I won't kill you. (SherlockxMoriarty, violent)

Sherlock dug into the plastic bag and brought out a jar of pre-made pasta sauce. He twisted open the lid and then grabbed a microwavable bowl from the sink. He gave it a rinse then poured the sauce in. He put the bowl in the microwave, turned it on, then stirred the pasta a little bit.

Sherlock leaned back against the counter and sighed. No wonder he didn't do this very often, he thought, it was bloody hard work. "This will be the best meal you've ever tasted," he bragged arrogantly, knowing it wasn't true. "And you already know why I think this is a good idea...I need you. And not just for your cooking or your blog or your terrible deductions at crime scenes. Nor your tea making skills."

Sherlock noticed the box of tea bags resting on the side and picked them up, waving them in John's direction. "Speaking of which," he added with a grin, "Vuoi una tazza di tè?"



(( XD...hope my Italian's OK!! Used google translate, lol ))

(( It's correct! It's your Sherlock's pasta making skills that concern me >> ))

"Sherlock, even if my leg healed, even if I started walking again, I won't be able to run... I won't be able to join you in your cases... ever," he muttered with a sigh, Sherlock was almost delusional about the whole thing. "The doctors were quite clear about that... it is the reason Moriarty shot me there in the first place..."

He looked at him with confusion, "If you just asked me if I wanted tea then... Si', grazie," he said with a very heavy accent. He had learned that on the plane.
"You don't need me, Sherlock, and stop saying that I am your only friend, I know that. It's a huge waste of time for you either way..."

The pasta pretty much looked like it was done, so he grabbed the pan and poured the hot water out into the sink. Some of the spaghetti fell out with it and got mixed in with the dirty dishes, but he quickly grabbed it and put it back in the pan, burning the tips of his fingers slightly. He laid the pan to one side.

"I don't need you to run John," he replied casually. "I'll do the running, you just...get a taxi or something..."

Sherlock poured some hot water into a couple of mugs of tea, then added some milk and stirred them up. He looked at the sugar but decided not to add any. If John wanted any sugar, he would ask for it, he figured. That was probably the best option. He walked over and handed John the cup.

"It's not a waste of time," he insisted, before heading back to the kitchen.

"Yeah, right, because that would work well!" he snapped, taking the mug and smelling it suspiciously, he really hoped Sherlock hadn't put sugar in it this time. "Sorry Mr Criminal, would you mind pointing the gun towards my friend? He is the one who can run," he muttered mockingly.

He sipped the tea and couldn't help the sigh, now, that felt so much better.
"We aren't married Sherlock, it's not your responsibility to fix me, and by no means you have to put with me," he added, wondering why he was trying to convince Sherlock to give up.
He knew why, it was because he didn't think he was useful any more.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he listened to John wittering on, and busied himself finishing off the pasta. He removed the sauce from the microwave and poured it into the pan, then mixed it all around with a spoon. Next he opened all the cupboards trying to find some clean plates. He managed to find one clean one. The rest were all stacked up dirty in the sink. John could have the clean one, he decided, and grabbed a dirty one for himself.

He set the two plates down on the side, then picked up the pan of pasta and dished out, giving John slightly more than himself. Now came the problem of the forks, none of which were clean. He fished a couple out of the sink and dried them off on his trousers then, putting a fork on each plate, picked up the meals and carried them over to the sofa.

"Ta-da!" Sherlock exclaimed dramatically as he produced the food. He handed John his plate then plonked himself down on the sofa next to him, watching carefully to see whether John liked the meal.

((I see Sherlock doesn't understand the concept of washing things >> it's good John hasn't seen any of that XD))

John thought the discussion was over, that Sherlock had finally realized he was to leave on the first flight, and he found himself staring at the TV even though he didn't understand it, wondering if he was happy about it at all.

But when he was presented with a fuming plate he realized Sherlock had simply been distracted.
He sighed, taking the plate and trying not to look too impressed.
"It looks good..." he said, and sniffed it slightly. "Are you eating this too?" he asked, noticing Sherlock had a plate as well.

Sherlock put some spaghetti in his mouth and nodded. He hadn't eaten all day he realised, and was actually rather hungry. Just a shame the food wasn't exactly wonderful. Well...it wasn't awful as such just...not...great.

"How is it?" he asked with his mouthful. Then he picked up the remote and flicked through the channels. There was nothing of any great interest on as usual. He left it on a real life crime documentary, they were reconstructing a murder then explaining how the police solved the crime. Sherlock could just about understand the Italian.

John looked at Sherlock as he started to eat and then decided it was safe to do the same.
He took a mouthful and chewed thoughtfully.
It was rather bad, the pasta was soggy and lacking salt, but the sauce was good and it could definitely be called edible.

