BBC Sherlock Imagines

Sherlock x Reader | Injuries

Description: You and Sherlock get home from a case, both of you with slight injuries, and help each other.
Warnings: Fluff, Swearing, Descriptive about wounds/violence
Word Count: 2372
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"Jesus." I sigh, getting out of the cab with Sherlock. We just got back from a case. It was a pretty basic case, serial killer, psychotic at the least. He snuck up on me and Sherlock and attacked us. He pulled a pocket knife on Sherlock and slashed his arm. Nothing too serious, some disinfectant and a bandage should work. A few bruises on his neck from attempted strangulation, and scratches from the mans grotesque nails. As for me, some scratches, a slash on my cheek, about the same standards as Sherlock's and a huge bruise down my side from being thrown into a wall.

We stumble into the apartment, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's condolences, and remove our coats. John was still on his honeymoon with Mary, which was the main reason we were out on a case. We get bored easily without John and Mary around, and we don't function well when bored.
I look over at Sherlock, he's holding his arm and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to avoid his pain.
"Sit," I say. "I'll grab the medical kit."
He rolls his eyes at first, and I shoot him a look. He complies and sits down. I turn to the hall and walk towards the bathroom. The medical kit is sitting on the counter just inside the bathroom. I grab it and walk back to Sherlock. I find him sitting on the couch still holding his arm. It makes me sad to see him hurt.
"Erm," I stutter, kneeling beside him. The cut was on his upper arm, he will need to remove his shirt so I can get to it.
"Sherlock, you need to remove your shirt so I can help."
He's still holding his arm, and when he pulls away, a large blood stain is left behind. He tries to lift his injured arm but it's weak from the pain and blood loss. He sulks a tad and I push his hand back to his lap.
"It's okay, I can do it." I say.
His expression is sad and his posture is a little awkward, but I sit up and lift my hands to his purple shirt.
I unhinge the first button, and look up at Sherlock and he's staring at me. I blush slightly and look back down.
I undo the second button, then the third, fourth, and to the bottom. Gently, I pull his sleeve down below his wound. There's a bit of dried blood around the cut, the wound will definitely scar, but not as much if he lets me keep treating it.
I look at the wound for a moment, then leave to get a cloth and a bowl of warm water. As I'm at the sink, I can't help but feel Sherlock's gaze burn into me. He has a habit of staring, I don't mind it really. It makes me feel specials to be looked at by someone for so long.
"Alright, so the wounds deep enough that it will scar badly, unless you let me treat it regularly. Are you, okay with that?" I say, walking back from the kitchen. I sit down beside him on the couch and wait for a response. Finally, after a few moments of thought, he nods in agreement and I dip the cloth in the water. When the wet cloth touches his skin, he winces and lets out a groan. His hand abruptly grabs my wrist and I look at him. He looks defeated, it breaks my heart.
"Sherlock, I know it hurts bu—"
"It doesn't hurt."
I give him a sympathetic look, and remove his hand from my wrist, set it on my lap and hold it with my free hand. I trace circle patterns on the top of his hand as a form of comfort.
"It's okay to say it hurts, it's a deep wound, barely not deep enough to need stitches so it will be painful."
Assuring Sherlock that it's okay to feel things is a challenge, so instead I look down at my hand in his, and his gaze follows mine.
"Try focusing on my hand instead." I say, squeezing his palm for reassurance.
"Alright." He says. I smile and continue. The wound is still covered in Sherlock's blood, I begin with cleaning that off first. As I'm cleaning it, he squeezes my hand a few times, I'm guessing cause it hurts, but he won't admit that so I just continue. Once the blood is mostly cleaned off, I grab the disinfectant, and am about to address it to the wound when I get distracted by a pair of blue orbs staring at me. I look at Sherlock, oh god was he perfect. I moved in with him a while ago after doing a case with him. We are really good friends but I can't help but think about how nice it would be to be more than that. The thought is amazing but I know it won't come true, it can't come true. Sherlock pushes away any emotion that comes to surface with him. It's sad for me, but I guess it's nice for him. He never has to care about anyone or what they say about him. My thought are interrupted by a deep baritone voice.
"What is it?" Sherlock says.
Shit. I was staring.
"E-erm, this will sting a bit." I say, trying to hide the fact that I was totally just staring at him.
"I'll be fine," he says, moving his other hand to my wrist. I can tell he's trying to be totally nonchalant about it but it was beyond obvious. Sherlock Holmes was checking my heart rate.
"You're hurt." He continues, nodding towards the slash on my cheek. It was dripping blood down my cheek and onto my chest.
"I'm alright for now, let's focus on yours first."
I put the disinfectant on his wound and he squeezes my arm. I feel bad that it hurts him but it's the only way to help him.
"Sorry." I mumble.
"Don't be. You're the first person who's actually tried to help me after an injury."
I look up, surprised.
"What about John? Didn't he help you?"
"No."
I furrow my brows, and continue to help his wound. I finish up and grab the bandage I brought. I take Sherlock's injured arm in my hand.
"I'm going to put your arm on my shoulder so I can wrap your arm, okay?"
"Alright." He says. I lift his arm onto my my shoulder and place it there, he groans a little at the sudden movement. I meet his gaze again and look for a sign of reassurance that says he's okay, and he nods a bit. Taking the bandage, I wrap it around his arm a few times, tight but not uncomfortably tight, and pin it in place.
