I looked up as I heard Mrs Hudson downstairs, saying, "Oh Sherlock! What happened?"

"Nothing serious, Mrs Hudson, nothing serious at all" I heard Sherlock hurriedly climbing the stairs to get away from our landlady's questions. She'd been traumatised at first, but no-one could say she was ecstatic that Sherlock was back. I waited and the door opened to reveal a mildly upset Sherlock, there was blood on his collar and more traces around his nostril.

"He didn't take it well then"

"Not exactly" Sherlock hung his head, staring at the floor as he unbuttoned his coat. "And he got a bit more violent than you did"

"Believe me, Sherlock, if I was healthier I would have been equally as violent – some of us don't have the energy"

"Sorry" he mumbled, stiffly shrugging his jacket off his shoulders.

I stood, taking his jacket from him and hanging it up. I turned back to watch him remove his waistcoat, and reveal the blood stained shirt underneath. "Damn it" I ran through to the kitchen, throwing open the cupboard and fetching the first aid kit.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"You've burst stitches"

"Oh"

"Come here" I pulled out medical thread and a sterilised needle. "What the Hell did he actually do?"

Sherlock sat down, with his back to me, and began to unbutton his shirt, "Well, uh... John strangled me. Then he strangled me again. Um, and then he headbutted my face."

"I would have said that you deserved it, but that was a bit excessive"

"No, I- I deserved it"

I closed my eyes for a second and sighed, "Well at least you recognise that" Gently I pulled off the bloodied shirt, assessing the damage. "How did you manage to do this though?"

"John, um, tackled me to the ground when he strangled me the first time"

"Ah" I wondered for a second how he hadn't felt it, but then dismissed the thought - with the amount of pain killers he was on I was he surprised he could feel anything at all. "Sit" I pulled a high stool over and he sat, I cleaned him up as best as I could before restitching the wounds. They were deeper than I'd first thought.

Sherlock was unnervingly still while I stitched him back up. He barely moved a millimetre, never mind an inch. "Sherlock?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Can you feel this?"

He nodded, "I can, yes"

"Does it hurt?"

"Not really"

"...right. When was the last time you took painkillers?"

"This morning"

"Are you sure it doesn't hurt? You need to tell me if it does"

"I'm fine"

I sighed silently, staring at him for a second before I returned to playing doctor. Three lots of stitches had burst, I'd finished two and the third wouldn't take long. Of all the times I'd had to stitch him up in the past, there was never a time when he'd said it hadn't hurt – Sherlock hated getting stitches, he thought they were uncomfortable, inconvenient and unreliable, but overall he found them painful, sore to get done, sore to live with after.

I finished off the final lot and put the needle and remaining thread aside. I turned him to face me, "Are you okay?" I asked softly.

"I'm fine"

"Really." I said "...The painkillers have worn off by now, I know you're in pain and I know the stitches would have hurt. You are in pain, Sherlock. I know your tolerance, I know how much you can take; Sherlock, I've seen you in every situation, I've seen to every injury you've had since we moved in together. This isn't... this isn't right... Sherlock, talk to me."

He could only look at me for a second before his eyes drifted down to the floor, "I guess my tolerance for pain changed while I was away..." gingerly he wrapped his hands around mine, "I went through more pain in the last two years than I had in my life, I adjusted... I didn't mean to worry you"

I looked at him, his body language, his face, his eyes; how they showed emotions so subtle it had taken me years to see. Stepping forward, I rested my hands and head against his chest. "I just... I just need to... to learn... you again"

Gentle hands held my back and Sherlock pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I'm sorry"

"Don't be"