Sherlock & Sebastian (violent)

"Naked?" he found himself asking without thinking, but then blushed furiously and looked away. "I had no idea you did anything of the sort..." he commented, letting his eyes go back to Sherlock.

He frowned as he saw the bruises covering the detective's once pale skin. "Was that Moran?" he asked, definitely not impressed by the idea. "God Sherlock... have you even tended to those? How can you manage to stand straight?" he protested, his voice thick with worry, "I leave you alone a few days and here's what happens? You wouldn't possibly survive a week if I was gone!"

Sherlock shrugged apologetically. He felt a bit like a schoolboy getting told off by his dad. "It's fine. Really," he muttered. "They were just body shots, he hardly touched my face." He prodded his bruised cheekbone and winced slightly.

Then he lay back on the bed slowly next to John, careful not to put too much pressure on any of his bruises. The heat from his friend's body was calming and relaxing and Sherlock sighed contentedly.

"Well, it's been a long time since I shared a bed with anyone," he smirked.

"It's not fine, Sherlock you gotta take care of your body, it's the only one you have," he commented, forcing his eyes away as he moved towards him, he didn't want to think about the fact that Sherlock walking towards him half naked felt like the beginning of a wet dream.

"Mm... is it?" He said, blushing slightly at the closeness, he tried to concentrate on the bruises, debating whether he should call the nurse to take care of those.
He wanted to know more. "I have never seen you bring anyone to your room in the time I have known you..."

Sherlock lay flat on his back staring up at the ceiling, listening to the rise and fall of John's chest, softly breathing next to him. He cast his mind back in time and tried to remember the last time he'd shared a bed.

"No, I haven't had anyone over whilst you've known me," he replied. "You know that's not really...my thing." He twisted round slightly to try and face John, grimacing as he pressed against some of his bruises and careful not to fall out of the narrow bed, but he managed to turn onto his side.

"There was this one time though," he continued thoughtfully. "At Uni. They had this party in the halls where I was staying. I was just in my room working, I didn't go. About 4am I went out to go to the toilet. We had shared bathrooms. I left my door slightly ajar and when I came back there was this girl in my bed. Drunk and only semi-conscious. She tried to make some sort of pass at me and I rebuffed her. I tried to get her out of my bed but she fell asleep. So, I just carried on working then around 6am went to bed myself. She was still there so I just sort of had to...squeeze in. It was completely ridiculous. After that I always locked my door whenever I went to the bathroom."

John swallowed hard as Sherlock turned towards him, he could feel his breath on his neck, it was mesmerizing to say the least, but he tried desperately to keep himself focused. "No, I don't really know, Sherlock, you never really talk about this kind of things... For all I know you could be sneaking off to a secret family during the night," he muttered with a teasing smile.

He laughed softly at Sherlock's words: "Poor girl, she must have been quite confused in the morning," he commented, his eyes sparkling softly in amusement.
"Any guy in your position would have taken advantage of that, really, especially at that age, does sex really scare you that much?" He asked, his voice lowered to a whisper.

"Sex doesn't scare me John," Sherlock smiled, shuffling slightly in the bed. "I've just never seen the point of it. I mean, other than the creation of children which I have absolutely no Interest in, what is the point?"

Sherlock shrugged up his shoulders, exasperated, but he was on a roll now, the words flowing easily and nothing was going to stop him.

"Then there's the obvious fact that if you have sex with someone there's a chance you may develop feelings towards them," he continued his rant. "A fondness, sentiment, love even. Love is dangerous John. Love makes people lose their senses, do stupid irrational things. Caring is bad enough. Moriarty was able to manipulate me because he knew I cared about you. He knew he could use my friends to force me to jump off that roof. Luckily it all worked out fine in the end but don't you see John, don't you see how dangerous it is?"

John frowned at the words, the wheels in his head turning slowly, trying to understand what Sherlock's point was. "You say you aren't interested, but it feels much deeper than that... you don't want to fall in love, you don't want to get close to people, but if that isn't a phobia, well, I don't know what is..."

His cheeks burned red in anger at the rest of his words, somehow it annoyed him to hear Sherlock berate his caring so much. "Well, but if you don't have that, if you don't have love in your life, then what is life worth living for? What can possibly make us survive the loneliness and boredom if we care about no one?" he snapped, quickly regretting his tone. He took in a deep breath and lowered his voice. "The way I see it Sherlock, life is worth living because of those feelings, and it is barren without them, it would be like not having lived at all..."

