And now John was sleeping in Sherlock's arms, he finally had a chance to observe his little doctor. To his surprise, John was quite thin. In fact he could feel John's chest bones easily through the thin fabric. And how could he be so pale? He looked just like a weak boy, yet he went to Afghanistan when he grew up, and he saved Sherlock's life. John was not as strong as Sherlock would have thought. No wonder, Sherlock reminded himself, his mother just died, and his father sent him to his aunt, then his aunt abandoned him. Such stories are hard to believe today, it was often thought to be happening in Victorian Ages. But this happened to John, maybe John was special in some way.
Sherlock's hand brushed John's hair softly. He took the boy home with him, his families wouldn't want him at any rate. So he thought he should take care of John, and protect him, as John did for him. How could he never realise that John was always the weak one? The one that needed protection? Of course he never noticed. John was a soldier, and he'd never show his emotional side to anyone, not even Sherlock. But when he lay there sleeping silently, everything was clear.
His pale skin, his tiny fingers, dry lips and long, golden eyelashes. If possible, Sherlock would touch his skin, and place kisses all over his body. He'd probably do that to John if he was an adult, and they'd be regarded as gay, but he wouldn't mind. He thought about how he was always the one being admired by John, and dozens of other people. That ordinary blogger was seldom cared about, but Sherlock just found that he was amazing. And he was admiring John. What would he be like when he wakes up? Would he be quiet again? Or would he be strong, strong enough to carry on without his family? Family was so important to John, and Sherlock understood why. It was because he lost one before, so he treasured it.
But was John really back? When Sherlock began to wake up from the alcohol, he thought about why the boy appeared. It could be a trick. John was an ordinary name, so was Watson. This boy could be someone else. He can't be-
No. He is John. Sherlock was sure, and for the first time he had no proof. He knew it was John. Maybe it was Moriarty's trick, but he didn't care. John was here, nothing mattered anymore.
But he was dead! How could that make sense?
'I must find out,' Sherlock whispered, 'A trick. A trick that connected to John's life.' Maybe, just maybe, he'd see John someday. When the boy grew up there's gonna be clues for him to find John. Before that, he could enjoy his time with kid John and do his research. Finding John seemed hopeless, but Sherlock would never give up, for it was John, his John.
When he began to feel really drowsy, he placed an arm under John's body and lifted him up in a bridal style. He walked slowly to the room John used to sleep in and put the kid on the bed carefully. When he finished he stood by the bed for a while, and bent down to kiss John's forehead.
'I love you,' he mumbled. John whispered something in his sleep, Sherlock tried to work out what it was but failed. He gave up, and went into his own room. He grabbed a blanket to cover himself. For the first time after John's death, he fell asleep successfully.