"Baker Street?" He asks. "Is that where you live?"
"In a way," Sherlock replies.
"What do you mean by that?" He asks confused.
"Well I always seem to go there more often rather than my actual residence."
"And who really lives in Baker Street?" he asks. He has to know who he's leaving Sherlock with. He helps Sherlock on his feet.
"Someone I am fond of," Sherlock answers. 'Well I was not expecting that. I thought people say he doesn't like anyone.'
"Your girlfriend?" he asks. "... or boyfriend?" He adds.
"Relationships are not my area," Sherlock replies and snorts, "And no, she is not my girlfriend." Sherlock chuckles and then winces in pain.
He hails a cab and one immediately appears in front of them. He helps Sherlock get inside. Sherlock sits quietly and closes his eyes as he leans by the window. He sits beside him and Sherlock looks at him in confusion. "What?" he asks.
"... Nothing." Sherlock answers.
They sit in silence.
"Where to?" The cabbie asks.
"221B Baker Street," Sherlock answers in a tired voice. The cab drives off and the two sit in silence. Sherlock keeps finding a comfortable way to sit down, quietly wincing in pain in the process, probably trying not to be heard. Although he can hear Sherlock struggling for a not-so-painful way to sit.
'God, is this how he spends most of his time?' He thinks with disgust. 'Those bastard will be punished through cold hard practice tomorrow.' He drifts off as the thought of his Team towering over Sherlock as they beat him up pops out of his mind.
"Yes, John Watson?" Sherlock suddenly says.
"What?" He snaps outs of his thought and sees Sherlock staring at him.
"You keep shifting from your seat. What are you thinking about?" Sherlock's voice sounds quiet and really tired.
"I..." he clears his throat. 'Those eyes of yours look old.' "I just want to apologise."
"What for?" Sherlock asks, tilting his head.
"I want to apologise because of my Team. I'm sor-"
"I don't want to hear you apologise."
He looks down in guilt. 'Oh damn. I'm stupid. Why did I bother to say sorry? The man just got beaten up. for Christ's sake!' "Oh. Right," he says.
"No no no no," Sherlock says quickly. "I meant that I don't want to hear you apologise. Nor theirs, I suppose."
'Oh wow. Wait, Sherlock doesn't want to hear those arseholes apologise?'
Sherlock continues, "I want them to grow brains. Seriously, the seriousness of the lack of intelligence is great. Idiots, they are," Sherlock tuts. He chuckles.
The two of them keep quiet in comfortable silence as the cab continues to drive. He can't help asking, "Seriously, who are we meeting in Baker Street?"
"You'll meet her soon enough," and after five minutes, they arrive in front of a black door of 221B. "Right," Sherlock painfully tries to find his wallet in his coat pockets and blinks a few times - John notices. John, then, reaches to his own pockets and pays the driver. Sherlock looks at him in surprise. He pretends to be busy with his clothes so Sherlock doesn't get embarrassed for being surprised. "What?" He hears Sherlock whisper to himself.
He pretends not to hear him, "So, 221B Baker Street then." He gets out of the car and helps Sherlock, putting Sherlock's arm around his shoulders and he puts his arms around Sherlock since he sees Sherlock failing to stand up.
He knocks on the door to 221B and as he waits, he can hear Sherlock breathing shakily. He looks at him, he's gone all pale. The door finally opens to reveal a kind-looking woman. "Oh, Sherlock!" she says and rushes them both inside. "What happened?" The old lady asks him immediately. 'Is she his mother? Nah.. They don't even look alike much.'
"I... fell..." Sherlock answers, giving the old lady a smile. "Mrs... Hudson..." Sherlock tells him. "John... Watson..." He tells Mrs. Hudson.
"Oh, Sherlock..." Mrs. Hudson says in such sadness. "Come on in," she gestures inside. "Are you hurt, dear?" she asks Sherlock as the two enters.
"Fine," Sherlock answers with the same smile.
He just stares at him in admiration. 'God, he even doesn't want to worry her. How... human of him. Sherlock Holmes IS human! The hell are you thinking, Watson!' Sherlock removes himself from him and tries to walk up. He is amazed how strong Sherlock can be. He's obviously weak enough to collapse any moment and yet he has managed to walk upstairs already.
He follows him but a hand on his wrist stops him. He looks to see Mrs. Hudson holding his wrist. "Do you know what really happened?" Mrs. Hudson asks. Hecan see Mrs. Hudson actually knows what happened. Why is she asking him what happened, he will never know.
He looks down in guilt. 'Yes, and they all think I want to be part of it.'
"You're not one of them are you?" She asks him.
"God no," he immediately answers.
Mrs. Hudson sighs in relief. "Good," she whispers. "It's really good that someone is finally helping him. I shouldn't be the only one."
He hums in reply. 'Ouch.' He thinks. 'Sherlock must have one heck of a life.' "Right... Right..." He nods at her as they both go upstairs to see Sherlock sitting on one of the armchairs in front of the mantle. Sherlock's eyes are closed and holding himself tightly. Sherlock gives out a shaky breath.
He hears her sigh sadly. "I'll make you a cuppa; You treat his wounds."
"DAMN HIS WOUNDS!" He yells. Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock both flinch at the sudden outburst. "I'm sorry. I am sorry. It's just..." he stops himself from explaining further. 'Damn your wounds Sherlock Holmes.' "Medical kit, Mrs. Hudson." She nods at him. He walks in front of Sherlock. "Let me examine those bruises or wounds or whatever you have there right now. Take that shirt off."
"But we just met," Sherlock says and he gives him a look that tells Sherlock that he doesn't want jokes at the moment.
Sherlock takes his shirt off and he is horrified with the amount of bruises and cuts on Sherlock's body. 'God, what the hell did they do to him?'
"Two of them were wearing Football Boots," Sherlock answers.
He gives a long breath and inspects Sherlock's wounds. 'Not deep cuts. That's good. Jesus, this is horrible. Anyway, bruises will form. Need ice. Hmm... God these cuts...' Mrs. Hudson comes back with the Medical Kit - along with an ice pack and some other things that aren't actually needed. 'Mrs. Hudson is such a saint!'
"I'll bring your cuppa..." She says as he starts helping Sherlock with his wounds.
"God, what did they do before I came?" he asks Sherlock as he finishes bandaging up his wounds. Sherlock shrugs in answer. "Fine. You won't tell me, I respect that." Sherlock looks at him like he's an alien from another universe. Sherlock nods at nothing. He sits on the armchair in front of Sherlock's. Mrs. Hudson comes back with tea and biscuits and pours tea for both of them. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."
"You're quite the professional in tending his wounds," she comments.
"John aspires to be a doctor but he is an adrenaline junkie." Sherlock's words speed up. "Although I wouldn't know how the two would connect. He does like to help but he is as addicted to the thrill as his sister and father is addicted to alco-"
"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson scolds. He sees Sherlock's head snap up to Mrs. Hudson like Sherlock just noticed her presence as well as his. "Sorry about that John," Mrs. Hudson tells him.
"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson." She gives him a warm smile. "I should get going. It's getting late," he says standing up.
"It's really nice to meet you, John."
"You too, Mrs. Hudson." He points a finger at Sherlock. "Don't wet the bandages." Sherlock nods but he can see a hint of a smile.
He leaves 221B, feeling guilty for Sherlock's state, and feeling like he wants to punch Sherlock's attackers.