Sherlock & Sebastian (violent)

Sherlock felt himself blushing even further, his cheeks hot and flushed. He turned away and rubbed the back of his neck absent mindedly, then ruffled up his hair taking a deep breath. What was wrong with him? He never blushed. He stood up and walked towards the window, staring out onto the streets below.

"A favour?" he replied, "Anything."

He didn't particularly like the suggestion of going home, but if it meant he was helping John he'd be willing to do it. After a moment's thought he shrugged and nodded.

"Sure. Underwear and a book. No problem. Anything else?"

John couldn't help the affectionate smile when he saw his friend blush further, he made a note to himself to do that more often. He hoped he would get the chance to.

"Well, maybe my mp3 player? Days are very long when you can't move," he muttered, and then thought of something. "Maybe my laptop and a few films?"

He looked down when he realized he was exaggerating. "Mm, sorry for so many requests..."

Sherlock quickly made a mental list of all the items, storing them in his mind palace, then nodded.

"No, that's fine," he replied with a smile, before moving from the window back to the chair by the bedside. "I'll get you whatever you want. Anything. Anything at all. I just want you to get well again."

John looked at him with a sad smile. "I want to get well too," he said, reaching out his hand to squeeze the other man's hand, it was a very weak touch, but at least he managed.

"Don't get too worried, okay? It's going to take a while, but I can make it... I mean, they thought I was going to die when I got injured in the war, and I am still here, right?" He tried to joke.

"I just... sometimes I am going to be weak and gross, I don't really want you to see me like that..." He admitted.

Sherlock nodded and tried to accept what he was hearing. But it was hard. He didn't like the idea of John being weak. He wasn't weak. He was strong, and brave. He was a soldier. He would always pull through. He had too.

"Well what are they doing to fix you?" he demanded impatiently. "Why haven't they got you a new kidney?"

John laughed at that, "You are joking, right?" he asked, and frowned when he realized Sherlock was serious.

"They have to find a compatible donor? I am on the list, but there are a few critical patients before me... it could take months, that is how hospitals work," he explained, shaking his head, sometimes he wondered how Sherlock had ever been able to survive so many years in his own little world.
How was he going to do without him?
He shook his head, no, he was not to think about that.

"For the mean time they can just use dialysis to keep my blood as clean as possible..." he said, hoping Sherlock would not ask the questions that lingered for all that was left unsaid.

What if you get worse?
What if they don't find anyone?

On the list. So John was on a waiting list was he? Well that was just no bloody good. How could they make him wait like that? No no, this was no good.

Sherlock waved his hand dissmissively. "That's ridiculous," he snapped. "You can't just lie here in hospital and wait. Can't you just have my kidney? I don't bloody need it do I? Then we can go home."

"That's how it works, Sherlock, I am not better than anyone else with the same problem," he commented, amused by Sherlock's childish way of seeing things.

He looked at him strangely when Sherlock suggested he could be a donor. Sherlock wasn't serious, was he? "Considering your past of drugs, I am not so sure you don't need it..." he muttered, "and one needs to be serious about it, it's not something one can do just because they are impatient..."

He sighed. "You would have to get tested to see if there is compatibility..."

Sherlock rested his chin in his hands on the bed, deep in thought as John spoke. Of course he realised it was a serious thing...deciding to give up a kidney. It would change the way he lived his life. Operating on one kidney was of course entirely possible, but it would make him weaker...maybe not as handy in a fight. He glanced at the cuts and bruises on his hands and arms, his cracked cheekbone and swollen tongue still causing quite severe pain. Perhaps less fighting wouldn't be such a bad idea...

"I understand all that John," Sherlock said finally with a small nod. "I want to get tested....see if I'm compatable. I'd quite happily give you a kidney it's..." he coughed and looked at the floor. "...it's not a big deal."

John looked at him for a long time, trying to understand whether he could trust Sherlock knew the gravity of his words. It /was/ a big deal.
"There is not a big chance of compatibility outside family members, so there is no point in seriously think about it before you actually get tested, because you might not be a match at all, but if you were, I would ask you to think about it for a while before deciding... It's an operation... It's something that could be life-changing..."

