Sherlock bit his tongue and stared forlornly into the dark.

It was common knowledge that he had a high pain tolerance. He knew that, John knew that, most of Scotland Yard knew that. He didn't get into scuffles on casework and not come out without injuries, sometimes. Yes, there had been a few times where he'd gone down, moaning, like when he'd cracked his head into a 4x4 and had to have fourteen stitches and nurse a severe concussion, or when he'd taken a hit from someone who had brandished a lead pipe to a... rather sensitive region of his body. Both memorable occasions where he'd dropped and not gotten back up for a good long while, for different reasons in their own right.

He did have a strong tolerance. There were just moments.

This was nearly one of those moments.

In all of his 'crazy, risky, outlandish, idiotic, and sodding stupid' ideas, he'd never had a broken bone. He'd had a lot of near misses, but he was usually intelligent enough in those crazy risky outlandishly idiotic ideas to avoid major problems. He knew his body's limits, he knew what he could and couldn't handle.

As of seven hours ago, he'd experienced his first broken bone.

It hurt like hell for all of sixty seconds when he'd realised what had happened, when the pain had flipped his stomach and he spluttered and gasped for breath through the vomiting, and then, he hadn't really felt anything at all. Everything had just gone numb, comfortably so, so long as he didn't move his leg.

Now? Not so much.

It had gone ten past two. He was pretty sure that he'd been asleep, for a few hours, at least, but as of the past twenty-five minutes, he'd been battling both nausea and pain. He didn't know if the nausea was from the medication they'd given him earlier, or if it was nausea because the medication had worn off and the pain was getting to him again. He did know that he was bordering his threshold.

He clenched his teeth and shifted slightly. It felt impossible to move with the gigantic cast to begin with, but now he was in pain and uncomfortable. If it wasn't such a pain to move around, he'd be up and working on something, anything, but he had crutches, and, with the addition of those crutches, he'd found something he wasn't good at. And both John - who was above him - and Mrs Hudson - who was below him - would be disturbed by the thumping the crutches made, anyway.

He swallowed back a groan which escalated into a whine. He groped for his phone without looking. The text he sent to John was succinct but to the point. He held his breath as thirty seconds ticked by, and breathed shallowly as thirty turned into sixty. He continued the motion until approximately four minutes and twenty-two seconds later; he heard movement above his ceiling as John was roused from his sleep by the text.

Sherlock blew out a breath as his fingers seized around the blankets. He forced himself to relax, and tried to focus on breathing again.

John knocked softly, cracking the door. "What's wrong?" His voice was thick with exhaustion; clearly, he'd been asleep but it hadn't prevented him coming down once his text alert got the best of him.

Sherlock clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed tightly. He opened them a moment later, looking blearily towards John. "I'm-" he cleared his throat "- I'm in a fairly considerable amount of pain."

"Have you topped up the painkillers?"

Sherlock turned his head away while John turned on the lamp. "No. I forgot where I dropped them."

"They're on the desk, give me a second." John laid his hand against Sherlock's forehead. "You hot?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Nauseous."

"Right. These pills can cause that. You want to try eating something before this dose?"

"No. It might just be the pain," Sherlock said thinly. "We'll see on the next go-round." He blew out a breath and squirmed slightly. "It's impossible to get comfortable with this thing," he hissed, glaring towards the cast.

John smiled tiredly. "I know. Hang on, I'll be back."

"Mm."

Sherlock pressed his head back into the pillow, flexing the toes on his 'good leg'. Not only was the cast meant to stay on for weeks and weeks, the pain was an additional kick while he was already down. Not only could he hardly be on cases with extensive legwork until the cast was gone, he could only get around with crutches wherever he went to begin with. The more he thought about it, the more miserable he was starting to become.

"Right, take these." John walked back in. "They'll take fifteen minutes to kick in, but they'll make you tired, too, so you can sleep." He handed the pills over with a cup of water.

Sherlock nodded, gulping back the pills as he watched John leave the room again. He wondered if he was going back to bed. He supposed it didn't matter. With any luck, the pills would knock him out soon. He shifted uncomfortably and closed his eyes, going back to his breathing exercise. Inhale and exhale.

He was actually surprised when John did come back. He jumped a bit and winced, cursing under his breath. The pills couldn't work fast enough.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

Sherlock watched tiredly as John thumped a few pillows onto the bed. "Are we having a..." He inhaled sharply. "... sleepover?" he asked, managing to raise an eyebrow.

"No," John replied, stacking the pillows up. "Sorry, my doctoring only goes so far. But since there's little to do for the pain, this might help. I'm gonna put your leg up here, alright?"

"Uh." Sherlock flexed his fingers, drawing in a deep breath. "Yes."

His mind was trying to tell him of course not, but the fact remained that John was a doctor. A good one at that, and out of all of them, he was the one that Sherlock trusted the most. It didn't end up hurting too much as John gently moved his leg onto the stack of pillows, although-

"I feel ridiculous," Sherlock said flatly, staring at his elevated, cast-covered foot.

"Yeah, well, you don't look much better, either," John said, smiling slightly. "It'll be uncomfortable for awhile, getting used to the medication. And it's probably swelling, which makes it worse, so you want to keep it elevated as much as possible. But if the meds don't help, or if they keep making you feel sick, let me know, right?"

Sherlock nodded solemnly. He was too tired and too miserable to argue.

"You want something in case you have to vomit?"

He squirmed a bit and nodded, trying to get comfortable. Ten more minute and the medication should be taking effect, hopefully just enough so that he could sleep and not make him more nauseous. "Probably couldn't hurt."

John procured the bin from the bathroom, setting it down next to the bed. "You want me to stick around 'til you fall asleep or are you good?"

Sherlock hesitated. His initial reaction was to say that he was fine, or on the way to becoming so. It would release John from his doctorly duties and he could go back to bed. But there was a more base part of him that didn't want John to leave, that wanted him to stay until the pain had subsided or he had fallen asleep himself. That was a selfish, and also weak part of himself. He didn't need the companionship, and yet, he craved it.

"I'll wait and make sure the medication works."

Sherlock blinked, looking up at John. "I didn't say anything."

John folded himself back onto the mattress, laying at the foot of the bed. "No," he said, folding his arms beneath his head, "but I could practically hear you thinking and your hesitation was enough. We all like having company when we're hurt and tired."

Not me, was the thought that came to mind, but Sherlock simply turned his head into the pillow again. John's presence was a soothing balm to his nerves, working in tandem with the painkillers. He hoped to be asleep soon, and focussed on John's and his own combined breath in the otherwise silence of the flat.

I haven't forgotten about this story! I got the muse back, so there's at least another chapter in the queue and then we'll have to see what happens to the muse then. xD I try to stay on top of updates... fail most of the time, but it's one of those things. Sleepy!lock never really leaves. xP And! Hurt and comfort. ^^ And still involving sleep. Three wonderful writing elements in one!

I still do not own Sherlock. Thanks for reading and stay tuned for future chapters!