I am so, so sorry how long it took for me to update! Hopefully this very fluffy, long chapter makes up for it...

Kudos goes to: *drumroll, please* l91margaret! Gods almighty, girl, is like your first reaction, "she posted five seconds ago! Let me go review!" Or something? Not that I'm complaining, though...

You are EPIC and I love you!

Disclaimer: not a rich middle aged man who enjoys torturing poor fangirl's souls... Just a 15 year old with no purpose

'Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you'

John Watson was smaller than Lestrade had imagined, that was for sure. Lying there in the white sheets of the hospital bed, his 5"6 frame seemed almost... Miniscule. Greg didn't even know why he'd imagined him taller: maybe because Sherlock himself was such an imposing figure? Regardless, John Watson was far from what he'd imagined. Besides the initial shortness, John actually wasn't so bad looking; nothing compared to Sherlock or Mycroft, the other Holmes brother Greg has met and actually... Liked (Okay, more than liked. He'd harbored a secret crush on the man until he actually got up the confidence to ask the older man out; and now they were close. Intimate, even. But that was okay.) but good looking nonetheless. Blonde hair, attentive blue eyes, broad and muscled. The man had been flipping through a paper when they walked in, but looked up when Greg cleared his throat, Sherlock hanging back uncertainly. "John Watson?"

The man smiled wanly. "That's me. You know, I've only been here a couple hours, but you'd think the doctors would've learned my name... I try to make sure I do, at least."

Lestrade looked at him for a few seconds and the man blushed. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm just... Not used to this sitting around thing."

"What? No," Lestrade said quickly. "I'm not a doctor. Actually- I've brought someone to see you."

John's expression darkened for a second, then cleared as Sherlock stepped out from behind Greg.



Hospital bed.

Wires. Machines. Do. Not. Touch.


Does. Not. Compute.



Sherlock hesitates, wavering for a second but it's John, John is here and everything is okay because it's still John, even surrounded by the machines and wires and-

No, Sherlock!


Deduce. Yes, deduce.

Shot in the left shoulder (idiot! You knew that already!) psychosomatic limp in left leg. (Get rid of that easily enough) traveled via helicopter, has three abrasions on left frontal through nasal bones, presumably shrapnel, and other, older abrasions from different types of arsenal, and-

"Sherlock, love, you're thinking too loudly, I can't concentrate."

John is smirking, the little bastard, and Sherlock cannot take it anymore, so he kisses him. John tastes of sweat and action and something hospital-ey, but underneath it all he is still John, John, John-

And John is kissing him back, and Sherlock is almost regretting not doing this before, before John pulls away, face screwed up in pain.



Sherlock panicked, which was a little extreme but this was John, John sitting there with his face scrunched up in pain, and Sherlock did not want to see that. Nope. Not at all.

John looked up at him, face pale, but trying to smile for Sherlock's sake.

"It's alright. I'm okay, just... Hold off on the grip for a little, 'kay, love?"

Despite the obvious pain in John's face, he forced a smile as he looked at his idiot of a husband. "I'm okay, Sherlock. Really."

"No, you're not." Sherlock muttered. "Various cuts and abrasions, made most likely from flying shrapnel, lines signifying both lack of sleep and anxiousness, presumably from all the people you've treated, tremor in your left hand, not because you're in pain, but because you're-" his breath caught. "You're nervous. Why are you nervous?"

John smiled again, and this time it's not forced.

"Brilliant. You know, I've missed listening to you do that?"

"Don't change the subject, John. Why are you nervous?"

John glanced away.

"Sherlock..." Greg said, stepping away slightly. "Maybe I should..."

"Yes, yes, of course..."

"No." John's voice is steady, and he smiles at Greg. "Let's restart that, shall we? Reintroduce ourselves. If you're that Detective Inspector Sherlock's always going on about... Well, we'll probably be seeing a lot of each other."

"John!" Sherlock's tone is shocked. "Is there not other times for that? Especially a time that is not right now?"

"Sherlock, love..." Lestrade can tell that John is trying to keep himself from laughing, looking at his husband with such humor in his gaze, and he has to marvel at it. How the hell did Sherlock find someone so right for him, so accepting of him?

"No, it's alright." He interrupts John and Sherlock, but he doesn't feel bad about it- why should he? It's not like they haven't got the rest of the day to talk. He hands John a slip of paper. "If you ever want to grab a pint. Or just get away from him."

John looks up at him and smiles. "Thanks. I'm sure I'll be needing this." He hesitates, then gives a grim smile. "I'll see you around, Detective Inspector."

"Please, it's Greg." He smiles and turns to leave, practically feeling Sherlock's thoughts of "get out, get out" being yelled at him from across the room.

"I'll see you soon... John."

ANNND... THERES THE NEXT CHAPTER! I recently got pages on my NEW IPHONE 5C, so hopefully j should be updating many other stories very soon.

Soo... Until next time, then!

Drop a review! Get me to 65?! I think you can do it... Please?