All right, I see everybody loved my cliff :p
As always thanks to all the readers and reviewers!
Boobynny60, Zonya, Catt Holmes, watergoddesskasey : Hope you will like this one (am I talking about a new cliff?)
Miss Crookshanks : Yeah I am! But for lemon squares I can be worse than him :p Thanks!
Prettylittlescars : I love possessive Sherlock too. Do you like puppy eyes Sherlock? Because...
Booknoodles : Yeah I thought this story needed funny times, this was one of them. Thanks for reading :)
Oryon UK : Yes you should! :p Like I said I love possessive Sherlock but I love insecure Sherlock too so...(You talked about blaming himself...well that's something close :)). Thank you!
RhianKristen : I can't resist a puppy face... (A puppy face, my only weakness...!) :)
Real or not : Sadique, oui sur ce coup là j'assume... Heureusement que voilà la suite, je ne voudrais pas avoir mauvaise réputation XD.
Back from London. Spent really (really!) good holidays. I'm poor but happy (well, let's say I couldn't resist shopping a little * cough * well, okay, a lot...)
Anyway I will stop moaning about London and write more about what is virtually happening in 221B Baker street (because in real life the address exists but it's a Sherlock Holmes museum, but hush Medusa, don't spoil the dreams...)
6 – Down.
"Where is he?" Sherlock shouted as he entered in the hospital.
"Sir, you can't shout like that!" The nurse behind the reception desk said.
"Where is he? Where is John Watson?" The detective asked again still shouting, uncharacteristically distressed.
"Sherlock!" A familiar voice said behind him.
"Lestrade, where is he?" The brown haired man said turning around to face the DI.
"He is all right, Sherlock." Lestrade said trying to calm the mad detective.
"I want to see him!" Sherlock tried to bypass the inspector.
"You can't !" Lestrade caught his arm "He is having an X-ray right now."
"It's all my fault..." The detective said freeing his arm from the policeman's grip.
"How could it be your fault Sherlock, he's been hit by a car..."
Sherlock put his phone on Lestrade's hand. The DI looked at it and frowned while reading the text message.
The doctor is down! Down! Down! You're next! Cheers! M.
"M? Moriarty?"
"Who else?" Sherlock hissed. "Don't tell John."
"Detective Inspector Lestrade?" Asked a doctor holding medical reports.
"Yes?" Both Sherlock and Lestrade said "I am DI Lestrade." The grey haired man said taking a step closer to the doctor.
"I just checked Mister Watson's X-rays, seems like he doesn't have internal injuries. He is bruised though, and is left wrist is broken. I wanted to keep him in observation but he is really stubborn. Maybe you can talk to him..."
"I'm taking him home." Sherlock said "Where is he?" The doctor looked at the DI inquiring.
"That man is John Watson's...roommate."
"And I'm taking him home."
"It would be wiser not to..." Sherlock's look stopped the doctor in the middle of his phrase "...all right."
"I need to see him, now!" Sherlock ordered and the doctor frowned.
"All right, come with me." The doctor sighed.
"John!" Sherlock shouted when he saw the blond haired man. He was sitting on a bed on the left side of the emergency room. He looked horrible, his left cheek was covered with dry blood, his wrist was in plaster and his jeans were torn. The detective crossed the room as fast as a shouting star and put his hands lightly on each side of John's face. "Are you all right? John I was so scared...I thought..."
"I'm...well, I'm not fine but I will be all right. I just want..."
"I'm taking you home." Sherlock said removing his hands from the injured man.
"Thanks."
They were sitting on a cab in silence on their way to Baker street.
"Can you...just not tell Harry about the car accident?"
"Why would I tell her?"
"People tell the family when something of that nature happens to someone, I'd call Mycroft if you were hit by a car."
"You wouldn't have to."
"Yeah maybe...anyway if the occasion presents itself don't tell Harry, please."
Silence fell again and for a little while they stared outside their respective windows.
"Why?" Sherlock finally asked.
"Sorry?" John snapped out of his thoughts.
"Why don't you want me to tell Harry?"
"She wouldn't understand."
"What?"
"That I accept to live with a liar."
"What?" Sherlock turned his head to look at John's face. The man looked really tired. He put his phone out of his jacket pocket and showed it to the detective.
Will he tell you who was driving the car? See you next time. With love. M.
"Lucky it didn't break on the accident, aren't I?"
"John...I just wanted to spare you the fear of being a target."
"I'm a soldier, Sherlock, I'm used to be a target."
"John..."
"I'm not a child, and you're not my keeper. Don't think you're responsible of me. You reek of guilt. I don't need that...Am I quoting well?"