"It's not a phobia John," Sherlock snapped, annoyed. "It's called being sensible. I put my work first. As soon as you bring emotions into it people suffer..."

He listened to the rest of John's words carefully and without interupting, then paused before responding, deep in thought.

"I love my work John," he answered. "Does that count? And I love -" He turned his gaze to look down at the sheet, fiddling with the edge of it slightly. "Look, you are right John. You nearly always are, in fact. If I had no feelings, no emotions, then I'd be no better than Moriarty. I'd be cold...dead inside...evil. I could easily have become a criminal John. I'd make a great criminal. But I didn't. I chose to be a detective because...because...well I suppose I must care. A little." He smirked. "And you know I care about you John, that's obvious right?"

"Of course there is no point in being emotional or get involved with everyone, but the opposite is just as bad..." he commented, and closed his eyes for a moment, it just felt odd to be so close to Sherlock and to finally talk about this.

He smiled, reaching out his hand and squeezing his arm. "I know... sometimes it's hard to see... but deep down I have always known you do care..." he took in a deep breath. "It must be why I like you so much..." he admitted, resting his head further on the pillow. "I am glad I met you, Sherlock... you changed my life for the better..."

He frowned, realizing then why he hadn't freaked out about his illness yet.
"If I died today, I would be fine, just because I met you..."

Sherlock frowned and angrily reached out to shake John's shoulder. "Don't say that," he snapped. "You're not going to die, don't be ridiculous."

He paused and lowered his voice, realising he'd been shouting. "You know...I'm nothing special John," he muttered a little quieter. "You really shouldn't place me that highly."

Then he smiled and placed his hand on John's upper arm, rubbing it slightly. "But thank you. And for what it's worth...I'm...I'm glad I met you too." Sherlock looked down and avoided eye contact, a little embarrassed. "You've made me into a better person John. I don't know what I'd do without you now."

John's eyes widened as Sherlock raised his voice. "It was... just hypothetical," he protested feebly, his cheeks red for the passion Sherlock seemed to show regarding this topic.
It was touching, and reassuring for his heart.
He needed to hear that, he really did, even though it seemed like it was never enough, sometimes he just wished Sherlock would hold him and whisper sweet words to him.
He knew it would never be the case though.
He was never going to feel sated, because the affection he felt for Sherlock went way deeper than he wanted to admit.

He smiled sadly at the words, enjoying the contact on his arm. "I don't place you that highly, Sherlock, I know very well you are an ass..." he teased him softly, leaning a bit closer. "But that doesn't take away from the fact that I needed to meet someone like you and I did, you changed me, you gave me a reason to live and it was a damn good one..."

He grinned. "That's a bloody miracle, isn't it?" he joked, but somehow he was also serious. Sherlock had saved him, and he owed him so much.

Sherlock smiled softly, not sure what the correct response would be to John's words. He still felt self conscious and embarrassed, like John was placing him on a pedastol somehow.

"Really it's...it's nothing," he blushed. "You're the one that....you're the one that changed /my/ life." He turned his head away, unable to look at John and feeling really uncomfortable with the conversation now.

"Can we erm...can we...talk about something else?" Sherlock stammered. "This kind of conversation isn't easy for me John. I just...well...just as long as you know..." He cleared his throat and spoke really quietly, staring at a button on John's pyjamas. "Just as long as you know how much you really mean to me."

John's eyes moved over Sherlock's face, the embarrassment on his features was making his heart clench uncomfortably in his chest. He didn't want Sherlock to be embarrassed, nor uncomfortable, especially when they were so close and sharing a bed.

"Of course I know, you proved it to me more than once," he muttered with a soft smile, turning into the pillow and nuzzling the material. "We don't have to talk at all... It's time to sleep after all," he added with a sigh, his muscles felt sore, and his mind was going a bit numb with tiredness.

Sherlock sighed, wishing he hadn't spoken. He didn't really want to stop talking or go to sleep, he just didn't know how to say what he was really thinking. He wasn't even sure exactly what it was he was thinking anyway, just that lying there so close to John was making his body feel...odd, and his mind a little fuzzy, occasionally overcome with irrational ideas that flashed through his brain.

"Well, I guess it is a little late," he mumbled. He lifted the sheets up a higher and shuffled even closer towards John, their bodies now pressed right up against each other. Sherlock could feel his own heart pounding madly.