He blushed a bit when Sherlock asked him how it was.
"It's good, thank you Sherlock," he said automatically, for some reason he still was unable to be mean to the detective. He felt so dumb.


((Are we Johnlocking this? >> ))

(( Don't we always?? XD ))

After their meal they spent an hour or so flicking through the channels on the TV, Sherlock trying as best he could to translate the television for John's enjoyment. When it got to around midnight Sherlock could see John was starting to get tired.

"You should probably get some sleep..." he suggested with a small smile. "We've got a long day tomorrow. You'll need the rest. I'll...um...I'll carry you to your room if you like."

((It's just that John is skittish in this one, so Sherly needs to be more forward if he wants anything to happen XD))

John was very tired, his thoughts hadn't stopped at all, anxiously tugging at his insecurities, and the peaceful mood Sherlock seemed to be in only made him want to shout.
"What's planned for tomorrow? 'Cause I am not going anywhere with those flights of stairs," he protested, motioning towards the door.

He frowned at the mention of being carried. "You could just give me my chair back, Sherlock... I also need the bathroom, and I really don't want you to carry me there... I don't want to depend on you, it's humiliating..."

Sherlock simply grinned at John's protests. It only made him more determined to push on ahead with his plan, although he did admire John even further for standing up for himself.

"Tomorrow...we've got more practicing to do," he explained. "Walking practice. Don't worry I'm not going to take you out anywhere, we'll just do it in the flat. And you can rest as much as you need to. I'll be patient."

Sherlock stood up and offered out his arms for John to grab hold of. "If you don't want to depend on me then you'd better co-operate and learn to walk, fast," he shrugged, rather unsympathetically. "Come on, I'll take you to the bathroom. I won't look."

"Jesus, you are serious about this," he exclaimed, still unable to wrap his mind around what was happening. Why was Sherlock so set on this? "Patience is not something you can be, I am rather sure of that..."

He stared at Sherlock's arms, gaping in shock at the suggestion he'd be carried to the bathroom. "No, Sherlock, I don't give a damn if you look or not, this is not negotiable, give me my chair," he said, his tone of voice growing loud. "I am going to pee on your couch otherwise, I don't think you would enjoy that..."

Sherlock stood and smirked. The thought of John peeing on the couch was quite amusing. He never realised his flatmate could be so stubborn. One of them was going to have to give in to the other. For a while they just glared at each other, Sherlock refusing to move. He hated backing down.

"OK. Fine," he sighed angrily. "You can use it for the bathroom until you're well again..."

Sherlock stalked off to his bedroom and unlocked the wheelchair from the cupboard, bringing it back through to the living room for John.

John fought with himself not to cheer when Sherlock decided to back down. Finally. He thought, raising his eyes to the ceiling in a thankful motion.
He really needed to pee.

He grabbed the chair and hauled himself on it.
"I will have to learn how to walk anyway," he snapped. "This house is not exactly barrier free... and how do you think I can shower with a wheelchair?" he muttered as he started wheeling himself towards the bathroom, his movements nervous, he was a bit in a hurry.

Sherlock watched as John rather expertly got himself into the chair without any assistance. He'd obviously had a lot of practice at this, he thought to himself sadly as his friend began to wheel himself towards the bathroom. Sherlock followed close behind to make sure everything was all right.

When they got to the bathroom door he had to give John a little push as the wheels of the chair became stuck in the doors. This place hadn't exactly been designed to be wheelchair accessable. Once they'd managed to get him in, Sherlock closed the door behind him.

"I'm waiting outside..." he called softly through the door.

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's words: "I don't need you to. I can manage on my own," he protested and proceeded to use the bathroom. It wasn't very easy, especially because of the limited space and how big his chair actually was, but John was strong and he managed it.

He moved to wash his hands and looked despairingly at the shower's stall, it would have been so much easier had there been a bathtub. He could probably hop in and out with his good leg, but it was dangerous to say the least. He didn't really want to break his arm or worse.

He walked back to the door and opened it, seeing Sherlock was still there.
"Are you my baby-sitter now? Are you going to sleep in my bed holding my hand to keep away the nightmares too?" he joked, shaking his head.

Sherlock waited outside, resting his ear against the door, listening in. When he heard John washing his hands he quickly moved away from the door and leant against the wall opposite, trying to appear casual. Then he held the door open for John and pulled his chair through the tight space.

"You're still having nightmares?" he asked, genuinely concerned and ignoring the joke. "And if you want me to hold your hand I will." He kept a straight face, staring at John, trying not to laugh...although even if John wasn't joking, Sherlock realised he probably would hold his hand. Right now he'd do anything to get his old flatmate back to normal.

Without even asking if he wanted any help, Sherlock grabbed hold of the handles of John's chair and wheeled him into the bedroom.