"John, I.."
"Shut up!" The soldier ordered and, surprisingly, Sherlock obeyed.
The cab stopped right in front of 221B and John stepped out leaving Sherlock inside. He opened the door. He was halfway to the first floor when he felt a hand on his. Sherlock tugged and the doctor fell in his arms.
"John I'm...I'm sorry. I thought I've lost you. I thought it was my fault." He rolled his arm around John's waist and cupped his cheek with his other hand. The doctor didn't make a move to free himself and the detective kissed him on the mouth soft and slow then he rested his forehead on John's.
"I know how it feels to be scared for you, Sherlock. I know what you've been through tonight. But it's no excuse for keeping me in the dark. And, please, stop kissing me like that." Sherlock stepped back from John and the doctor climbed the other half of the stairs before turning to Sherlock.
"I'm going to sleep now, I'll have time to be mad at you tomorrow since I can't go to work with a broken wrist. Goodnight Sherlock." He went up and closed his door.
John was mad at him, all right, anything he felt or said was fine, he was alive.
Sherlock spent the night on the sofa, awake and fully dressed. Just in case Moriarty was mad enough to show himself at the apartment. Just in case John needed something. Just in case he asked him to come upstairs.
He knew he was fooling himself, he knew John didn't want him. But he needed the idea, he wanted it to last in his head because it felt good. Or better that nothing. Better than having the man he loved asking him not to.
He got up, three or four times to make tea, just in case John showed up but the tea grew cold the four times and he decided to stop, mostly because he ran out of tea but also because he knew he was loosing his time.
"Sherlock?" John asked and the detective opened his eyes, he'd fallen asleep, he'd actually fallen asleep ! John was standing between the sofa and the coffee table, he looked upset.
"What is it John?" Sherlock sat on the couch suddenly fully awake.
"I didn't want to wake you but...I need help." The doctor looked embarrassed.
"Of course, whatever you want."
"I just need you to cellotape a plastic bag around my plater, I would have done it myself but I'm bruised and I can't move my right arm properly...and I really need to shower..."
"Yes, yes of course," Sherlock smiled "I can do that." He stood up and gestured towards the couch "Sit down, I'll be right back."
Sherlock went to the kitchen and fumble in the drawers until he found cellotape and a plastic bag, then he came back in the sitting room. John was sitting on the couch watching the brown haired man in silence. The detective crossed the room and sat close to the doctor. He took his plastered arm and rested it on his lap then he applied himself to secure the porous shell with the bag and the cellotape. He did it really seriously and meticulously as John watched him.
"This will do," Sherlock said "maybe you should try to put water on it just to be sure."
"It's all right, Sherlock, I'm sure it will be perfect."
"Well, if you need anything else, let me know."
"Thank you." John said before getting up and leaving the room.
Then again, Sherlock waited, listening.
Eventually John came back in the room and Sherlock covered him with an anxious look.
"Sherlock, I, ah, need you again. How inconvenient this plaster his...It had to be the left wrist..."
"John..." Sherlock whispered.
"Those buttons are really small, I just can't..." The rest of the phrase got lost since Sherlock's eyes were riveted on John's open shirt.
"John...your ribs..." The detective's eyes opened wide and he got up slowly "And your stomach..." He took a step closer.
John looked at himself.
"Yes, I'm really lucky to be alive."
Sherlock laid his hands lightly on John's stomach, it was really bruised all blue and yellow, then he moved them to his shirts tails then buttoned them slowly. When he finished, he looked at John's left cheek and sighed.
"Very lucky." He said in a soft voice. Suddenly he froze. "John you still have dry blood on your hair."
"Oh," John tried to brush his hair with his right hand but stopped in mid air and made a face "Fuck!" He clenched his teeth.
"John!" Sherlock caught the blond haired man's hand between his, he hated to be that powerless and looked absolutely distressed. "I can wash your hair." He finally said.
"What?"
"Please, let me help you!"
"Well..."
"Please..."
John hesitated a moment, his hand locked up in Sherlock's. He felt the detective's impatient eyes on his face.
"All right..." He sighed and the brown haired man smiled like a mad man.
"Right, right..." He put John's hand to his chest and watched all around the room "The bathroom is too small, we should do this in the kitchen. Good, all right, sit here for a moment, I'm preparing everything."
John opened his mouth to say something but closed it, he was so happy to help. He sat on the sofa and watched the detective running everywhere. Then after several minutes, Sherlock came in the sitting room and hold out his hand to the doctor.
"Come on John, let's wash your hair." He smiled like a child.
… …. ….
TBC
Hope you liked it!
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