Title: Making the Connection

Story Summary: A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

Chapter Summary: John needs to take care of Sherlock. Prompt: Professional.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

A/N: Sorry, there seemed to have been a problem with the uploading of this chapter. Hope it works now. This prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

If possible bring supplies from surgery.
SH

Immediately John wondered if that was going to end in yet another one of Sherlock's experiments. He only saw the text an hour after it was sent because he had forgotten his mobile on his desk when he went to Sarah's office to do a consult for her. It was rather unusual for Sherlock to not send at least one follow up text if he didn't reply in a 'timely fashion'. Odd.

Also, what exactly did Sherlock mean by 'supplies'? That could mean anything from a packet of band-aids to examination gloves and syringes. Usually he was a lot more specific than that.

John was only scheduled to see one more patient and she should've been there ten minutes ago. While he waited for his patient to turn up John took the time to inspect the contents his black emergency bag, he indeed needed to re-stock. They were allowed to take a certain amount of supplies with them in their bags, so they could help people outside the surgery. When he was certain his last patient for the day wasn't going to come in he filled out one of the supply check-out forms and refilled his bag with examination gloves, bandages, a few mild analgesics and syringes to go with them, some more tissue adhesive as well as a new stitch-kit and a full bottle of antiseptic.

The entire way home to Baker Street John wondered for what kind of experiment Sherlock would need the supplies. He was probably only bored again because they had no case at the moment.

He heard Sherlock's soft groans as soon as he had entered their flat. Without thinking twice he went straight to his friend's bedroom and sure enough, stretched out on the bed lay the - literally - bloody mess that was commonly referred to as Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock?" He rushed to his bedside. "You stupid git. Why didn't you tell me that you needed a doctor rather than supplies?"

John rolled Sherlock's light body to lie on his back so that he could inspect the wounds. The midnight blue shirt he was wearing had a tear on the side and the edges of the fabric were suspiciously dark and wet, the side of Sherlock's face was smeared with dried blood and some of his hair was stuck to his skin, his upper lip had been split open by a nasty punch and one of his eyes was swollen and matched his shirt in colour. His knuckles, however, informed John that the other guy must look at least as bad as Sherlock did.

"It was obvious", Sherlock mumbled with a slur to his words and John added a possible minor concussion to his mental list of injuries.

"I'm going to get get some water and washcloths. Don't move." He was glad it was nothing too bad, nothing he couldn't fix with the supplies he brought from the surgery. Nonetheless he berated himself silently for not thinking of the possibility of Sherlock being hurt. Yes, it was true that over the last few months Sherlock and he had needed medical attention sometimes, but usually Sherlock was clever enough to wait for him before he got himself beaten up.

"I hope you weren't too fond of this shirt", he said a minute later when he cut open the arms of Sherlock's shirt and threw it into the kitchen sink through the open door. As he had suspected the cut on his friend's side wasn't deep, Sherlock just hadn't applied any pressure to it so it had bled unhindered.

First John freed the skin of the dried blood, he softly spoke to Sherlock and explained him what he was doing. He couldn't help but notice the warmth emanating from his friend's skin through the thin layer of latex of the examination gloves he was wearing. His fingertips were tingling, how good it must feel to touch that soft looking skin. Sherlock's moan when he applied the antiseptic made matters only worse and his imagination went into overdrive. He closed the cut with the wound adhesive, which he knew Sherlock liked better than stitches and bandaged his friend's waist before he took a moment to rummage around his bag.

C'mon John, he silently said to himself. This is your friend, he is in pain and you are a doctor. Yes, you find him attractive, but now is neither the time nor the place. Okay, the place might be right, but the time sure as hell isn't. So stop fantasizing about Sherlock's body and be professional!

John took the duvet that lay crumpled in one corner of the bed and threw it over Sherlock so that it came right up to his shoulders, before he went back to attending his other wounds, still explaining every step of the way in a soft voice. It was something that kept him focused and tended to calm patients down.

"Okay, Sherlock, let's see, what do we have here? The laceration above your temple isn't that bad. It bled a lot, but you probably already know that head wounds tend to do that anyways. I will clean it with the wash cloth now. There you go. I even got most of the blood out of your teasingly long hair. It should even have stopped hurting by now; the antiseptic might still sting a bit, though."

Sherlock had closed his eyes and didn't even flinch when he touched the open wound with the antiseptic wipe.

"I'll just glue the rims of the wound together now with the adhesive and that should barely leave a scar on that soft skin of yours."

Cleaning the split lip took a lot of concentration, which John almost felt embarrassed about but then decided not to care. Sherlock seemed not to notice any of his explanations or he clearly would've commented before. He was probably asleep after the day's exhaustion, since John knew for a fact that Sherlock had hardly slept in the last four days.

When he was done Sherlock was breathing steadily. John took of his examination gloves and looked at his handiwork. He couldn't resist stroking his fingertips over the dried wound adhesive just above Sherlock's left eye-brow and softly caressing the younger man's split lip with his thumb. He would be okay.

John went into the kitchen, got a new bowl of lukewarm fresh water and sat down on the edge of Sherlock's bed again. He took his friend's hand in his and started to softly scrub away the dried blood from the long, slender fingers and the sharp outstanding knuckles.

"There you go, we're done. You still look like somebody didn't like your latest deduction but it should be fine in no time. You might not be able to play the violin without pain in the next couple of days, but that should be it." John let his thumb rub over one of the sore knuckles and put Sherlock's hand down again to get up when his friend's hand took hold of his.

Sherlock's breathing was still steady and John knew that instant that Sherlock had been awake and listening to him the whole time. The hand holding his had a firm grip and John looked up at Sherlock's face, his eyes were still closed, his lips, however, were genuinely smiling at him.

"Thank you, John."