Chapter 19

"John?" Even though Sherlock could hear the whining quality of his own voice, he just couldn't help it. He was bored, his arm was itching inside the cast and to make everything worse, the battery on his laptop had just died and he couldn't reach the charger. "John!" he called again. Where was he?

"On my way!" John yelled, flushing the toilet. He had had exactly one minute and forty-five seconds of peace before Sherlock had called him again. Not that he was counting his moments of freedom. He didn't really have to count. The last week, he had had to be at Sherlock's side constantly. It wasn't that he didn't like to be there, but a disabled Sherlock was just as tiring as he had expected.

The sound from the bathroom made Sherlock cringe. Had he known where John was, he would have waited. After all, what was the rush? It was not like he was going anywhere.

"What's wrong?" John asked as he entered the living room.

Sherlock wouldn't quite meet his eyes. "It's not important," he muttered. A heap of pillows was stacked between his back and the armrest of the sofa and his legs were stretched out before him.

"Then why did you call?" John sighed, pushing Sherlock's feet out of the way so he could also sit on the sofa.

Sherlock moved to make way, barely resisting the temptation to put his feet in John's lap, hoping for a foot rub. "The battery died," he admitted. "I hadn't noticed it was running low, or I would have done something about it..." He let the sentence trail off. After all, they both knew that it wouldn't have been Sherlock doing anything, even if he had noticed earlier.

"Ah. I'll charge it for you. Why do you let me sit down first, then?" John asked, slightly annoyed.

Sherlock tried for cute: "Because as long as you're here, I don't need it."

John huffed. "I'd say that you don't get it then, but probably you'll change your mind in ten seconds." He stood up and plugged in the laptop.

Sherlock bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"'s fine," John said, as he grumpily let himself fall back in the sofa.

"I'm being a nightmare, aren't I?"

"Yeah, good deduction," John sighed.

"So it's not fine. You promised to stop me before I got too bad," Sherlock scowled, feeling annoyed with himself.

John slumped aside against Sherlock's lower legs. "But I can understand why you are like this. I know being cooped up like this is hard for you."

"That doesn't give me the right to drive you up the walls. Maybe you should go out. Go to the pub or something."

"Hmm. I wouldn't be at ease. Either I come home and you've made the flat explode out of boredom, or you text after five minutes that I need to come back to... whatever your crazy ideas are at that moment."

"I'm really that bad?" Sherlock sighed.

John allowed himself a small smile at the sight of Sherlock's desperate expression. "Yeah."

"All the more reason for you to get away for a while. Before you start hating me." He looked around. "Look, we can set it up, so I have everything I need within reach. I have power now, so I'll just need water, maybe some biscuits and a blanket if I want to sleep. I should be fine for a couple of hours."

John rested his head on Sherlock's knees. "Part of me thinks it's a very good idea and part of me is offended that you want me away."

Sherlock took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. "I don't want you to be away from me for even a second. But I also don't want you to start resenting me. And that's where we're heading."

"You're not that bad," John said, pressing a kiss on his hand.

Sherlock laughed as he used John's hand to pull him closer. "Oh yes I am."

John turned, put the laptop on the table and nudged Sherlock's legs apart so he could lean closer to him. He rested his hands on the pillows next to the other man's shoulders and kissed him. "There, I think you can cope with that much resentment."

"Yes, well, if we can keep it to those levels, I think I can manage," Sherlock replied with a smirk before leaning forward to kiss John back.

John smiled and let his eyes wander over Sherlock's face. "You're infuriating," he decided.

"I know," Sherlock chuckled. "So get the hell out of here."

John chuckled, kissed him again and stood up. "No experiments," he warned while he got him a glass of water and a blanket.

Sherlock pouted and then laughed. "I don't think I could perform an experiment even if I wanted to. Not many things I can do with only one hand working."

"Yeah, that's why I feel so inclined to forbid you!" John took out his phone and texted Mike if he was interested in going to the pub.

Meanwhile Sherlock made a rather feeble one-handed attempt to get his laptop from the table. He suppressed the impulse to whine and just fixed John with a pair of puppy-dog eyes.

John couldn't help a chuckle at Sherlock looking so helpless and gave him the laptop, ruffling his hair. "There you are."

