Sherlock blushed. Then he looked up at John and chewed on his bottom lip. "Where will you be?"

A slow, small smile enveloped John's face. "Wherever you need me to be."

Sherlock ducked his head. "Would it be too much to ask if you stayed with me tonight? In case I-" he tangled his hands on his lap.

"Oh." John blinked. "In case you need to use the loo."

Sherlock glowered at him. "Yes, thank you for spelling it out to no one but you."

John chuckled. "All right, I'm sorry." He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair to soothe him. "I'll be back in a moment. I'll go and get ready for bed, then we'll head to bed together, okay?"

Sherlock nodded. John was only gone a couple minutes before he returned in a long-sleeved t-shirt and sweat trousers. Again John picked up Sherlock bridal style, but this time Sherlock was ready for it and immediately clung to the good doctor.

The blond-haired man got Sherlock settled before walking to the other side of the bed and sliding in next to him.

"Good night, Sherlock," John muttered, as the toils of the long day gently swept him in slumber's embrace.

"Good night, John," Sherlock replied, sleep stealing him away as well.

The next couple of days saw Sherlock eating off John's plate and the doctor making sure to prepare enough for two, or at least one and half. By the time the week was out, Sherlock was back on his feet and terrorizing Lestrade for cases. John wasn't surprised when the Detective Inspector told him in no uncertain terms that Greg would not let Sherlock anywhere near a crime scene until he got the okay from John. Something John refused to give.

"I don't see why you won't let me take a case," Sherlock groused late Sunday evening.

"Sherlock, you just barely got well enough to make it to the loo on your own. You shouldn't go tearing off after London's criminal class, not until you get your weight up a little more."

Sherlock huffed, his fingers and legs dancing up and down as John steadily ignored him in favor of the evening paper.

Sherlock pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He looked over at John. "You're going back to work tomorrow."

It wasn't a question.

Without looking up from is paper John said, "Nope." A smile graced his lips that he didn't even bother trying to hide.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, "No?"

John's smile grew and set aside the paper to turn his complete attention to the dark-haired detective. "I told them the day after we came home from the hospital that I was quitting. Didn't even bother giving them two weeks' notice."

"Why?" Sherlock pressed.

"I don't need it. I have plenty of money and I can still see my friends from there on pub nights." John put his hand on his chin and crossed his legs at the ankle.

Sherlock straightened up in his chair, his legs unfolding to the floor. "Really? Why do you have money?"

John chuckled, "Apparently being the death beneficiary for both my wife and best friend does wonders for one's bank account."

Sherlock grew still. "They didn't try to get the money back when I returned?"

John shook his head, "Evidently, two years is long enough for the insurance company to believe I spent it all. That or Mycroft intervened."

Sherlock's chest rumbled a deep chuckle. "My bet is on Mycroft."

John smiled. "Me, too. So don't worry about it, all right? I'm fine."

"But that can't be the only reason you were working at the surgery," Sherlock reasoned.

"Of course you'd pick up on that. I was also going because I am a doctor. I spent years earning that right. But I recently came to the realization that even though I'm using my degree, I'm not using it the way I wanted. Out there on the battlefield." He waved vaguely out the window. "But what I have with you replaced that with chasing criminals. I'm okay closing one aspect of my life. After all, that's what change is about, and fighting it is just ridiculous."

Sherlock nodded and then ducked his head. "I was worried that maybe you quit because of me fainting," he admitted shyly.

John stood up and put his hand on Sherlock's cheek. "I won't deny that it played a factor in making my decision. After all, that was what prompted Greg to remind me of the fact that I didn't need the job and it was only making us both miserable."

"I don't want to stand in the way of something you want to do, John," Sherlock breathed.

"And you aren't. I promise. Me working at the surgery was my last-ditch effort to appear normal. Your accident just made realize that I don't want normal. I never did. If I had wanted normal, I would have become a GP in some little country cottage with two point four children, a white picket fence, and gotten older and fatter as I dealt with colds and broken bones for the rest of my life. But even when I tried for the white picket fence, I married a former assassin. I just can't do normal."

"You never have been able to, you know?" Sherlock muttered leaning into John's touch like a cat.

"I know, so don't worry, all right?" John said. Sherlock nodded.

"You do realize that keeping me cooped up in here isn't the best idea, right?" Sherlock said as John moved back to his chair, changing the topic as the air seemed to crystallize with the tension of things left unsaid.

"I never said you couldn't leave, Sherlock. I just said you couldn't go chasing criminals. Tell you what, why don't we order some Thai, and then take a stroll through Regent's Park while we wait for the delivery. That way you can deduce all the other people and you can tell me all their dirty little secrets."

Sherlock huffed out a small laugh. "On one condition."

John raised an eyebrow, "Oh? What's that?"

"You order that mango sticky rice you ordered last time."

"Fair enough," John said, changing direction and heading to the kitchen to pull out the take-away menu for the nearby Thai place. He was dialing the number when Sherlock called from the sitting room, "Better make it two, I think I can eat one all on my own!"

John chuckled as the line connected. "Hey, yeah. I'd like two mango sticky rice, your beef pho, small..." He listed off their order and watched Sherlock get ready to go out, an adoring expression on the doctor's face. Yes, he was very happy with his life as it was. He didn't need the surgery, not when he had a consulting detective to make his life interesting.