Sherlock & Sebastian (violent)

Sherlock quickly swapped hands so that his left hand was holding onto John's left, and then he wrapped his right arm around his friend's shoulders, bringing him in tight and keeping him close as they walked, supporting him fully. He said nothing of their earlier conversation. He wouldn't have known the right words to say anyway. At least nothing appropriate.

He was pleased when they arrived back at John's room to find the nurse waiting there. "We're ready to get you tested for a possible match," she said with a smile, handing Sherlock a sheet of paper. "If you could just fill in this questionnaire, I'll be back in about 5 minutes to take a few blood samples."

"Thank you," Sherlock replied and took the questionnaire. The nurse nodded and left the room. Sherlock led John towards the bed.

John felt himself choke when Sherlock wrapped his arm around his shoulders, he wanted to say a lot of things, but couldn't.
So he kept silent, he walked with him to his room and avoided the nurse's gaze when she looked at him questioningly.

He crawled on his bed, once Sherlock helped him into it, and slid into the covers. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to," he muttered, "You probably have work to do..."

Sherlock helped John into the bed, pulling the covers up under his chin with a smile. Then he grabbed the visitor's chair and pulled it up by the side of the bed, sitting down and shrugging off his coat.

"I want to stay as long as I can," he insisted. "There's no pressing cases so...." Then he waved the questionnaire in the air, "And I have this to fill in. Might as well do it here."

Sherlock took a pen out of his pocket and leaned the sheet of paper onto John's thigh, studying it carefully and beginning to fill out the details. He stopped at the forth question and frowned a little hesitating. He bit his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"It says 'have you ever taken any illegal substances?'" he explained questioningly. "What...what should I say?"

John wasn't sure what to think.
On one hand, he really needed to be alone, he felt his emotional balance growing quivery, and he didn't want to make a show of himself, breaking down in front of Sherlock.
On the other hand though, the detective's attentions were filling his heart with a warmth that felt strangely nostalgic, he wanted to drown in it.
And having Sherlock there, writing against his thigh, made him finally feel at home.

His thoughts disturbed by the detective's question, he looked up and frowned.
"The truth Sherlock, nothing but the truth... They are going to keep it private anyway," he encouraged him, even though it might compromise his chances. "They will probably need to know how long you've been clean for," he added, nodding.

Sherlock sighed and tugged at one of the curls around his ear, thinking. He didn't want this to stand in the way of becoming a potential donor, but at the same time he knew it would look bad if he lied and then they found out anyway.

"OK...you're right," he replied, and scribbled down as many details as he could think of, quickly realising he'd just written them a little mini essay about drug use...had he given them too much information? Or was he just over thinking this? Sherlock rubbed his eyes, frustrated and hurriedly moved onto the next question.

He found the rest of the form a lot easier to handle and had soon completed it. "Done," he said proudly, smiling at John and getting to his feet. "I'll just go and hand this in. Don't go anywhere," he teased.

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's teasing and remained silent as he watched him walk out the door.
His gaze then moved to the window, outside it was gloomy as usual, thick clouds covering the city. It didn't really help his mood. Nothing could really help his mood at the moment, he reckoned.

He wasn't sure why he was so upset in the first place, it had been him who had started the subject in the first place, but Sherlock's words and reactions had stirred his feelings in a dangerous way, making forgotten urges resurface and haunt him.

Sherlock was adamant about giving up on him, not to mention about letting himself meet other people, and for a moment John felt like he was tied to the detective irrevocably.
He didn't mind, of course, he wanted nothing else, but it only made his current situation the more upsetting.

It was like they really were married, like they had been destined to meet... because as much as he liked to think he was more social than Sherlock, deep down he knew he wasn't, Sherlock was the only person he cared about.

He took in a shaky breath, trying not to let tears fill his eyes.
Knowing this only made everything hurt more.
He didn't want to lose this.
He didn't want to die.

Sherlock handed in his form at the reception desk and the nurse said she'd come back in a couple of minutes to take the blood samples. He headed back inside to John's room, opening the door and smiling broadly at him, hoping it would help to cheer him up.

"You OK?" he asked quietly, knowing it was really a stupid thing to say but that's what people normally say isn't it? In these situations? He sat down again and rested his elbows up on the bed, seeing his friend lost in a world of his own. "What you thinking about?"

John started when he heard the door open again, he turned his gaze away, willing himself to be strong. He needed to be, just like Sherlock was doing, smiling at him like he never did, trying to be cheerful.

"You, of course," he said, a bit teasing, and a bit shaky, confused in his own mind. "Thinking that we act as if we really are married, there is no way anyone will think we aren't, especially with you signing up to be a donor," he joked, and looked outside the window again, he tried to make it sound as if he wasn't worried, as if he wasn't hurt.

