John sighed, the shirt was ruined for sure.
He knew his mind was trying to distract him, focusing on the bloodstains instead of the actual blood seeping through Sherlock's clothing. The wounds were not fatal, but after all the consulting detective had put the doctor through that night John's anger certainly would be.
John had seen Sherlock poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangled, suffocated, electrocuted, but never before tonight had he seen the man pushed through a window.
Right now the sod was sitting on the pavement, reclining against one of the police vehicles while John paced nervously around him. His face was streaked with blood and bent with pain, his raven hair clashing against his pale skin. He clutched at his sides with gloved hands. Yes he still wore his gloves but he'd given his coat and scarf to John because heaven forbid he get blood on the single most important pieces of his wardrobe.
Still, the shirt was ruined.
John paced a bit longer, trying to decide between concern and rage. It seemed he was on the verge of chewing Sherlock out, but as it turns out he never got the chance.
"Sherlock, I have never seen anything so irresponsible in my life!" Mycroft roared, showing a surprising amount of energy for the usually lethargic government official.
"Don't you have some war to look after. Or a cake perhaps?" Sherlock half growled half winced.
"Sherlock." John warned, sending his friend a strict glare which went entirely unnoticed.
"You could have cornered this one easily enough, but you had to go for the challenge because you had to prove to everyone just how clever you are!" Mycroft raged, stabbing at the road beneath him with the tip of his umbrella.
"Oh please, I'm a little old to get bullied by big brother." Sherlock scoffed, turning his head away.
"We're all worried about you, you've gotten far too reckless for your own good!" The elder Holmes brother spluttered, clearly irritated by his younger brother's behavior.
"It's not as if anyone cares." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you're the only one a bit bothered by this."
"I'm bothered by it." John piped up quietly, causing both Holmes brothers to blink with surprise and turn his way. John's nervous face turned into a steady stare and he repeated it again, this time louder. "I'm very bothered by it."
Sherlock studied John for a moment, then closed his eyes.
"...You see?" Mycroft said, figuring he might as well use this to his advantage. "That makes two of us who care, and don't even pretend your housekeeper or friends in the yard won't care."
"She's not technically our housekeeper..." John muttered.
"Oh stop with your sentimental nonsense." Sherlock threw his hands in the air in a gesture of annoyance. "You act as if I purposefully endanger myself."
"You might as well be. Using that big head of yours to focus on everything except your well-being." John sighed. "Just listen to your brother, he's right. You have to be more careful."
Sherlock stood suddenly, ignoring John's protests and the intense pain running through his body. He walked up to John until he was uncomfortably close to him, staring him in the eyes.
"So you say that you'll worry about me?" He asked.
"...Of course, you twit." John nearly laughed with disbelief.
"Interesting." Sherlock grinned. "I find that far less annoying than I normally do..."
"Well good, because you can give your brother the slip and you can yell at Mrs. Hudson all you want, but you're not getting rid of me." John replied, confused as ever by Sherlock's quickly shifting moods. "Now sit back down already, be careful!"
"As you wish." Sherlock sighed, sitting back down and leaning against the car with slow painful movements. Mycroft stared at the two of them, then rolled his eyes in lieu of a farewell and left. Sherlock sat in silence, eyelids drooping in that sleepy yet thoughtful manner of his. After a minutes pacing, John sighed and sat down next to the detective.
"You really are an irritating sod." He murmured.
"I know." Sherlock lay his head on John's shoulder and smiled.