Two-parter today, partly because I couldn't contain this in one drabble, and partly to make up for the lack over the past few days. This one comes first, and is followed directly by the next one, Besotted.
Sitting still as John stitches up the gash on his forearm, Sherlock can feel the waves of anger pouring off the doctor. He wipes the area clean with a bit more force than absolutely necessary, and Sherlock winces.
"Sherlock, you bloody idiot! I thought we'd agreed, no more running off by yourself."
"I couldn't let him get away." Sherlock isn't sure why he needs to defend himself. The ends justify the means, don't they. "Besides, it's not like you got hurt."
John sinks down, sitting carefully on the rim of the bathtub.
"That's not the point, Sherlock." He stares at the floor. Sherlock's eyes follow, and for a moment they both study a chipped tile a few inches from the sink. "What if something had happened to you?"
Sherlock smirks and raises his arm, exposing the sutured wound.
"Stop being obtuse, you know what I mean. I can't deal with this, constantly worrying about you injuring yourself. Or worse." John sighs, rubbing his face with his hand.
"Why does it matter to you so much?" Sherlock is genuinely confused.
"Wouldn't you be upset if something happened to me?"
"Well yes, but that's an entirely different situation. I need you."
"You think I don't need you?"
"You have other friends."
"Oh, Sherlock. You really don't understand relationships, do you? It matters... because..."