"You almost died?" Victor whispers viciously, lips barely visible by how tightly he's pushing them together. Holding back anger.
They're standing in the kitchen glaring at one another. Sherlock should have known Victor would hear the tense fight between him and John only moments ago in the hallway.
"It was nothing. John is known to over exaggerate," Sherlock says with a slight smile, trying to keep the peace. But Victor refuses to meet his gaze now, instead his eyes are fixed on the stitches close to his hairline.
"How can you be so careless?"
"John was with me."
"And he's your protector now, is he?"
"It's not your job anymore," Sherlock growls.
Victor thrust his hand against a beaker sitting on the table. Both men stare in shock as it falls to the floor and crashes around Sherlock's feet.
Almost immediately, the bedroom door upstairs is thrown open and footsteps are heard barreling down the stairs. John runs into the kitchen not even taking a second to look around the room, before he runs to Sherlock's side. Sherlock puts a hand on John's arm just before his feet reach the glass.
Victor growls from behind him.
"Careful."
"Shit, Sherlock. You ok?"
'What? Yes, of course. Slipped from my hand," Sherlock says, dumbly waving towards the shattered cup.
"It sounded like it was thrown."
"I must have hit my hand against it, knocking it off the counter. Maybe it hit the table?" Victor snickers and Sherlock turns slightly to glare at him.
John follows his gaze. "Are you...sure you're ok? Feeling lightheaded from earlier?"
"John."
"Alright." John runs a hand through his hair, sighing. "Just be more careful next time, yeah? Need help?"
"No. Of course, John."
"Right. Goodnight, then."
Later, Sherlock is lying on his side with Victor's arms wrapped around him from behind. He feels nothing, but the air surrounding him is cold. He is almost asleep when Victor whispers in his ear.
"I died as I lived, Sherlock. For you. Don't you dare take that away from me."