Nights When Boredom Strikes

Puncture Wounds and Lovely Tunes

Sherlock grabbed his violin, sitting on the end of the couch with John's feet in his lap. He pulled the bow across the strings in such a way that they made the most beautiful sound. John always loved listening to Sherlock play. It calmed him. Whether is was a familiar tune or something Sherlock was composing himself, it always sounded wonderful. He closed his eyes, smiling as he listened to the noises coming out of the string instrument until it went completely silent. He opened one eye to see Sherlock staring at his side, violin resting in its previous place, Sherlock's arms long enough to reach and place it there. Sherlock grabbed the bottom of John's shirt, lifting it to just above his bandages, studying the material carefully. 

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked, his voice ringing with concern. 

"I'm fine, really, it's not that ba-ah!" John's attempt at consolation went bad as the pressure Sherlock had applied to the area around the cut sent a searing pain through his side. John sat up, gripping his side, trying to force the pain back to where it had previously been. 

"It's still bleeding pretty bad, and there is more bruising around that area than there was when you were first cut. I remember the ones that were there. Your bandages also need changing." Sherlock concluded as he got up and walked into the kitchen, grabbing supplies out of the medical drawer. When he came back, John had his arms wrapped around himself in a defensive position. Sherlock sat beside him, cross legged on the couch. 

"You're going to have to remove your arms." Sherlock tried to reason with John, who was clearly not going to listen. He tugged at the wrists of the doctor, trying not to touch the hurt area, being unsuccessful. He leaned in and pressed his lips to John's ear, feeling his grip loosen a little. 

"John you are a doctor, and I know that you know it's important to keep a wound like that clean." Sherlock murmured, nearly a whisper. John sighed and released his grip on himself, allowing Sherlock access to the cut. He ended up having to take his shirt completely off to get at all of the bandages correctly. Once John's bandages were fresh and he had thrown the old ones away, Sherlock pulled John into a loose embrace, being careful with his side. 

"That wasn't so bad was it?" Sherlock asked, the breath on John's neck raising goosebumps and making him shiver. 

"I suppose not. What's with all of this caring business? Has something happened? To be honest, the past couple of days are coming up blank to me and I have no idea what has been going on." John replied, turning his head to look at Sherlock, wondering where this was coming from and why Sherlock was being, how would you say, sentimental. He carefully cupped John's face in his hands, pulling them closer together. 

"You are my friend, John. Friends care for each other, correct?" Sherlock twisted himself around to where he had John's legs on either side of his waist and John's arms wrapped around his neck. Maybe more than just sentimental. John thought, confused but eager and a bit hopeful at the same time, with no explanation, probably the medications he had taken for the pain.. Sherlock pulled back just enough to whisper on to the mouth of his doctor. 

"You really should get some rest, John." John pulled their mouths back together, unsure why, mumbling about how rest was overrated and how he wasn't tired.

Sherlock knew the feeling of boredom and so he wasn't going to argue with John on the issue. John was restricted from quite a bit and this was something he could do. Have to be careful though, much more careful than recently. Sherlock thought, pin pointing all of the no-touch areas on John and remembering them. Bandaged areas, new bruised areas, and that one specific pressure point under his arm. Sherlock noted. John slid a hand up Sherlock's shirt, lightly brushing the skin. He began to undo the buttons from the bottom to the top with the unoccupied hand. Good thing he's taking those medications. Plan still intact. Sherlock leaned back onto the arm of the couch, pulling John on top of him. They kicked their shoes to the floor and Sherlock's shirt was strown on top of John's.

 "Holy hell, Sherlock, what happened to you? You look like you lost a fight with a boxer." John gasped, looking at Sherlock's torso. 

"Tripped over something in my room, fell into a pile of books, don't worry about it." Sherlock dismissed, shushing John by pressing their lips together. Sherlock fumbled with the button on his trousers, getting it undone and sliding them off, next doing the same thing to John's so he wouldn't have to bend too much. John brushed his lips against Sherlock's collarbone, sighing and causing the detective to moan in pleasure. He ran the tip of his tongue up Sherlock's neck to his jawline, sucking the skin where they met. Sherlock let his head fall back, curling his toes and grabbing on to John, maneuvering one hand to John's back so he wouldn't grab the injured area. John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, grabbing a handful and tugging the way he soon figured out made Sherlock weak in the knees. This elicited more moans from Sherlock who looked like he had fallen into his own little world.

"God, John, you are such a tease." Sherlock mumbled as he pulled John's face to his, crushing their lips together more forcefully than he meant to. This is going to be harder than I thought. Being careful with John. Sherlock thought, double checking every move he made. They rolled to where John was laying on his good side, intertwining legs and lacing fingers together, sucking and biting at each other's lips, trying to get as close together as physically possible without swallowing each other. This is literally a dream come true. Thought John, recalling his dream earlier that day. They both wanted this moment to last forever, and it felt like it was going to. John pulled away, gasping and ripping himself away from Sherlock, pressing both hands to his injured side.

"Shit! Damn it! Ouch!" John yelped, curling into a ball on the couch. Sherlock quickly sat up, examining John, had he done something? 

"What is it, what did I do?" Sherlock questioned frantically, unsure about what to do. 

"No, no, it's not you, you didn't do anything, just cramped up, that's all." John said through his teeth, still gripping his side tightly. 

"What can I do?" Sherlock asked, wide eyed and at a loss for the first time in a very long time. 

"Nothing, it's passing. I'll be fine." John reassured him, even though he was the one in pain. Sherlock carefully pulled John in close to him, embracing him lightly and stroking his hair. John's breathing slowed back to normal and he curled into Sherlock's chest, tracing the planes of his stomach with his finger and wrapping his other arm around him. John really did want to know where Sherlock's caring, and sudden burst of kissing, had come from.

"See, I'm fine. Just a little cramp. The cut really wasn't as bad as it looked, not even an inch deep, and only about three inches long. I should be back to almost normal functioning by tomorrow. Trust me, I'm a doctor." John explained. 

"I am fully aware of your status as a doctor, John, but I also know that you are stubborn about getting help when you need it." Sherlock replied, flashing a grin. 

"Meh, I'll be fine." John said, situating himself in the most comfortable position he could get in, laying next to Sherlock on the couch. Sherlock continued to stroke John's hair as John's thoughts wandered into randomness and questions and he fell asleep, woozy from the pain medications that he had taken soon after the injury, Sherlock falling asleep out of boredom soon after.