((Sherlock listening in on John peeing? XDDD he's so silly XDD ))

John looked rather put off by Sherlock's helpful manner, but this time he decided not to complain. He was starting to be very tired.
"Yes, I do... not about the war though... not always at least..." he said, looking at him annoyed.

"Now I dream of a tall guy with dark hair jumping off a building..." he hissed, and it was true, even though he would have never admitted it to Sherlock if it wasn't for his foul mood.

"I don't want anything... I don't need anything... I am perfectly fine," he admitted, maybe a bit too quickly.

John's words stung Sherlock badly. John dreamt about him? He really cared that much. Sherlock started to actually feel a little guilty about the effect this had all had on his friend. Maybe there was something he could have done differently in reflection - perhaps it was wrong of him to make John watch him do it? Why did he always have to be so bloody dramatic? He cursed himself silently and sighed as they arrived in John's room. He would make this right. He would make everything better and stop John having nightmates, he decided.

Sherlock set John's chair by his bed so it was easier for him to get in, then headed back towards the door before pausing.
"I guess I'll see you in the morning then. Sleep well." he said with a small smile, before closing the door behind him and heading back out to the living room. Sherlock stayed up for a couple more hours working on his soil experiment before going to bed himself, a relatively early night by his standards.

John felt himself grow even more annoyed when Sherlock did not comment on his words, it only made him realize Sherlock cared very little for him and especially for what he had done. John knew he was being overly dramatic about the whole matter, but he was too hurt to be able to process things clearly.

"Yes, good night," he muttered sarcastic, waiting for the detective to be gone before he scrambled on his bed.
He sighed, sliding in the covers.
He just wished he could go to sleep and wake up in the past, the time when he was better, when he didn't have this heavy weight on his chest.

The next morning Sherlock was up bright and early. He snook into John's room and removed his wheelchair before he woke up, locking it away in his cupboard again.

Then he headed through to the kitchen, popped some bread in the toaster and filled the kettle with water, flicked it on. Sherlock was in a good mood. He had John back and today was the start of their new exciting life. Before long they'd be back in Baker Street solving crimes and the criminal underworld of London wouldn't know what hit them. Now all that remained was to keep being nice to John to win him back round.

He made a cup of tea, remembering from yesterday that John didn't take sugar. Once the toast was done he spread on some margarine and jam then put it on a plate. Sherlock grabbed the tea and toast, taking it through to John's room. He shouldered open the door and walked in. John was stirring lightly in his sleep. Sherlock placed his breakfast down on the bedside table and went to open the blinds, letting in the bright sunlight.

"Morning John," he announced with a grin. "Breakfast in bed for my blogger."

John groaned when Sherlock decided to open the blinds, the sun was much brighter than he was used to, and he felt a bit like a vampire, moving away from the offending light.
"Bloody hell," he mumbled, rolling in the bed.
He had gotten used to sleep much more now that he didn't have much to do.

He saw the plate by the bedside table, and then noticed his chair was gone again.
He groaned angrily, again the need to slap Sherlock was very strong, just like the day before.
"You know, first thing in the morning one needs to go to the loo... how do you expect me to do that?" he hissed.

Sherlock smirked at John's question, then perched himself on the edge of his bed.

"You know, I never thought about that," he replied slowly, then perked up. "Tell you what. Eat your breakfast, then I'll take you. It'll be good practice. You can lean on my shoulders, we'll walk to the bathroom together, I'll take you in, help you get set up then I'll wait outside till you're done."

He removed a piece of paper that was folded inside his trouser pocket and looked at it. He'd made a schedule for John's recovery.
"On the agenda today is..." he found today's date on the schedule, "Ahh. Walking up and down the living room, with help."

"Of course you never thought about that, you dim head," he snapped, and glared at his breakfast, his stomach had turned and he really didn't feel like eating.
"I want to be able to go to the bathroom on my own, Sherlock, this is very unfair," he protested, shaking his head as Sherlock talked about his schedule.

"God, I hate this..." he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Why can't you let me be miserable in peace? What is it to you anyway? I told you I won't be able to help you with cases either way!"

Sherlock noticed with some disappointment that John wasn't eating his breakfast or drinking his tea. After all the effort he'd made too. Nevermind, he sighed. He had expected things to be like this at first. For John to be awkward and make things difficult for him; although he hadn't expected him to be this stubborn. It was quite an endearing quality actually, he reflected. Admirable certainly.

"You will be able to help with cases," he insisted. "You're going to walk again John and I'll help you as long as it takes. I need you to trust me. I need you to try and do this. For me. For us. You're invaluable to me John. Not just because you make tea, or blog or make terrible deductions I find amusing, you're so much more than that."

Sherlock turned away to the window and stared out, suddenly self conscious at his out pouring of emotion. But if any of this would help John's confidence, spur him on, then it needed to be said. And it was all true.

"You mean a lot to me John," he continued. "More than you could possibly imagine."