He was quite frustrated, because he felt like he still hadn't managed to get across how much he actually did care for John. And he was also rather confused, because he kept getting this uncontrollable urge to kiss his friend. He knew John would probably freak out and start shouting at him that he wasn't gay and that they were only friends but he didn't know how much longer he could hold off. Bloody hell, he thought, where was this coming from, he hadn't kissed anyone for years and why John, why now...

Sherlock felt sick with nerves but he knew if he didn't do this now then he probably never would and he might live to regret it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Good night John," he whispered, then quickly leaned forward and kissed him once on the lips, before pulling back and blushing furiously, waiting for the inevitable backlash.

All sort of feelings seemed to cross Sherlock's expression as he thought, but John didn't seem to be able to recognize any of them. Sherlock was as unreadable as always, but the doctor had learned not to get as frustrated as he used to get when they first met.

"It is, and I am very tired," he admitted, before his breathing caught in his throat.
Suddenly, Sherlock was closer, much closer, they were sharing warmth and he could feel his skin, his pale smooth skin against his arm.

He blinked, his heart beating in his throat as he saw Sherlock lean closer.
It felt like a dream.
The sweet tone of his goodnight was like pure honey, and his lips felt soft and warm against his cold ones.
Instinctively his hand wrapped into a fist on Sherlock's collar, maybe for support, or maybe because he was scared he'd disappear.

The kiss was a gift John had never thought he would receive.
It felt so surreal that all he could do was return it and smile into Sherlock's neck when he pulled away and he curled closer to him.
"Good night Sherlock," he whispered with a thin, fragile whisper.
It had to be a dream.

Sherlock opened his eyes cautiously, wondering why John wasn't mad, wasn't shouting at him. He realised with a frown that he in fact looked rather happy, saying goodnight, snuggling into him.

He awkwardly lifted up his arm and wrapped it round John's shoulder, holding him close to his chest, his friend's soft hair tickling his cheek pleasantly. What did this mean? That John didn't mind Sherlock kissing him? That he'd actually even possibly liked it? Could that be the case?

Sherlock's lips felt strange. A funny, tingling feeling he'd never experienced before. His past experiences of kissing had been dull, undwhelming at best, nothing like this, and it had only been the smallest of kisses. He couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to do it again, for longer. He imagined it briefly in his mind and felt his heart skip a beat, and a small twinging between his legs that told him this was quite a serious matter.

Could it be possible that he was developing...feelings...for John? Feelings that meant taking their relationship beyond the stage of just being friends. He couldn't believe he was even entertaining the idea. It was impossible. He'd always sworn to keep above such ideas, separate from emotions, distance himself from anything that might make him weak. But really it was too late, he already cared far too much about John and his enemies knew exactly how to manipulate him. He was angry at himself for letting his feelings get the better of him, but at the same time he couldn't get the image out of his mind, the image of John and him kissing.

He pulled back from their embrace slightly to look into John's eyes. He felt like he'd been thinking for hours but in reality it was probably only a few seconds. "I'm...I'm sorry about that John..." he stammered. "I didn't mean to...I mean I did mean to but I...what I mean is...um...I don't know."

John's heart and body felt warm, his mind was fuzzy, overwhelmed by the intimacy they were sharing. This was more than what he had ever let himself wish for, and he was quite sure it was all going to disappear before morning came. He was scared of waking up alone in the bed, Sherlock freaking out over a kiss given in a moment of weakness.

He tried to hide himself in Sherlock's chest, enjoying the blissful feeling of safety it made him feel, and he sighed content when the detective's arm wrapped around him.

He frowned unhappy when Sherlock pulled back, searching his eyes, and starting to say words John dreaded.

John's gaze was glassy and pleading as he looked up into grey eyes.
"Don't spoil it," he whispered, fingertips pressing against Sherlock's soft lips in an attempt to silence him. Lips he could not believe he was touching.
"I needed it..." he confessed, because it was the honest truth, even though he hoped Sherlock would not realize just how much he meant the words.
/Don't question me... you wouldn't like my answer.../

Sherlock frowned, not knowing what to think anymore. John needed it? What did that mean exactly? That he'd definitely liked it? That he wanted to do it again? God, why did these things have to be so complicated?

All Sherlock knew right now was that he was completely happy holding John, being close to him, listening to his heart beat and his breathing. They'd never had this much physical contact before, nowhere near, but it was quite special and quite...normal, really. It didn't feel strange or wrong in anyway. He only began to panic slightly when he started to rationalise it in his mind and realised what it was they were actually doing.

