Angsty fluffy oneshot that I wrote when I couldn't sleep. Hopefully it stays in character (:

Sherlock lurched along the corridor to the bathroom, slamming doors unnecessarily behind him, his hands clutched to his aching side.

"Sherlock?" Dimly, he heard the voice of John but he was more concerned by how sticky and soaked his hand was becoming. Every breath caused a new stab of pain in his side and he pressed the palm of his hand firmly over the leaking wound. Clean. Clean and bandaged. Then John. After that his thought processes stopped, blinded by pain. He reached the bathroom and hastily filled the basin with warm water, gingerly peeling off his coat and blood soaked shirt. He gritted his teeth as a new wave of pain, sharp and drawn out washed over him.

Reaching for a towel, he soaked it in the warm water and pressed it to the naked flesh of his left side, dancing at the wound that still leaked blood. He groaned in pain as the water flushed over, his eyes screwed up and jaw clenched. He lowered himself onto the floor, still pressing the warm towel against his side, the steady flow of blood tingeing it a deep crimson. Just as the light began to swim, grey and hazy, the door burst open and John flew inside, eyes widening at the sight of Sherlock's prone body on the floor. Sherlock smiled hazily, the greyness of his vision becoming alarming.

"Sherlock? What the hell happened to you?" John knelt beside him, fingers gingerly probing beneath the damp towel, making Sherlock gasp involuntarily. The floating sensation vanished as pain returned, sharp and unwelcome.

"Chasing a suspect... Got myself in ah... Trouble." John glared at his flatmate and carefully washed the wound with the towel, alarmed at the amount of blood there was.

"I have to get you to a hospital, Sherlock." The words were hardly out of his mouth when Sherlock shook his black curls defiantly.

"No. That's where they expect me to be. No. No hospitals." John sighed, exasperated. He was shocked at how Sherlock was so calm despite the blood loss and the shock that was obvious.

"I can't do much..." John began, his eyes flicking over Sherlock's pale face, a cold sweat had developed due to the shock that was rapidly setting into the taller man. Sherlock mustered a look of coyness from somewhere.

"I know for a fact you keep your medi kit here, John. I know there is surgical thread, a suture needle and that you have several shots of morphine that you never used for your now vanished psychosomatic limp." John didn't bother to ask how Sherlock had managed this deduction, he just sighed, resigned.

"Sherlock... This is..."

"John, please." The pain seemed to begin affecting Sherlock now, he was hanging onto consciousness with everything he had.

"This is crazy..." John muttered. Sherlock was wavering now, eyes losing focus.

"Please." John sighed and made the decision.

"All right. This will hurt..." He lifted Sherlock up, surprised at how light he was before the information that he didn't eat that much reappeared in his mind. Sherlock mewled hopelessly as a shift in position sent pain racing all the way down his body. Carefully, John walked up the stairs to his room and laid Sherlock down on the floor. Sherlock looked around, interested. The room was meticulously clean, ordered and bare, as if unlived in. He barely registered the sting of the needle until it had been capped and thrown in the waste bin beside him.

"It's not morphine, it's a local anaesthetic, not very strong either. My therapist gave it to me." He sounded unsure but Sherlock didn't care. "This will hurt, and there will be a tugging sensation." He told Sherlock, gloved hands shaking as he threaded the suture needle. Sherlock wondered idly when he'd put the gloves on, but all speculation vanished when the needle pulled at his skin. He grabbed onto something with his fingers, scrabbling for purchase. He could feel fabric and looked to see what he was holding; John's jumper. He shivered, his naked chest rippled with goosebumps and pale, so pale.

John finished, carefully tying off the stitches and wiping the area over again with an antibacterial gel. It stung and Sherlock instinctively reached for something, anything in the vicinity. His fingers found John's and they were suddenly entwined as Sherlock felt tears rise in his eyes, the stinging intense yet gradually lessening under John's practised fingers. John sat still, one gloved hand holding Sherlock's, the other gently applying the gel, the coldness of it bringing up fresh goosebumps. John finished, his hands now steady again, completely, not even the tremor that befitted most showing.

"Your hand." Sherlock whispered, struggling up and clasping both hands in his lap, pulling his fingers from John's in one fluid moment. John regarded him, confused. He held it out to Sherlock.

"My… my hand?" Sherlock gently trailed his fingers over the thin white latex.

"It's steady." John looked up at him, clear blue eyes staring deep into grey. A wrinkle appeared on John's forehead.

"Of course it is." Sherlock let go and John dropped his hand to his lap, peeling off the glove that was still coated with a fine spray of Sherlock's blood.

"It wasn't." John looked up, Sherlock had his eyes still partly closed and was leaning against the bed, his back resting heavily on it. His skin was still pale and clammy, a horrible contrast to his mop of curly black hair.

"What do you mean?" John's features seemed steeped in confusion.