Sherlock chuckled and wandered over to the window, staring down at the London traffic below. "I don't care if people think we're married," he declared, then frowned, turning to John. "Does it bother you?"

Just then the nurse came in full of smiles and cheer. "Right then Mr Holmes, we're ready for your blood samples." Sherlock spun round and gave a brief nod, moving to sit down on the chair. He shrugged off his jacket and began to roll up his sleeve.

"You don't care about what people think in general," he pointed out with a grin, trying hard to push his feelings down, to hide them. "I care only if it jeopardizes my chances of getting laid," he said simply.

He fell silent as the nurse came in, averting his gaze, an heavy silence falling in the room.
She seemed to be as cheerful as usual and even smiled at Sherlock after tucking John's blanket in.

Sherlock held out his arm and watched as the nurse prepared the needle, then smiled as it penetrated the skin and began to draw out his blood. He cocked his head to one side studying it with interest. She took three different samples, then removed the needle, putting a small plaster over the mark.

"All done," she said cheerfully, standing up.
"When will we have the results?" Sherlock asked impatiently.
"It'll be tomorrow now I'm afraid," she replied and headed to the door. "Anything you need John just let me know." She smiled again and left the room.

Sherlock rolled down his sleeve and did up the button again, smirking at his friend then mimicking the nurse's voice. "'Anything you need John just let me know'...I don't think she really cares that you're my husband John, she's quite happy just to flirt with you in front of me," he said in mock outrage.

John relaxed a bit only when she was gone, but he had no idea why. The whole possibility of Sherlock becoming his donor was making him nervous.
He looked at Sherlock, laughing at his words.
"What can I say, I am irresistible," he said, playing with the blanket. "And you aren't exactly protesting, so she probably thinks I am a neglected wife in need of an outlet," he joked.

He sat back with a sigh. "She must be quite desperate to want me even though my situation..."

Sherlock grinned and wandered away from the window. "Well maybe I'd better start being a bit more protective over you dear husband," he joked. "Wouldn't want some beautiful blonde nurse to whisk you away from me." His eyes sparkled in sarcasm, but he was only half joking. He really wouldn't want anyone coming between him and John, ever.

He sighed and looked at his watch. "I guess I'd better go," he muttered rather sadly. "I hate leaving you here. I'll be back first thing in the morning, and we'll have the results by then." He began to do up the buttons on his coat. "Is there anything you need from home?"

"She does have the advantage of working here," he said with a teasing tone, but then he just laughed a bit. "I really can't imagine you jealous, you are already insufferable to people in general," he commented with a grin.

The grin faded as Sherlock mentioned leaving, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. "Right, yes, you should, I guess," he muttered, hiding his eyes and trying not to sound too disappointed. "No, I... I am fine... I don't need anything else..."

Sherlock frowned and hesitated at the door. He could tell John didn't really want him to go, and he didn't particularly want to leave either. Baker Street would be empty and lonely without John, and there was nothing he really had to do of importance.

Suddenly an idea came to him and he grinned. "I can stay here," he mumbled, thinking aloud. "They can't make me go home if I'm your husband, I can insist. I can stay here with you all night John. That's...that's if you want me to."

But you aren't my husband...
He bit his lower lip not to say the words though, knowing that he would sound disappointed. He really didn't need to scare Sherlock away, not now, not ever.

The prospect of having Sherlock stay was appealing though, he really didn't want to be alone... or maybe he truly just wanted Sherlock to stay, he couldn't bear the idea of another night alone in the hospital and watching him disappear behind the door, knowing he was going back to a home he could not return to.

"I do, I want you to stay," he admitted, taking in a shaky breath. "I am lonely, Sherlock..."

Sherlock frowned, John's words affecting him deeply. He had no idea his friend would be lonely without him. He knew what it was like to be lonely and he would never wish it upon anyone. He smiled slowly and began to undo the buttons of his coat.

"Then I'm staying," he muttered as he shrugged it off his shoulders and threw it over the chair before removing his scarf and tossing it to the side too. "I'll go and speak to the nurses. I'll be right back," he smiled as warmly and genuinely as he could manage at John and headed through the door.

At the reception desk he spoke to the friendly blonde nurse and explained the situation. That he understood visiting hours were over but that he was John's husband and would it be possible for him to stay in the room overnight, possibly on some kind of camp bed. The nurse was friendly and kind, obviously used to this kind of request. She said it shouldn't be a problem and went off to try and locate a camp bed for the room.