"But why would you - " He stopped himself from asking the rest of the question. /Why would you need it?/ John had told him not to spoil it. Sherlock always seemed to spoil things whenever he opened his mouth. It was a mildly annoying habit that sometimes got him into trouble and this time he really didn't want to ruin anything. He decided to keep his thoughts to himself for now and try his hardest to enjoy the moment.

He wanted to do more. Now he'd tried it once he really wanted to do it again. He wanted to see what it felt like. God he was desperate to kiss his best friend, he could hardly believe he was thinking those thoughts, what the hell was wrong with him. He noticed his breathing was ragged and short, his heart rate elavated. If he didn't know better he'd say he was in love with John but...but of course he wasn't. John was his friend. Just his friend. Right? Right. Of course.

Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Stop this, he told himself. Just...stop. "G-goodnight...John..." he stammered, and tried to slow down his breathing. He smirked to himself slightly, realising how strange it was - he'd thrown himself off the roof of St Barts without any problem, but he was all choked up and nervous about something so simple as a kiss, something most people did every day. Maybe in the morning he could work up the courage to kiss John again. He had to. He had to find that confidence, that strength from somewhere within himself. He knew he could do it. He wouldn't let this be the first and last time.

John felt it all, the heavy breathing, the crazy heartbeat, but he did not pry and he did not offer help, he couldn't bring himself to talk, scared he would ruin the moment, scared that he would make Sherlock run away.
And actions were just the same, what could he do when his whole body was shaking with nerves?
He could only hide his face into the other's chest, taking in his scent and trying not to freak out at how good it all felt.

Why had Sherlock kissed him?
Had he finally deduced just how deeply in love John was?
Was it pity?
Or was it because there was no one else?
John didn't want those thoughts in, he wanted to believe it had been a token of love, at least for tonight he would let himself be positive... tomorrow, he would deal with insecurities, he would deal with feeling inadequate.

He was so tired too, his whole body felt heavy, so bloody heavy.
"Night," he muttered, frowning at his slurred voice, and for a moment he thought something was wrong.

What was wrong with him?
His body felt like a stranger and he couldn't move it anymore.

/I'll feel better when I wake up.../
He thought, closing his eyes, and wishing only to dream about having the guts to tell Sherlock he did love him, he did care.

Sherlock sighed, concentrating on slowing down his breathing. It had been an awfully long day and he was tired, both physically and mentally, his body still bruised from fighting, his mind bruised from his obsessive thoughts over John.

He held his friend close inhaling the sweet scent of his body. God he was so contented and relaxed right at that moment he almost wished it could go on forever. Gradually he found himself drifting off into a peaceful dreamless sleep, the best he'd had in a long time.

Sherlock woke early in the morning. He wasn't sure exactly what time it was, but the sun was already bursting through the windows and the hospital was alive with noise, doctors and nurses bustling back and forth in the corridors outside.

He yawned and rubbed his eyes, smiling as he noticed John lying next to him, still asleep. They'd slept like that the whole night, their legs intertwined, Sherlock's arm wrapped around his friend, holding him close to his chest. He remembered their brief kiss the night before and blushed, wondering what John would think about it in the cold light of day.

He bit his bottom lip and sat up slowly, then nudged John gently to wake him up. "John," he whispered. "It's morning. Time to wake up." There was no response, so he shook a little harder. "John...time to wake up John." Still nothing. Sherlock frowned, starting to get a little worried. He touched his friend's face, his heart lurching when he realised he was rather cold. "John!" Sherlock shook him hard, panic rising in his voice.

John was quick to fall asleep that night, his eyes too heavy, his body unable to move, and his senses drunk on Sherlock's heat and scent.
He had been too happy about the kiss to see the signs.
When his mind seemed to slosh heavily in and out of consciousness, he had thought it was sleep, and welcomed it.

No dream was there for him though.

He slipped into a coma without realizing it, his breathing dangerously slow and his skin becoming paler by the minute.

When morning came, he did not realize, he was not there, the light shone on his seemingly lifeless face, but he couldn't feel it.
In the depth of his unconsciousness, he thought he heard Sherlock calling, but he could not respond.
It was all vague and unreal.

Sherlock quickly realised there was something drastically wrong with his friend. He just wasn't responding at all, wasn't waking up, he'd gone all...floppy. He leapt out of the bed and raced out into the corridor in his boxers, forgetting all about his minor cuts and bruises from the fighting yesterday, they weren't hurting anymore and he only had one thing on his mind.