"When you were…" Sherlock winced slightly and continued. "When you were stitching me up your hand was trembling. It doesn't tremble under pressure, or when you're in a dangerous situation. I wonder why it trembled then." Sherlock regarded him over the top of his steepled fingers, still shaking slightly, though the colour was rising in his cheeks.

"I…" John paused, wondering how to phrase it. "I was worried that I could be the death of you. Your life was in my hands and if I did something wrong I could have killed you." Sherlock watched him, eyes narrowed.

"I always risk my life, John."

"I'm not always the one who has your life in my hands." Sherlock had been idly observing John, but now his focus shifted to his eyes and he was startled to see that they were downcast, observing his hands. Sherlock focussed on a spot just behind John's head, where their shadows were joined. He placed his hand languidly on John's knee, comforting him silently. John looked up confused to see that the quick calculating look that seemed permanently fixed in Sherlock's eyes was gone. There was something else there now.

"I know." Sherlock whispered, leaning forwards, gritting his teeth as pain jolted through him. John looked up at his friend, obviously in deep distress and absent-mindedly touched his hand, sliding his fingers through Sherlock's. Sherlock looked up at John, idly tightening his grip on John's warm hand. They sat in silence for a while, hands barely clasped; the only sound in the room was the sound of their breathing.

"Sherlock?" Sherlock looked up, his hand and John's still intertwined. "Come here." Sherlock shuffled towards John and felt a warm arm loop around his waist. He rested his head on John's shoulder. John pulled him onto his lap and they sat like that for a while, Sherlock's cool skin warmed as it lay against John's white jumper. Sherlock shivered and John lifted him easily, ignoring the recurrent twinge in his shoulder and crept over to his bed, laying Sherlock down gently.

"John… hurts." Sherlock's voice was a whisper and John noticed, for the first time, the vulnerability and fragility of him. He sat on the bed next to him, a soft cotton t-shirt held in one hand. Sherlock wondered where it had come from. John handed it to him and he took it, working it over his head and hiding the pale skin and thin torso. He had kicked his shoes off a long time ago, when he had run into the bathroom, and he pulled his knees up to his chest, clinging to John.

John gently extricated himself and pulled his jumper off, the dark blue t-shirt he was wearing underneath soft as Sherlock scrabbled for it. Without pausing, he leant and worked his shoes off and then his jeans. He lay flat on the covers in his t-shirt and pulled on a pair of loose pyjama trousers. Sherlock curled up against John's chest and they burrowed under the thin duvet. For a long time, all that they could hear was their breathing, and then John felt Sherlock's long fingered hand press down on his sternum.

"What are you doing?" John murmured, but it was cut off as Sherlock pressed all of his inconsiderable weight onto him. Sherlock was pale and cold to the touch, but it was a pleasant sensation when he placed his cool hand on John's cheek. John struggled to sit up, dragging Sherlock with him until they were basically on each other's lap. Sherlock placed both hands on John's face.

"You saved me." His voice was husky and John swallowed, alarmed. He placed his hands on Sherlock's wrists.

"I did what anyone would." He protested.

"You saved my life." Sherlock almost growled, and John found himself captivated. "You're… a friend to me." Sherlock growled again and John felt something inside him leap.

"I just helped." John whispered, finding himself leaning back as Sherlock pressed down on his chest. Although they were close, almost intimate, it wasn't a bad feeling and John felt himself relaxing. Sherlock seemed lucid, but there was a glint in his eyes that showed John that he wanted this almost as much as he did.

"You were there. More than I ever expected. I never expected to find someone like you." His voice was husky now and he pressed down on John even harder, their faces barely a hairsbreadth away. Sherlock could taste John's breath and feel it as it ruffled his hair. John watched as Sherlock leaned in and then closed his eyes as he felt Sherlock's lips graze his with the lightest of touches. There was a moment where the world seemed to stand still, just the two of them, completely intertwined. Sherlock pushed John down against the pillows and thrust his hands into the shorter man's hair, fingers smoothing the fair strands. John placed his hands on Sherlock's hips, holding him steady.

"My whole world has been turned upside down." Whispered John when they broke apart, though Sherlock's face was still the only thing in his line of vision. "I never thought I'd meet someone like you."

"You're not the only one who's had their world knocked out of kilter." Sherlock smiled and kissed John again, this time harder and for longer, their lips melding together and tentatively, oh so tentatively, their tongues touched. Sherlock made a tiny noise and John carefully flipped him, avoiding the fresh stitches. They still had their lips locked, and for a while it was all they could feel, the warm breath from one another in their mouths and warm bodies pressed together. When they broke apart this time, they just held each other, hands clasped and Sherlock's head in the valley between John's head and shoulder. For the first time in a long time, Sherlock became drowsy first, and as he felt himself falling, wrapped up in John's reassuring warmth, he whispered words that made John's heart leap.

"These wounds will heal, you fixed them. I'll fix yours." Then he fell asleep, his hand intertwined with John's and his cheek pressed against his shoulder. John slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him close, holding his thin and bony frame close against his own.

I hope this stayed in character. Tell me what you think :3