He looked gratefully up at John. "Thank you, love." Then he focused on the screen and got to work.

"See you in a few hours," John said, dropping a kiss on the curls, but Sherlock's attention was already away from him.

Sherlock didn't even notice that John left. Not until an hour later, when he had completed his research, harassed some of the more feeble users on several scientific forums and declined all prospective cases in his in-tray. Then he began to feel restless and bored. He picked up his new phone and toyed with the idea of texting John.

John felt the buzzing in his pocket and reached for his phone. "Excuse me a second," he told Mike. "Just need to check that Sherlock isn't blowing up the flat, or suddenly dying on purpose, just to get my attention." He wouldn't be surprised. It actually was good to be away from his partner for a moment, as much as he loved him. The text simply said: 'Flat still here. I'm doing fine. Enjoy yourself.'

Sherlock prided himself in being able to reach out to John without demands, only reassurances. But within five minutes he was fidgeting, positively aching with the need to call John and get him to come home now. The constant closeness and his own helplessness had apparently made him more needy than ever. He almost texted again, but resisted. Then an idea began to form.

'Thanks,' John texted back. "Apparently I shouldn't worry so much," he smiled, relieved that Sherlock was doing well. He ordered a new pint for Mike and himself.

Sherlock held out for another half hour before giving in, chuckling to himself as he dialled John's number. He waited for him to answer and then pitched his voice low, in just the right way. "John, love. I'm so sorry to disturb you. I just need to ask you a little favour..."

John frowned at his phone. What the hell? "Er, yeah, I'm listening?" he said, his eyes shifting to Mike to make sure that he hadn't heard the strange tone Sherlock was using.

"I don't want you to come rushing home, but when you do, could you pick me up some chocolate on the way? I know it's silly, but I've just got this craving for chocolate... Maybe it's a blood sugar thing."

"Sherlock, it's night. The shops are closed. I suppose I can find chocolate somewhere if you really want it, but... Are you sure you're okay?" John shrugged at Mike.

"Yes, sorry. Forget it. I was just being silly. I was reading this article about the chemical composition of chocolate and how the phenylethylamine causes a release of endorphins, creating the illusion of being in love..." Sherlock closed his eyes and waited, hoping it had worked.

John cleared his throat, trying not to let Sherlock's voice affect him the way it actually did. "Why do you need that? You already are in love," he smirked, trying to sound more smug than flustered.

Mike gave him a questioning look and John suddenly realized that he hadn't told him that they were together now. Somehow it had seemed obvious from the way he had been talking about the detective - but then, if he was honest, perhaps that wasn't so different from how it had been before.

"As I said, I was just being silly. Don't worry about it. See you when you get home." Sherlock paused, and then added, drawing the last word out just a little bit: "I love you John." He hung up.

John cleared his throat again and put his phone away. "I should probably have told you that Sherlock and I are together now," he said to Mike, blushing, more because of the effect Sherlock's talking had had than because of his confession.

Mike smirked. "Really? Congratulations. Did you really need him to get hurt for that?" he asked with a playfully chastising look.

"No, it's been a little longer actually." John shifted on his chair; it was as if the deep sounds were still vibrating under his skin. "I, er, shouldn't leave him alone for too long, you know." Somehow, that voice had triggered images in his head of Sherlock lying on the sofa, restless, welcoming John home with open arms, and then he would kiss down his neck and make that low sound down his throat...

"Everything alright?" Mike's voice immediately brought him back from his fantasy.

"Yeah, sorry, I was just lost in thought for a moment. Shall we ask for the bill?"

Sherlock lay back on the sofa, his eyes still closed. Only time would tell if his plan had worked, but now he had that prospect before him, he found that he could relax. Might as well doze off for a while.

John wondered if he shouldn't feel a little pathetic. He had been in with his - boyfriend? – all week, taking care of him and hardly having a moment to himself, unless he escaped to the shop to get something for said boyfriend. Now he had finally had the chance to have a long night out, and Sherlock, surprisingly, had not even whined for him to come back; but one phone call, hearing that voice, had made him change his mind. Why would a man of his age become this aroused by a voice? And a male voice, at that, while he had hardly ever been attracted to men before Sherlock. Still, he was almost home, and he couldn't wait to see and, even more important, feel the other man.