He looked at his hands. "I don't want to be the reason for your life to be worse..." He admitted, his voice a bit shaky, he couldn't help it, just the fact Sherlock offered was making him feel queasy inside.

Sherlock nodded and waved away John's protests. "It's fine," he insisted, "Seriously. Like you said, I might not even be a match but there's no harm in getting checked out is there?"

He stood up from the chair and instead moved to perch on the end of the bed, feeling the need to be a little closer to John, wanting to impress upon him that he was quite clear about all this.

"Look John," he said carefully, "I just want you to get better. And if there's anything I can do to help then I'll do it. Anything at all. I know what the risks are. It's fine." Sherlock patted John's hand and smiled.

John smiled feebly at him, "There is not much more you can do for me once you are donating an organ," he tried to joke, his hand turning around to squeeze Sherlock's back.

"Your concern and support are already helping me... I don't know what I would do without you, Sherlock," he confessed, and he would have hugged him if it wasn't that his body felt too weak to move.

Sherlock smiled and took John's hand, "Thank you John. I don't know what I'd do without you too to be honest..." He looked away, feeling a little awkward, then stood up.

"Right," he said, "I'm going to head back to Baker Street, get those things you asked me for. Would you erm...would you maybe speak to the doctor here about getting me y'know, checked out or whatever?"

He started to put his coat back on.

John looked at him sadly, he really hoped Sherlock was never going to be without him.
He knew if he had to die for this Sherlock wouldn't take it well, and he didn't want to be the cause of his friend's suffering.
"I am... sorry for this, Sherlock," he whispered, more to himself that anything else.

He nodded, not really looking forward to seeing Sherlock leave, but at the same time, he didn't want him to see how bad he really was after dialysis.
"I will, yes," he agreed, looking at the door, trying not to feel lonely.

Sherlock hung around at the door, hesitating. He stared over at John, lying helpless in the bed, then an impulsive urge came over him. He strode over to the bed, leant over and kissed John quickly on the cheek, before pulling back and standing up straight and returning to the door.

"Get well John," he muttered quietly. "I need you." Sherlock blushed and hurried out of the room, heading off quickly down the corridor.

John froze when Sherlock leaned closer, surprise rather clear on his features, but he couldn't help the smile when he felt the kiss on his cheek. He felt truly happy in that moment. "Thank you Sherlock, I will," he muttered with confidence, even though the idea of not being able to follow Sherlock home was crushing him.

He missed home.

"See you tomorrow," he said before Sherlock disappeared, sighing as he melted back on the bed.

Sherlock returned back to Baker Street feeling tired and stressed, thoughts of John constantly plaguing his mind. He sighed as he viewed the complete mess that had been left in the flat as a result of his fight with Sebastian. He'd have to tidy up before John came home. But not now.

Sherlock flopped down into his armchair and went into a daze, staying in exactly the same position for the next four hours. When he finally came back to reality he stood up and saw the scrap of paper on the desk with the name Sebastian had given him - Steven Maguire. He rang up Lestrade and asked him to run a search on him through the database, pull up his record, then he jumped in a taxi heading up to Scotland Yard. It feld
odd doing things without John, and definitely not something he could get used to. Once upon a time he used to work alone, now he couldn't. He couldn't even imagine it. Didn't want to imagine it. He looked at his watch and wondered whether John had had his dialysis yet. He desperately wanted to see him.

There was something about being in a hospital that made John feel utterly alone.
A lot of other patients had friends and family always visiting, but it never really happened when you had something that took more than a few days.

John never had a big family, and he was rather sure Harry wouldn't bother visit him anyway. Deep down he wished he had family, someone to come and take care of him.

He was trying to be strong though, because he knew that he had been the one to send Sherlock away.

"Your husband wants to take the compatibility test, I heard?" said the pretty nurse as they set up the machine for dialysis.

John shook from his reverie and looked up to find her smile down at him.
"It seems like it..." he replied without thinking too much.

The girl laughed. "You don't even try to deny it any more?"

John looked at her confused for a moment and then he blushed, realizing what he had done. "Oh, mm, well, I told you it's not like that..."