"Good as new." I say, and to my displeasure, he pulls up his sleeve, and lazily begins to button up his top again. He struggles, but he gets it done. I stand up to put the medical kit away, but am stopped by a hand grabbing my wrist.
"No." Sherlock says.
"No?" I repeat.
"You're hurt too."
I blush as he strokes my cheek with his thumb, scanning the wound.
"I'm okay Sherlock, I ca—"
"You helped me, at least let me help you." Sherlock argues. I know I won't win, so I sit back down beside him. He grabs the cloth and dabs away the blood, being careful not to hurt me. He dabs the cut again and I flinch and grab his free hand.
"I'm sorry." He says.
"It's okay, I'm okay." I say, and he continues.
After a while, he puts the disinfectant on. It stings, a lot, but I struggle through it. He applies a few butterfly bandages to close it together.
"Thank you." I mumble quietly. He doesn't answer and instead he stares at me.
"What?" I say, breaking the silence.
"I couldn't help but notice your heart racing as you were helping me earlier."
I blush deeply and chuckle.
"Checking my heart rate, are we Sherlock Holmes?" I say?
I don't get an answer, but instead I notice him getting closer to me.
"What are you thinking about?" He says after a moment.
"Er, uhm." I stutter, my eyes moving from his eyes to his lips."
"Nevermind. I already know." He deduces, and leans forward until our lips are barely and inch apart. He hesitates, then closes the distance between us. I close my eyes and adventure the wonderful moment. Our lips fit together perfectly. They danced together for a while, until he pulled away. I sigh and look up at him. He's, smiling. I made Sherlock Holmes smile.
"I should probably change." I say, looking down at my bloody shirt.
"Me as well." He says standing up. I stand up slowly, the bruise on my side aching. And I walk slowly behind him. Just as I am about to turn into my room, he grabs my wrist and I am persuaded into his room.
"What's this?" I say confused as to why I wasn't allowed in my room to change.
"Surely you'll need help, with that giant bruise down your side."
I blush furiously and nod.
"And you with your arm, of course." I respond. Motioning towards his bandaged arm.
"Of course." He winks.
HE WINKS. I'm pretty sure he's doing this just to get to me now.
He turns and grabs two shirts from his wardrobe. They look the same, but one's a  white button up and once's a black one.
He walks over to me slowly, and puts his hands on my waist. He looks to me for confirmation, and I nod. Slowly, he lifts my shirt off my waist, and I raise my arms so he can get it over my head. Finally, with a bit of struggle, the shirt is off and he throws it aside. He looks back at me, and his eyes widen a little. I suddenly feel self conscious standing there in only my sports bra and jeans, and cover myself with my hands. Sherlock steps closer to me and kneels down so his face is in line with my stomachs. He moves my hands away and runs his fingers gently over the bruises.
"Does it hurt?" He asks, his face is filled with worry. I smile at his thoughtfulness.
"Not anymore." I say as he puts both of his large, thin hands on either side of my waist. He leans in closer, and gently kisses my waist, and runs his hand gently up my side again. I place my hand in his charcoal curls, and smile down at him. He stands up slowly, and I decide it's my turn. Starting at the bottom, I unbutton his top. I slide the sleeves off his arms, and throw it to the side as he did mine. I check his bandage, and it still looks in place, he's not bleeding through it, so that's good. I check to see if he has any more major injuries and he doesn't. Looking up at him, I stroke his cheek.
"What about you?" I ask him.
"Hm?" He questions.
"Does it hurt?"
He smiles widely before answering.
"Not anymore." And before I know it, our lips are connected. He fights for dominance, and wins quickly. His hands move down my waist gently, not disturbing the bruise, and I move mine back into his hair. He moans a little bit and I can't help but smile into the passionate kiss. He lifts his hands and puts one on my head, stroking my h/c hair and the other on the back of my neck. Finally we pull away, out of breath, and lean our foreheads on each other's.
We stare into each others eyes for a long time. Exploring each other's minds.
"I think we should get dressed now." He says. I sulk a little bit agree. He takes the white shirt and slides it up my left arm, then carefully up my right and around my shoulders. Starting from the bottom, he buttons them up, occasionally grazing my skin with his fingers. It sends shivers around my body. He reaches the top and smiles, chucking a little bit.
"What?" I ask, blushing.
"It's so big on you, it's kind of adorable."
I laugh too. The sleeves were dangling past my hands and the shirt rested at my thighs. The shirt smells just like Sherlock. It's so comfy.
"Alright. Your turn." I say, grabbing the black shirt. I walk behind him and slide on the right sleeve, then the left, being careful of the the bandage. I walk back in front of him and adjust the collar, standing on my tip toes as I do. I start at the bottom and work my way up. I reach the last one, button it up, and slide my hand to the back of his neck. He leans down and plants a kiss on my cheek. I smile and look at him. He has a cute little grin spread across his stupidly perfect face. I yawn and look at the time, the clock reads 1:21am.
"It's late." He says.
"Yeah. I should go to bed."
"No."
I smile.
"You want me to stay?" I ask him.
He nods innocently, and I take his hand and walk him to the bed. I crawl in and he follows me, we lay facing each other with my head buried in his chest. I put my hand on his heart, I can feel it beating through his chest. I close my eyes, and drift off to the sound of Sherlock's steady breaths. As I'm about to fall asleep, I hear Sherlock whisper something faintly.
"I love you, y/n."
I look up at him and kiss his jawline.
"I love you too Sherlock."
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A/N
Hey guys! This one was really fun to write. If you liked it I could make a sequel if you'd like :)
May we meet again
- S.W.