He grabbed the nearest nurse and dragged her by the arm into their room. "You have to help him!" he shouted, "he's not waking up. Do something!" The nurse was shocked by Sherlock's demanding tones and slightly aggressive behaviour but headed straight over to the bed and inspected John. "He's gone into a coma," she muttered, "I'll have to get someone," and she hurried away leaving Sherlock in an anxious state.

"A what?" he cried after her, even though he'd heard. A bloody coma. He began to pace the room up and down, his hands tearing through his hair, tears beginning to prickle his eyes. He suddenly stopped and threw himself back towards the bed, practically getting down on his knees beside John and clasping onto his arm.

"Please John," he begged. There was no way he could let this happen. He couldn't stand it. Not after last night. Not after he'd only just started to admit the depth of his feelings for his friend. "Please...John you can't...you've got to wake up." He struggled to his feet again and leant in close, slowly placing his lips against John's in a small kiss.

Sherlock reached out behind him and grabbed the chair, hauling it in so he could sit down next to the bed. He buried his head into the mattress to hide his tears, both his hands still clasped onto John's. He took a deep breath then began to talk quietly to his friend's lifeless body.

"John...there's...there was something I was going to say to you last night. We were...talking about love...and...and I said that I loved my work. And I was going to say...well...You see there's only really one other thing in this world I love and that's...and that's..." He paused to wipe some tears away and took a few breaths, he was still so nervous even though he knew John probably couldn't hear him. "Well what I'm trying to say is that John...John I...I love...I love - "

Just then the paramedics team burst through the door and Sherlock stood up quickly, dropping John's hand and looking a little like a guilty school boy, blushing at the words he was about to say and rather annoyed he still didn't get the chance to say them. He stepped back and allowed the team to do their work.

The doctors burst into the room and the nurse grabbed Sherlock aside, taking him away so that he wouldn't be interfering with their work.
The doctor in charge was barking orders and moving around John while they administered the first batch of drugs, "Let's get him into the surgery right away before he goes into cardiac arrest!" he shouted worriedly, the nurses starting to pull the bed towards the exit.

Mary walked Sherlock to the chair once John had disappeared, beckoning him to sit down. "We didn't expect this to happen so soon, he seemed to be fine yesterday, but one never knows what to expect with this kind of disease," she muttered pale.

She offered Sherlock a tissue. "You are crying..." she muttered and looked him over, somehow the other's distressed expression seemed out of character on what had always seemed to be a cold complexion.

"I would like to say not to worry..." she muttered and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. "But even intervening now, we don't know whether he will wake up..."

She looked at him pitifully. "Have you thought about... arrangements? In case...? Does he have any relative we should call?"

Sherlock was in a foggy haze. He felt arms around him, pulling him away from John. He wanted to resist, to shrug them away, but suddenly he felt weak and helpless, and he allowed himself to be led from the room.

Shortly after the bed burst through the doors into the corridor, Sherlock's view of John blocked by the amount of medical staff around the bed, wheeling it quickly to surgery, Sherlock's final image of John before he sat down dejected into the cold hard chair.

He turned towards the hand on his arm, recognising the pretty nurse John had flirted with, giving her a small smile through his tears, which he ashamedly wiped away once she'd pointed them out. "I am fine," he said coldly, trying to regain his composure.

He frowned as she was speaking, unable to comprehend the severity of the situation, or not wanting to. She was trying to prepare him for the worst, telling him that John might die. Well that just wasn't even an option. Sherlock simply wouldn't allow it. He refused to live without John. He couldn't live without John.

"Don't be stupid," he muttered, giving a short hollow laugh. "He's not that sick. He'll be fine. You need to go back to medical school." He gulped and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling worried and stressed.

Mary looked at him sadly, she pitied him and wished so much there was something she could do. She liked John too, she didn't want him to die, but there was no point in refusing the possibility.

She put a blanket around Sherlock's shoulders, and knelt in front of him.
"It's normal not to accept this at first, and it's going to be very hard, but you also have to think about what John would have wanted..." she muttered, looking up at him with worry.

"John was trying to protect you, not telling you the details, but even if we find a donor now, the possibility of recovery are low and the chance of survival for surgery in his state is 50/50..." she explained, looking away with a trembling lip.

"I am just a nurse, but I've worked here for a long time... if... if you don't let yourself accept it, you'll lose your chance to say goodbye, and you will regret it for the rest of your life..."