I very sadly do not own any of the characters, the names, places, taxi's or corpses in any of the Sherlock series :'(
Dr Watson/Sherlock slash, nothing graphic I just thought it was sweet, tell me what you think...

Watson's P.O.V.

He walked with me, saw, when no one else did, every time I winced in pain.
We walked together for hours, close, but very obviously not to close; I wanted to close the gap, longed for the shield only his arms could provide.
Sherlock knew how I hurt, knew that every time a mother called her child, a father hugged his son or a sister teased her brother, my heart cried out in pain.
He knew like no other that i was forcing myself not to jump up, run away, yell at the world because I no longer had any of that.
Sherlock looked at me with those piercing eyes of his and in those light gray depths I saw everything I needed.
Someone who would be there for me, completely and unconditionally, like my family never had.

We walked through the dark streets of London, I was wearing a thin shirt and wrapped my arms around my body in an attempt to keep out the cold.
Sherlock briefly touched my arm and frowned, I smiled reassuringly at him, I would not die of a bit of cold.
Five minutes later however my teeth started shattering uncontrollably and Sherlock looked just about ready to strip of his shirt to keep me warm
( In our hurry we had both forgotten our coats when Lestrade called).
Luckily even Sherlock saw the sense in not walking around London naked to the waist; instead he guided me to a bus shelter
where we sat in the corner on the ground, as an elderly couple occupied the seats.
Despite being sheltered from the wind I shivered again and Sherlock started rubbing my shoulder.
I briefly wondered how he could be so warm in below 0 degrees and nothing more than a shirt, but all coherent thought was soon pushed away by his touch.

After a while the elderly couple seemed to give up on the bus and left. We stayed sitting on the ground though, moving would mean he'd stop and I found I didn't want him to.
As the minutes dragged on Sherlock's hand absentmindedly trailed to the inside of my arm; his touch getting lighter until it was just the tips
of his thin long fingers gently traipsing across the soft, sensitive skin of my arm.
I shivered with an odd feeling, that had nothing to do with the cold, as his callused fingers flowed from the warm, thrumming pulse in my wrist, to the gentle V shape of my elbow,
ending midway my bicep.
As the detective continued the action with a far-away look on his face, I vaguely noted I had not been cold for some time and that a blush had crept onto my cheeks; my stomach tickled in a not entirely unpleasant way that felt like there was a swarm of butterflies inside, trying to pull me closer to the quiet detective.
Small alarm bells where going off in my head, telling me this was not good but I needed all my attention to keep my breaths regular. Though Sherlock was hardly touching me, my hart was stuttering; but that was the point, this was not a brief hug after a life or death situation, or a friendly push when we where fighting to get to the door first. This was a soft touch, an unconscious action.
It was real, without thought or deliberation.

When the bus arrived, it was as if the doctor and the detective woke from a dream and, realising what he had been doing, the latter pulled back his hand as if he'd been electrocuted.
We where silent on the bus ride home, both taking care not to touch each other, the consulting detective had placed the palms of his hands together and was leaning against them, the tips of his fingers pressed softly against his lips.
Upon leaving the bus snow had started to fall and I could not suppress a shudder, with an inaudible sigh Sherlock put his arm around me.
I did not resist, I did not care about the consequences.

When we arrived at 221 b Baker street we walked up the stairs until we got to the first floor, I was about to head up to my bedroom when Sherlock's hand gabbed mine.
"Why don't you come into the living room for a while, to warm up? I left the heating on."
I nodded dumbly as he held the door open for me and followed me in. I stood with my back to my till now friend and flatmate until I felt two arms snake around my waist. I turned around in the taller mans arms, trying to decide whether my seemingly obvious deductions where right. Looking into Sherlock's eyes who's pupils were, despite the fairly bright lamp behind me, quite dilated, I decided my deductions had indeed been correct.
I lifted my chin further up towards the taller detective and, entwining my fingers in his thick dark curls, kissed him deeply.

The next morning I watched the sun come up through the living room window, my bare limbs entwined with those of Sherlock.
The unusually strong sun was shimmering on the rooftops, I thought it looked like it wanted Sherlock to see the beautiful sight, wanted Sherlock to look at the most beautiful thing London had to offer.
I caught the consulting detective watching me and guessing (or deducing) what I was thinking, he murmured in a voice I didn't know he possessed:
"But I allready am!"

Thanks for reading, if i get some good reviews i might right some more chapters, either way I'm rather new at this so any comments are welcomed and taken in like a puppy adopted from the pound! ;) THX