"MY BLOODY WALL!"
John groaned, putting his book down on his bed beside him. "Please don't let that be Sherlock being bored…"
With a resigned sigh, John got out of his warm, comfy bed and trudged downstairs to where Sherlock was shooting the wall and Mrs Hudson was screeching at him.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" John yelled at Sherlock, scowling.
John sighed, closing his eyes. Mrs Hudson snuck out of the room. "Honestly, Sherlock, you know that I'M the one who has to pay for that," John groaned, gesturing at the wall.
"I'm BORED!" Sherlock groaned, shooting the wall again with John's handgun.
John snatched the gun off of him and stuffed it down his pants. "I'm going out," John said, turning, grabbing his wallet, phone and jumper.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock called as John descended the stairs.
He dialled Greg as he jogged down the stairs. "Hello, Greg," John greeted.
"Hello John." Greg sounded worn.
"Ready for a night out?" John asked, grinning.
"Oh, yes. 10 minutes?"
"Meet you there!"
Whistling slightly, John walked into the restaurant, sitting at his usual seat by the window. It was his favourite seat because that was where he watched his first criminal with Sherlock.
Soon after John arrived, Greg showed up, glancing around to check for security cameras, then he slunk into the restaurant and into the seat opposite John. His face was drawn and he scrubbed his face furiously when he sat down. "So, both of the Holmes are being unbearable at the same time," John chuckled lightly. "Maybe there's something going on in their family that they haven't told us…"
Greg stared at him blankly. "I suppose, but I seriously doubt it."
They made idle chatter as they updated each other on what had happened since they had last met over their meals.
They forgot all their stress concerning the Holmes brothers and just had a nice, fun night out. Angelo had given John disapproving looks until he explained that him and Greg were just friends and that they were NOT going out.
Angelo had looked embarrassed, and given them 75% off their meal because of it.
Before they went their separate ways, John leaned forward and whispered into Greg's ear so that Mycroft wouldn't be able to tell what he was saying. "If Mycroft gets too much, just give me a call and we can do this again sometime."
Greg smiled gratefully and they shook hands before returning to their houses.
John snuck up the stairs, trying to make as least noise as possible so that Sherlock wouldn't be able to hear him. He was home early, considering he usually stayed away until around midnight. It was only 10 o'clock. He opened the door softly and his eyes widened as he saw Sherlock sitting on his armchair, blood running down his arm and Mycroft tending to it in front of him. Sherlock had his head resting back on the chair and his eyes closed, face drawn in pain.
"I told you, you shouldn't have done it," Mycroft reprimanded Sherlock softly, swiping a damp cloth down Sherlock's arm.
John stayed in the doorway, listening.
"Well, there is no point in telling me now. Now hurry up and clean it up before John gets home! I don't want him to worry, you know how he is," Sherlock said, voice strained in pain.
"You know you shouldn't have gone after Moriarty like that. It was just plain stupid. If John had gone with you, he would have protected you. You know that, Sherlock!" Mycroft scolded, disinfecting Sherlock's arm.
"Yes, and he would have died trying to protect me! I could never live with myself if anything bad happened to him, I love him too much," Sherlock confessed quietly.
John saw Mycroft about to wrap up Sherlock's wounds with a bandage, but John knew the cuts needed stitching seeing as they were deep and still bleeding. Mycroft had John's medicine kit beside him, and the needles and thread was in there.
John, forcing himself to act, though shocked at the information he had just heard, strode over to Mycroft and pushed him gently out of the way. He told Mycroft with his eyes not to let Sherlock know John was fixing his wounds. Mycroft's eyes had widened in surprise, but he shook it off and nodded shortly to John to tell him he understood, even though John could tell Mycroft thought Sherlock would immediately notice it wasn't Mycroft.
John put the bandages away and grabbed the needle and thread, grabbing Sherlock's arm firmly, yet gently, he put the thread through the needle and began to stitch up the wound, being as gentle as possible.
Sherlock's eyes snapped open as soon as John started stitching, and he sat upright, John tightened his grip on Sherlock's arm and waited until Sherlock had settled again until he started stitching again. His eyes never left Sherlock's injured arm, his expression hard.
He wasn't angry at Sherlock. Oh no, he wasn't angry at Sherlock at all. He was angry, furious even, at Moriarty. How DARE he hurt Sherlock?! Next time John saw him, he wouldn't hesitate in blowing his brains out with a bullet through the head.
As soon as he was done, he packed away his tools and carried them up to the bathroom, storing them away in their place. He was so furious.
As he strode back into the living room, Sherlock watched him silently. Mycroft was silently studying his umbrella; he looked up when John walked in. He gave him a small smile. "Take care of my brother, Doctor Watson." Mycroft said as he left, glancing at Sherlock.
Sherlock's gaze never wavered from John, his expression slightly scared. As soon as Mycroft left, John went over to Sherlock and stood in front of him for a second, assessing him thoroughly with his eyes. Sherlock twitched slightly, but his gaze didn't waver.
After John was sure Sherlock wasn't hurt anywhere else, he sat down in front of Sherlock, his back to the chair. John was sure that Sherlock was surprised by his actions, but he seriously didn't care.
Sherlock's hands tentatively came down and threaded through John's hair, playing with the short blonde strands. John smiled and leant back into Sherlock's hands, relaxing further.
John soon began to nod off, Sherlock's hands still playing with his hair.
Sherlock paused as John's head flopped backwards. "John?"
"Let's get you to bed," Sherlock whispered softly, standing, to John's protest, and half dragged John to his bed.
He took off John's pants and shirt, tucking him under the covers and sliding in beside him.
"Goodnight, Sher," John mumbled, snugging in closer to Sherlock.
Their hands intertwined and they leaned together until their noses touched. They smiled sleepily as they drifted off, content to just be together like this.