The Hospital wing was quiet. It was evening, and the soft golden lamps illuminated the two boys; one lying motionless, tucked up in a bed, the other hunched beside him, still in his mud-splattered Gryffindor Quidditch robes. Almost every player in the two teams had been through the Hospital Wing that afternoon, the injuries ranging from broken noses and fingers to mild hypothermia (Madam Pomfrey had used up almost all her stock of Pepper-up potion as many of the crowd had been diagnosed with colds and chills.) to concussions and broken ribs. Harvey had been discharged about half an hour ago, his fall had been less debilitating than Sherlock's as he'd still had a hold on his broom. He'd been patched up pretty quick but Madam Pomfrey had wanted to keep him in bed for a few hours in case of complications; now it was only Sherlock left, and he still hadn't regained consciousness. Madam Pomfrey had done her usual magic on the numerous injuries, his broken bones were on the mend and the four types of potion sitting on his nightstand were doing their job.

'Nevertheless, he's in for a painful night.' The Matron had shaken her head and left to her office muttering about the dangers of Quidditch. Even though Sherlock was fully unconscious, he would still moan and shift under the covers as the potions made their burning way through his battered body. Each time the injured Ravenclaw groaned weakly, John would wince, reach out for the pale hand resting upon the covers then withdraw shaking his head. He stared at the patient's face, combing it for signs of lucidness. Eyes travelled down the mass of dressings covering the right side of Sherlock's face, his whole head was wrapped in white bandages except for the nose, left half of the mouth, left eye and cheek, and a few tufts of dark curls. John winced again, remembering how he had hit the two Bludgers which had done most of the damage in front of him. The feeling of wanting to beat Sherlock had left him as soon as he had hit the finishing Bludger, now all that filled him was guilt and shame.

When the differing teachers and students had pleaded with him to change out of his sodden robes, John had been stubbornly silent. He wasn't going to go and have a hot shower and change into warm clothes when Sherlock was lying there beaten up, unconscious and bloody. He needed to punish himself for his gross behaviour and the feeling of victory he'd felt when he first hit the raven-haired seeker early in the game.

Sherlock's agonising moan made John lean over him protectively. The limp body was suddenly ridged, his back arching, hands clawing at the sheets as the groan was forced out between tightly gritted teeth.

'Sherlock! Sherlock can you hear me? It's ok. You're going to be ok, you're alright.' John had his hands on the slim chest, peering worriedly into the bandaged face as he tried to comfort the struggling form beneath him.

Madam Pomfrey had come hurrying out of her office at John's words, she pushed him aside and bent over the writhing figure herself, with one hand she pointed her wand at his chest muttering spells, and the other quickly checked his pulse, temperature and available eye. John stood uselessly to the side peering anxiously over her shoulder, he wished the pain could somehow be transferred to himself, it was unbearable watching his best friend like this.

'J….Jo…ughn.' Sherlock grunted, his chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. John started, it was almost like he was trying to say…No. That was just wishful thinking; that was his guilt talking. The bandage-wrapped head fell onto the pillow and the slim body relaxed back into the bed, Madam Pomfrey turned to John briskly.

'You. Support his head so I can give him the next dose.' Skilfully measuring out some bright orange concoction into a goblet she waved John forward. He gingerly slid a hand under the dark curls, horribly aware of how wet and muddy his clothing was. 'Come on boy! Lift him up.' Awkwardly leaning away so he wouldn't drip on the invalid, John manoeuvred Sherlock's lifeless head up. Madam Pomfrey tipped the slightly steaming liquid smartly into the open mouth, 'Right. Well that should help the pain. But really, fixing twelve broken bones: what do you expect?' She shook her head at John and disappeared back into her office with a clatter of potion bottles.

John looked down at the head he was still cradling, Sherlock looked peaceful now but it was still a wrench seeing the usually animated face and clever eyes still and dull. He lowered the curls back down gently, leaving one hand resting around the top of the Ravenclaw's head. His eyes combed the familiar features, drinking in the sharp angles and soft curves of the angular face; with a start, John noticed he had been absentmindedly stroking Sherlock's uninjured cheek, he froze staring at the pale face. In the pause Sherlock moaned quietly, slowly John touched the pointy cheekbone again, the moan stopped. Staring down, open-mouthed, John continued to trail his fingers from cheekbone to chin and back again. His fingers looked incredibly brown next to Sherlock's silky, white skin, realising what he was doing, John grinned imagining the look on the Ravenclaw's face if he woke up now.

