Four-Letter Defect

The Crash

Author's Note: So this is kinda short, and not much really happens, but it's been way too long since I updated this and I wanted to get something else posted before the end of the year. So, here you go, and Happy New Year!

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"I wish I could say I'm surprised to see you." Sherlock rolled his eyes, starting to rethink his decision to come to this small coffee shop. Still, he said nothing and gave the woman sitting in front of him a tight lipped smile.

"I don't have much time for nonsense, Lucy. You know why we're here. You said you can help me, and I've agreed to listen to your suggestions. So, talk." Lucy shrugged and took a sip of her coffee.

"It's simple really, just...tell him."

"Okay, how?"

"I'm sure you know how to speak." Sherlock rolled his eyes but bit back his snarky comment.

"Alright then, when should I tell him?" Lucy leaned back in her seat and smirked.

"When the moment is right."

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Sherlock had always had a rather high tolerance for pain, but the throbbing agony he felt on the side of his head was excrutiating. Though when he heard John quickly take in a breath, all thoughts of any pain on his end vanished and all he could think about was John. He turned to him and placed a hand on his shoulder without thinking, asking if he was alright and mentally cursing himself for sounding so emotional.

John's eyes were screwed shut, and he was obviously in a lot of pain, but he nodded his head. Why did he nod his head? Of course, Sherlock had just asked him if he was alright. He didn't look okay, Shelrock thought to himself, but he nodded. Was he lying? And if so, why?

John opened one eye and looked down, then began cutting his jeans with a knife he had pulled from somewhere on his person, Sherlock wasn't exactly sure where. He blamed his lack of insight on the fact that he'd just banged his head into a window quite hard. Things like that tended to muddle one's thoughts. John turned to look at Sherlock with the hint of a smile on his face, but as soon as his eyes landed on Sherlock his face lost all colour and his eyes grew big.

"Sherlock, are you okay?!" Sherlock didn't fully understand John's question. Of course he was fine, didn't John see him? Sure he would have a pretty nasty headache, but that was it.

"What? Me? I'm fine," he said, hoping to reassure John. "I hit my head on the window is all, but that's not important right now. You are."

The words had been out of Sherlock's mouth before he could stop them, and he tried not to let it show on his face that he meant so much more than those trivial words let on. John was the most important part of Sherlock's life, and all else was pushed into the background in anything where John was concerned. Sherlock could feel his hands shaking, could feel an overwhelming urge to grab onto John and pull him close, promising to never let him go. He tried to keep still, he fought to keep his breathing even, he tried very hard not to think about how much his head hurt.

John reached up and brushed his thumb against Sherlock's forehead and cheek, concern evident on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed together and his eyes were wide and shining as he focused his attention on the left side of Sherlock's face, and suddenly Sherlock began to wonder if he really was alright.

"Turn your head further," John said. Sherlock refused for a reason unbeknownst to even himself, but John was persistent. Apparently Sherlock was a bit worse off than he'd originally believed. It was strange; He hadn't even felt the blood that had been trickling down the side of his face. Still, he refused to let John examine his injury and still, John was persistent. He began fiddling with Sherlock's hair and shifted slightly in the seat. Sherlock immediately noticed the harsh wince John gave and his eyes dropped to his leg. He could see where John had cut, and saw the splotches of red that adorned John's jeans. He could feel his heart sink to his stomach.