A/N: Hello there. Thanks for bothering to click on this. And if you're actually reading this part of the page, I'm amazed, you brilliant person!
This is, of course, a Sherlock story involving Sherlock and Watson discovering a relationship they had not imagined.
I own nothing and make no profits.
John eased himself into a seat with a sigh, distracting Sherlock enough to make him run a hand through his hair and look over.
"You still keep that charade, Watson. Why?" Holmes asked, spinning around to face Watson with a genuinely interested look on his face.
"Can't you tell me?" John teased, resting his cane against the arm of his chair and cocking an eyebrow.
"I could, but where's the fun in that?" Holmes grinned. John rolled his eyes and massaged his aching shoulder. It concerned Sherlock that John hadn't been taking his painkillers.
"What?" John asked.
"Hm?" Sherlock jumped slightly.
"You were doing it again- the staring thing." John replied vaguely. Holmes blinked and nodded.
"Ah, yes, the staring thing." Sherlock mumbled.
"Are you tired or something?" John suggested, frowning in confusion. Oh how trivial it must be to be confused, Sherlock mused.
"Hm?" He asked, not catching the question.
"Seriously, get some sleep or something." Watson told him. Sherlock shook his head and reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out a much needed Nicotine patch. He ignored Watson's disapproving look and peeled it open, sighing with relief when he stuck it on his arm.
"All fixed." He smiled goofily.
"How many now?" Watson muttered.
"Four, not that it's anything for you to worry about." Holmes replied airily. Watson scowled. Ah, Holmes had hit a nerve. "So you do worry, John." Holmes concluded, smiling triumphantly. Watson blushed and scowled harder at Holmes.
"If you're just going to take the piss, I'm going to bed." John replied darkly.
"Sorry, sorry. Actually, I wanted to ask you something." Sherlock's eyes dropped to his shoes for an awkward moment.
"Hit me." John shrugged.
"I recall you saying you were shot in the shoulder. Being myself, I naturally made you someone on my list of people I should observe. It seems you didn't lie to me but tell me, if you don't mind, where exactly were you shot?" Sherlock asked. John blinked. That sentence came out very quickly. Sherlock noticed the hesitation but read it wrong. "Sorry, John. I shouldn't ask. Curiosity killed the cat and all that."
"No, no. It's fine. I, uh. It went through here-" Watson motioned to the back of his shoulder "-and came out somewhere around here." he pointed to the general direction of his collar bone.
"The reason that you struggle with simple activities. The bullet must have sliced the muscles beyond complete repair."
"Yes, exactly, thanks." John forced a smile. Mentally, Sherlock bellowed at himself. If he had any chance becoming friends with this man, he should remember that John had feelings. He should know not to bring up painful memories.
"Sorry, I'm sorry." Sherlock muttered.
A/N: So, what do you think? Please review and give me some feedback or something so I can make it a bit less crappy... Ta much :)