Sherlock returned with a big beaming smile across his face. "They said I can stay John," he announced. "I can stay with you all night."

John waited in his room impatiently, sitting up straight when Sherlock came in again to announce that he could stay. He grinned, happier than he'd like to admit: "/Now/ people will talk," he joked, trying not to listen to the voices in his head that told him it was not a good idea to have Sherlock stay. He was going to have to fight with himself not to do or say something stupid.

"Is this our marriage's first night then?" He teased him, moving a bit on the bed, wondering if they were going to bring something for Sherlock to sleep in.

Sherlock laughed at John's comment and flopped back down in the chair next to his friend's bed, resting his chin on his hands.

"You can call it a date if you really want," he remarked with a glint in his eye, before adding, "I'd make a better date than any of those ridiculously stupid bimbos you go out with anyway."

Just then two nurses came in with a camp bed. Sherlock stood up and dragged away the chair. "Just there's fine," he said and pointed to the floor next to John's bed. They quickly unfolded it for him and left him with some bedding before leaving again.

"It would be quite a disastrous date if it involved a night in the hospital, Sherlock," he joked, his expression somber when he heard the rest of the words. Could it be that Sherlock resented him for going on so many dates?
He surely wasn't jealous!

"I know," he said without thinking, he had a strange feeling that going out with Sherlock would involve feelings John had been able to read about only in books. That didn't mean it would work though, that didn't mean that Sherlock would return his feelings.
He was glad of the interruption as they came in with the camp bed, he didn't want to know if Sherlock had heard him admit that he considered him a better date compared to anyone else.

He sighed as the nurses went away, Hanna winking at him befofe she disappeared out of the door, making him blush a bit.
How wrong they were thinking that anything would happen!

"Are you sure you are going to be comfortable, Sherlock? I don't want you to miss the night of sleep," he muttered, looking at the sleeping bag worriedly.

Sherlock stepped back and watched as the nurses set up the camp bed, frowning to himself deep in thought. He was sure he'd just heard John say that he would make a better date than any of the girls he'd been out with. Sherlock knew that this was of course a fact. I mean, obviously he would, but he never thought John would actually think that. Was he trying to say that he'd actually want to go out with him, to date him? It was all a little on the confusing side.

He thanked the nurses and sat down on the creaky camp bed. It wasn't very steady on its feet and shook slightly as Sherlock put his weight on it. "Of course," he replied to John. "I'll be fine. I can always just jump in your bed if this one stops working." He applied some pressure with his hand to test it, then bounced himself up and down. It creaked and wobbled.

John's eyes widened when the bed creaked and wobbled, he kind of expected it to break considering the amount of noise it was making, but somehow it stayed standing.
"I am not sure it's going to be any comfortable," he muttered worriedly, knowing they couldn't really complain considering it was already a miracle they were letting Sherlock stay.

"Maybe you should just join me here... I mean... it's small and all, but we can manage, right? I don't think either of us would sleep with you creaking through the night," he commented, shrugging.
He knew he could do this, he had been close to Sherlock before without needing to touch or worse, he could control himself, he said, trying to convince himself more than anything else.

Sherlock laughed and hauled himself up off the tiny creaking bed.

"I really don't think I'd fit on that thing anyway," he grinned. "Looks like it was made for a twelve year old." He kicked it away with the back of his foot and perched on the edge of John's bed. He'd originally been joking about getting into bed with John but now it had been suggested for real he didn't actually see any problems with it. Why should he? John was his friend.

"Move up a bit then," he said a little impatiently. "Can't expect me to get into just squeeze on the end."

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock demanded he'd move over. "I would like to remind you, Sherlock, that I am the sick one, the one who could be dying any minute, so you should be at least a bit considerate," he teased him, even though he moved a bit more to the side of the bed, wincing in pain for the bruises he still had from his altercation with Sebastian.

"Are you going to sleep like that? Completely dressed?" he asked, his eyebrows raising in question, even though he knew it was probably better if he did.

Sherlock smiled at John's question and looked down at himself, still in his shirt and jacket.

"Hmm. It's not unknown for me to sleep fully clothed but normally only when I crash out on the sofa or fall asleep at the kitchen table over an experiment. In this case I think it will be acceptable to remove a few items," he whittered on, almost to himself, then shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair before getting to work on undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Actually when I'm in my room I sometimes sleep naked but I'll spare you the trauma of that tonight," he grinned. He pulled off his shirt, realising his chest and arms were covered in bruises, cuts and burns. There was hardly an inch of skin that wasn't black, blue or red. "Um...you should have seen the other guy," he whispered sheepishly.

He rested his foot up on the bed and began to undo his shoes.