"Are you coming in?"

"How about you get out?"

I rolled my eyes. Lestrade had gotten us into a fantastic resort for the weekend, and what did Sherlock do? He complained about everything. He groaned when he was informed that the rooms didn't have petri dishes. He pouted when a woman told him that the hotel didn't allow explosions in the lobby. He even complained when he heard that there hadn't been any murders around the grounds. Talk of a soak in a hot tub had intrigued him, but now, he just looked bored.

"I'm not getting out, Sherlock. This is really helping my shoulder and I'm not eager to leave. Come on, just get in the tub."

Sherlock stood in his bathing trunks, looking at the tub with a mixture of boredom and annoyance. He stood in a state of internal argument for a while before examining me for any clues as to when I was getting out. He only received a raised eyebrow. With a self-pitying sigh, he lifted one leg into the tub, paused to allow himself to adjust to the heat, and swung his other leg in. After sitting for a moment, he closed his eyes. "Temperature: 103. Low level of chlorine, one jet on the opposite is broken, and Lestrade, you know where the bathrooms are, please use them."

Lestrade reddened.

I rolled my eyes.

The pool's newest member looked around expectantly. "So now what?"

Lestrade gave him a look. "We sit and relax."

Sherlock gave a snort. "Relaxing? That's boring."

I furrowed my brow and clenched my fists. "It's really not when your shoulder has been hurting like hell for the past week." My voice was harsher than I had wanted. Sherlock looked hurt. I felt a wave of guilt.

Lestrade broke the silence. "So, what's up for tomorrow? Swimming? Tennis?" He gave a forced grin.

Sherlock snapped back into himself. "Well, I've always been meaning to test the pH levels of different peoples' sweat. I've heard that middle-aged-"

"Tennis, right, tennis sounds lovely," I said. Sherlock glared, but I pretended not to notice. A moment of mutual thanks passed between Lestrade and I.

I sighed and sunk deeper into the water, eyes closing. Pain didn't usually visit my battle wound, but the past few weeks had been hellish. A dreary mist had crept into London, igniting the dormant ache. Sherlock's busy routine had given me no chance to rest, but the tub did me good.

"Why is your face like that?"

I jumped at the close voice. My eyes snapped open to search for it's owner and found Sherlock. Well, Sherlock's face. He sat across from me, almost close enough to bump my knees with his, but obviously refraining from it. His face was dangerously close to mine, inspecting me, almost memorizing me.

I narrowed my eyes. Sherlock snorted. "To be honest, John, that doesn't make it look any better."

"Sherlock," I said, trying to figure out how he crept up to me without me knowing. "what are you talking about?"

He stepped back to sit again, the water stretching his movements and making it seem like time had slowed. "Your face. You're not happy."

I sighed. "No, I suppose I'm not."

"Because of me."

My eyes widened. "No! Jesus, no, Sherlock."

He leaned back. "It's alright, John. It's my fault. I've had issues with this since primary school."

"Sherlock, no, I'm not upset with you."

Lestrade watched silently.

"Who are you upset at, then? You didn't just say 'I'm not upset,' you said 'I'm not upset with you.' Now what's the matter?"

I rubbed my shoulder subconsciously. "Sherlock, I'm fine."

His eyes lit up with understanding. He cautiously approached me and touched my shoulder. His fingers trailed across the scar, feeling more like a breeze than a human touch. Concern pooled in his eyes. "Sherlock, I'm fine," I repeated. "It's just acting up, that's all. I'll get a massage tomorrow. You can test sweat while-"

The pressure on my shoulder increased as he pressed his fingers into it. Pain flickered for only a second before disappearing, leaving only a faint throb behind. My breath caught in my throat, and I let it out as the pain vanished. Sherlock rubbed for a few seconds to be sure that the discomfort was gone before returning to his seat. "Better?" he asked.

"How did you..." My voice trailed off. It didn't matter anymore. "Thank you," I said, a grateful smile curving my lips.

Sherlock relaxed. He smiled, not with his mouth, but with his eyes.

"If I'm still a member of this conversation, I'd like a massage," Lestrade piped.

Sherlock snorted. Lestrade pouted. I just chuckled.

As usual, leave a review if you have the time and favorite if you really enjoyed it. Thanks for reading! Enjoy the fluff! ;)

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