She patted his hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, I know, you are just good mates, it's kind of sweet," she said, and caressed his shoulder briefly.

John didn't bother answering, there was just something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He couldn't agree with what she said though, he and Sherlock weren't just best friends.

So he laid there, forgetting about her, waiting for the familiar nausea to set in.
He knew tomorrow he would feel better, and Sherlock would be relieved. He just wanted to see him smile, he thought as he closed his eyes, waiting for things to be over.

Sherlock arrived at Scotland Yard and Lestrade was able to give him a whole file on Steven Maguire. He'd been arrested several times before for minor offences - drunk and disorderly, petty theft, but they'd never been able to nail him for something major, despite being aware of his connection to Moriarty.

Sherlock was confident he could set the man up and get him to commit a reasonable enough crime to enable the police to put him behind bars for a significant stretch. No man of Moriarty's could resist the chance to have a crack at Sherlock Holmes. All he had to do was put himself in the firing line. And he was quite prepared to do that.

He spent the rest of the evening making plans, then spent a few hours on an experiment before bed. The next day he got up early again to go and visit John, taking him the items he'd requested from Baker Street.

Upon arriving at the hospital he made his way up to John's floor, knocking on the door of his room a couple of times before gently pushing the door open. "John," he said softly, stepping in. His friend was half asleep on the bed, looking a little drowsy. "John...you OK?"

John stirred when he heard the familiar voice, his frame was buried under the blankets and he looked even more sickly than he was. After a moment of disorientation, he sat up though, rubbing his eyes.

"Hey," he muttered softly, he looked positively horrible, with ringed eyes and greenish skin, but he was strong enough to move and he showed it by moving his arms up. "See?" he joked, a bit silly, before sitting back again.

"I can probably walk to lunch, I don't need Mary to bring it to me," he said with a grin, his eyes sparkling softly as he looked at Sherlock. "How are you?"

Sherlock watched from the doorway as John finally began to stir, shocked by his appearance but trying not to show it. He smiled briefly as his friend lifted his arms up pathetically, then moved into the room, closing the door softly behind him.

"Oh, first name terms now is it?" Sherlock replied with a hint of jealousy. He came in and pulled up a chair, sitting down.

He plonked the bag down on the bed. "I brought you your things," he said, then studied John carefully. "You don't look so good," he frowned. "How did the dialysis go?"

John was disappointed to notice Sherlock didn't seem happy to see him move, he guessed he probably looked worse than he felt.
"Of course, Sherlock, it's called being friendly," he said with a smile. "And she is always around to help me, I can't possibly be cold towards her," he pointed out and moved a bit on the bed.

"Thank you," he said, reaching out his hand to grab the bag and look into it. "I really need to change PJ's, the hospital one is itching all over..."

He smiled towards Sherlock at the question. "I am fine, it went fine, I feel better," he muttered, trying to be reassuring.

Sherlock smiled, unable to hide the fact that he was relieved and pleased, and John did seem a little perkier. He stood up and moved to the other side of the room, turning his back.

"I'll look the other way while you get changed," he explained, then frowned a little and glanced back over his shoulder. "Erm...unless you err....need a hand..." he blushed and cleared his throat. "and then maybe we can go and get some lunch."

John couldn't help the laugh that shook his chest when Sherlock turned his back. "Jesus, Sherlock, we are both guys, you think I care if you watch me change?" He said amiably. "As for help, I am not sure..."

He stood up, very shaky on his legs, but it worked. He sighed in relief, he could manage this.
He looked into the bag and started taking off the hospital gown. "Lunch would be very nice, I am starving..."

Sherlock stayed with his back turned although was unable to stop his eyes wandering to the window where he managed to catch sight of John's reflection like a mirror whilst he was getting changed.

"I suppose you're used to getting changed in front of guys," he mused, almost thinking aloud, "from your army days." He blushed then, only realising for the first time that he was watching John without his knowledge, and tore his eyes away from the window to stare at the floor.

"Let me know when you're done," he muttered, "then i'll take you down to the canteen. I may even have something myself." He tried to recall the last time he had eaten. It was difficult not having John around to remind him.