Author's Note: hey, here is a mini chapter stuffed with johnlock feels for you all! dont like the size? ha, moffatt attack...god i sound evil...

-REVIEW FOR MORE CHAPTERS- ...hehhehheh now you guys have to review...

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Sherlock felt like hitting his head on the nearest wall. He sighed and carefully picked John up, struggling a little with his weight. He'd have to leave the crutch there and pick it up later. Or, he could-

"Mrs. Hudson! Could you get John's crutch? I can't carry him and that at the same time!"

"Sherlock! what's wrong with John? did you hurt him? shall I get an ambulance? is he dead?" her hand quivered at her mouth,

"what's going on?" Sherlock leaned against the wall to take some of John's weight.

"He fell down the stairs. We've just got back from hospital." Sherlock hissed as his arms began to ache.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to carry on... If you could get his crutch, that would be wonderful." He nodded at it at the foot of the stairs.

"oh dear..." Mrs Hudson grabbed the crutch and half ran up the stairs, muttering something about domestics and health insurance.

"God's sake," Sherlock muttered to the unconscious John.

"Never... thought I'd... have to do this..." He paused outside the door, his arms trembling.

"Could you get the door? Please?" Mrs Hudson dodged around Sherlock and opened the door, hurrying ahead of him.

"Thank you." He staggered inside and carefully placed John on the sofa. Once his arms were free, he sat down on the floor next to the sofa, sighing with relief and stretching his arms.

"um, I have to get back, shout if you need me."

"Of course. Thank you again Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock offered her the smile he reserved just for her. She'd always been nice to him. Next to John and Lestrade, she was probably his only friend. She smiled back and mumbled as she left, quietly closing the door.

Sherlock sat up on his knees and checked John over. First he carefully poked around his head to check for bleeding, then he made the various wounds from Moriarty's game his first priority. Sherlock sat back on his heels, eyes narrowed. A few cuts had reopened. Possible concussion. Nothing too serious. John would certainly have a headache when he woke, though.

A few minutes later, John woke up, with a full on hangover-style migraine. Sherlock glanced over at him from the kitchen, where he'd just boiled the kettle. Seeing that he was awake, he went over to him with some disinfectant.

"Can't be too careful," he said. John indicated he didn't mind, still barely conscious. Sherlock poured some onto a cloth and dabbed at the open cuts with it.

"Oh, it'll probably hurt," he added, after he applied the disinfectant. John grimaced and moved to take over from Sherlock.

"Stay still," Sherlock murmured, frowning slightly. He placed the bottle on the coffee table and put one hand on John's shoulder to make sure he did. John shook his head, smiling.

"I do know what I'm doing, Sherlock." He huffed and sat back on his heels.

"Fine then, I'll go back to my tea." John laughed a little more as he cleaned himself, then became more serious.

"thanks, Sherlock." Sherlock watched John closely, making sure he was alright.

"You're welcome."

"no, seriously. if you hadn't of come when you did..." he looked away, embarrassed. Sherlock desperately tried to cling to his indifferent nature, but part of it slipped away and the hard look in his eyes softened.

"I know." John looked at him again, grimacing.

"No Sherlock, you really don't."

"I really do: Jim was giving me... updates throughout his 'game'." Sherlock looked away, his expression tortured.

"He took great pleasure in showing me those pictures, I'm sure of it."

"I know the feeling..." Sherlock frowned and caught John's gaze.

"You can't possibly. I wasn't injured during the entire game, Jim couldn't have shown you anything that compared to what I saw..." John stared directly at the cuts on his arm,

"well, that's not what I saw..."

"... I don't understand."

"...I suppose I'm supposed to tell you, aren't I? Didn't Moriarty mention anything?" Sherlock shook his head.

"No..."

"He didn't." Sherlock was starting to have horrible sneaking suspicions, though.

"do I really have to? you wont find it very interesting..."

"Please tell me, John."

"Uh, fine. a few times, Seb would set up this TV in front of me, and play live footage of the two of you...well..." he just shrugged, hoping Sherlock would remember. Sherlock felt his stomach drop through the floor. His suspicions had been right.

"It... it wasn't what it looked like, John. I promise." John's heart was in his mouth at this point, just like when he watched the footage of Sherlock shouting his name, but again he hid it, hid all of it.

"I didn't think so, but then you never know with Moriarty..." he finished cleaning the cuts and swallowed hard, screwing the lid back onto the bottle and placing it shakily on the coffee table. Sherlock placed his hand hesitantly on John's wrist.

"If you must know, I did it to get information. Information on you. He was keeping it from me. I had to try. I couldn't stand not knowing if you were alright." John looked up, straight into Sherlock's eyes, fighting to keep his emotions hidden. Sherlock laughed shortly, without humour.

"God knows I would have gone about it in a differently, if I could have done things in another way. I was desperate."

John was fighting himself to tell Sherlock everything now, how he felt, how he had always felt it seemed, but he didn't. he just smiled sheepishly and stood, with the help of the crutch.

"tea?" Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief.

"Please. I really can't make tea."