-oOo-

John had been forced out at eight that evening. He had taken a quick shower, changed, and snuck back down to the Hospital Wing around ten. Madam Pomfrey's office was dark along with the rest of the room, creeping over to Sherlock's bed he whispered to himself, 'I'm back.' The shadowy lump shifted and Sherlock's face appeared out from under the sheets. John gaped, 'You're awake!'

'Shhh. You'll wake up Madam Pomfrey.' Hissed the fully conscious Sherlock. 'And obviously I'm awake.' John sank to his knees next to the bed still staring in shock at the curly haired wizard. 'What happened to me? I don't remember how I got here.' Sherlock was peering at him with barely concealed confusion, John blinked remembering how edgy the genius was around things to do with his brain and memory, this was going to be hard to explain. 'John. Tell me what happened.' John swallowed, bracing himself.

'Ok. Well. I hit a Bludger at you.' John couldn't meet the piercing gaze and instead focussed on a tuft of dark hair poking out of Sherlock's bandages.

'Yes. I know that, it made my lip bleed. But that doesn't explain why I'm here…Oh. You hit another one at me, yes?' Sherlock didn't wait for John's confirmation. 'And it knocked me out, or made me fall off my broom.' He prodded his bandaged head while he spoke, wincing at the discoveries of bruising.

Looking up warily, John grabbed his arm. 'Don't touch them! You'll make it worse.' Sherlock stared at him, reading the information that John's expression and actions told him and lowered his arm slowly.

'Oh. You hit me…And it was bad. So now you're feeling all guilty and protective. I must have fallen then, how many bones have I broken?' This time John winced.

'Twelve I think she said.' John muttered, letting go of his arm. Sherlock whistled quietly.

'Impressive. So tell me what happened.'

John exhaled slowly. 'You had beaten Harvey to the Snitch so Ashton grabbed your leg and was pulling you away. Yes it was a foul.' He added. 'And I hit a Bludger at you. But because Ashton had grabbed you, when the Bludger knocked you out you fell off your broom. You got stuck in the goal hoop.' Sherlock looked at him incredulously. John glanced at him quickly then carried on. 'You had got the Snitch and so it had finished. We were all flying toward you to get you down, but then you…fell.' John's voice broke slightly on the last word and he rubbed his face in his hands.

'I bet Trelawney was pleased.' Sherlock muttered. John looked at him in confusion. 'Oh you know! That prophecy she made about me falling, remember?'

John chuckled. 'God, she's going to be unbearable.' The uncovered side of Sherlock's mouth lifted up in a grin.

'So. Quite a dramatic match then!? And we beat you.' The Ravenclaw grinned slyly. John nodded silently. Sherlock looked at him in disappointment. 'Seriously? Are you so affected by my fall that you don't care you lost?' Sherlock glared at him, obviously put out that he couldn't crow over John's loss. 'Sentiment. It's always the sentiment.' John chuckled again. 'What.' Hissed Sherlock venomously.

'You're so competitive that you're actually going to be more annoyed that I'm not bothered about the game than the fact that you won, caught the Snitch and finished the game in the most dramatic way possible.' John shook his head laughing quietly. 'You're funny.' Sherlock opened and closed his mouth in silence.

'I'm sorry for being so…' Sherlock paused, not looking at John. 'Difficult.' The injured wizard had suddenly become very interested in the pattern on John's jumper. John stared at him, his mind couldn't seem to process the last few words, had Sherlock Holmes just apologized to him? Peering at the bandaged face John realized he didn't feel any sort of victory at the apology, it wasn't needed, he knew what Sherlock was like and was friends with him anyway, he shouldn't have to say sorry for being himself. Acting on impulse, John leaned forward and placed his arms delicately around the pyjama clad shoulders, resting his head between the rough bandages and soft pillow. The body in his arms froze momentarily and then relaxed into the embrace, an arm snaked around John's torso and gripped the back of his jumper. John tried to put all of his feelings into the hug, his own apology, acceptance and friendship, he wasn't sure if Sherlock would understand though.

They pulled apart. John coughed awkwardly.

'That was…nice.' Said Sherlock quietly. John nodded fervently.

'Yeah.' They looked at each other, then John started to giggle, slapping his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. Sherlock grinned crookedly at his hyperventilating friend.

'Hell of a way to kill the moment eh?' Then he started to chuckle too.

A.N: So that last chapter was a bit mean to Sherlock…But I wanted to write a really dramatic match…so I did. Thank you for the reviews Captain Reddish and Iron Mikan Frost-Elric-Uzumaki, It's so great to get feedback!

I'm not sure where to go after this, so here's hoping I get some inspiration soon. Maybe something can happen to John to even out the events a bit… Anyway thanks for reading!

Oh and Happy New Year!