Chapter Beta'd by Swimmergirl0726

The silence in the room was all but comfortable. Sherlock was pinning John with his angry gaze and John felt like running out the room and fleeing the situation, but he was obviously not going anywhere with his knee in the state it was currently in.

'Sherlock, it's not what you think-' John tries but his voice falters and he doesn't know how to continue.

'Ok, so you are not trying to lie to me. You have not just been hit or kicked in the knee by someone whom you find more important to protect than me and you are not acting like I am a complete idiot by trying to hide this!' Sherlock fumes, shouting at the top of his lungs.

The accusations hit home to the very core of John Watson as he forces himself into a sitting position. He has no chance of standing but he tries to draw himself up to look a little less vulnerable than he feels. 'I am trying to protect you, that's the whole point!' He shouts, gasping and panting as his lungs press against the bruises on his back.

'Fuck… fuck… I'm gonna be sick…' John gasps as he grapples with the sheets at his side, bringing up a white plastic bag with a solid plastic rim and gagging into it's open ring. He brings up nothing but bile and Sherlock looks on in horror as his friend's face grows increasingly ashen and he slumps on the cot panting and moaning softly.

'It's okay, John, I'm sorry. It's okay… just breath… ' Sherlock admonishes as he rubs very gentle and careful circles over John's bruised back. He has no idea what to do... he finds himself mimicking motions from films and books… trying to remember what he has been told people do when someone they care about is hurt. Because he cares about John Watson… no matter how much he tries to deny it, he cares… he really, really cares….

Slowly the air of panic ebbs from the room, and as John's breathing evens out Sherlock slowly steps back as his own heart rate slows. John is still trembling slightly and his eyes are squeezed shut, but the colour has returned to his cheeks.'

'Do you have a concussion or are you still sick?' Sherlock asks, a lump in his stomach.

'Possibly a bit of both.' John moans and gags again but only briefly this time.

Gradually, as John lowers the bag and lies back against the cot, Sherlock begins to process the words that had just come out of his blogger's mouth. 'John, I don't want to upset you again, but really, what do you mean… how were you trying to protect me?'

John blinks up at him, a defeated look in his eyes. 'Telling you is exactly what he wants. If I tell you I play right into his hands, and I don't want to do that,' John whispers.

'John, if I don't know what is going on I can't help you. If I can't help you I will feel bad- yes I am capable of feeling bad- so please just tell me.' The use of the word 'bad' rather than something more specific and poignant makes Sherlock sound almost like a child and John relents, reaching out to grab one of Sherlock's hands as it hovers above the blankets

'Just don't be angry with me, I did what I thought was best.' John asks, squeezing the hand slightly. Sherlock nods, giving John a wary but quizzical look.

'This didn't just start today, did it John? All those supposed patients the other week… it's linked right? And there are things you're not telling me…' he prompts, trying to look into his friends eyes which are firmly fixed on the cursed bag in his lap.

'I don't know, I really don't…' John hesitates. 'There was a threat, two weeks ago, and after that everything has been a living Hell.' He blinks, holding back the tears that burn at the back of his eyes. 'I'm possibly over reacting, but I have a feeling I didn't just have the flu… there was a message in a cup at the Yard… it's likely I was poisoned,' John mumbles. Sherlock's knuckles grow white as he clutches the railing on the cot.

'And when were you planning on telling me about this?' Sherlock asks with steel in his voice.

'Preferably never, since that is exactly what he told me he wants.' John states and finally looks up to meet Sherlock's gaze. 'When I met him, he said he wants me to tell you what he does to me… he thinks if he hurts me it will hurt you and I wasn't about to test that theory'

A dense silence settles over the room as Sherlock processes John's words. The concept of them is achingly familiar, yet incredibly hard to deal with. Of course it is not true that Sherlock does not feel emotions… he simply chooses not to express them, not to engage in them… but John has changed all that. And while it is still very hard to interpret all the 'feelings' that come pushing in on his rational deductions, there is no doubt that they are there, and right now they hurt.

'Details, John, give me the details.' he grumbled under his breath and watched as John slowly nodded his consent.

'Two weeks ago, that night I was out with Mike Stamford, a man cornered me in the bathroom. He told me you had put the love of his life behind bars. Apparently she was treated badly by inmates… maybe by staff as well, he didn't give me details, but she killed herself when she got out. He blames you, and for some reason he thought that if he hurt me like she was hurt that it would make you feel something like what he feels. I know he's exaggerating, I know you don't feel like that. He's being an idiot to think that he can get revenge on you by breaking my knee, but I still didn't want to test his theory. I didn't want him to get away with using me…' John's voice trailed off.

'I'm sorry, John, he was right.' Sherlock mumbled while fiddling with the blanket on John's legs.

'What do you mean?' John asked looking worried.

'Seeing you hurt, it is unpleasant. Seeing you hurt because of me is more unpleasant, so just tell me… tell me so I can go find this bastard and get him out of our life as fast as possible.' Sherlock fixes him with a pointed glare, but the words sink home to John and he feels a warmth spread through his chest that somehow eases the pain in his head and leg.

'I did just tell you. That's all I know. Oh, and I think he said that she had killed her brother, or at least that she had done something to her brother to get thrown in prison. That might help for now,' John watched in bewilderment as Sherlock nodded and fished his phone out of his pocket. 'You can't use that in here, Sherlock, it will interfere with the medical equipment. You might end up killing someone!' he admonishes and Sherlock freezes for a second.

'I'll be right back, have to text Lestrade.' Sherlock informs him and John smiles faintly as he disappears out the door. Maybe telling Sherlock wasn't such a bad idea, at least now the consulting detective is distracted, has something to work on. Sherlock thrives under the weight of a good mystery after all…