Sherlock x Reader

John was a tad surprised.

You weren't very happy at what the doctors told you. Having had a stab wound, severe bruising and a few broken ribs, you weren't considered 'well enough' to live independently. Which meant that, temporarily, you had to move in with John and Sherlock. You weren't really that proud but really? A few shattered ribs weren't that painful, you just couldn't walk without feeling pain against your lungs. And when you said pain, you meant a proper can'tphysicallyfunctionbecauseyourbrainwasexploding type of pain. But nevertheless, the doctors insisted, despite your protests that you'd be just fine. You had to go along with it eventually, after they suggested someone moving into your apartment. You may not be happy about staying with someone else, but you just couldn't stand the idea of someone poking and prying through all your stuff.  

And so, you ended up getting dismissed the day after... Well, you know. That. Thankfully, Sherlock wasn't acting all weird and touchy-feely, just as he normally would. But occasionally you saw him look at you with that ihavetosolvethiscase look and it made you feel special. It was nice. And in the cab you took back to the flat, you held hands, in a way. It was more like fingertips touching but that made it better for you. It wasn't the usual loud gesture made by most couples, but a more tension-filled gesture. That was far better, in your opinion. That way, the electricity of the moment was kept alive. It made you feel alive. Like moments where you were right next to him, which happened as you got the cab and into 221 Baker Street. It was probably the fact that you nearly fell out that made Sherlock feel that he should help keep you upright. After knocking on the door, you were surprised again when Mrs Hudson nearly toppled you over in a tight hug.  

"Oh ______, it's wonderful to see you back! I would've gone to see you but the doctors said you shouldn't be excited too much. At least Sherlock was there, imagine being there all alone! That would've been terrible. Come in, I've just put on the kettle boil-" 

"You put it on exactly 4 minutes ago, Mrs Hudson but putting that aside, let's just go in." Obviously Sherlock had to correct Mrs Hudson as soon as he arrived within 3 feet of her. You rolled your eyes and went inside. And tried to walk up the stairs. Nopenopenope that wasn't going to happen. You didn't like asking for help but hey, ribs! 

"Sherlooock.." 

"Oh yes, you need help with that." And before you knew it, he was at your side again, supporting you as you trudged up the single flight of stairs. You were actually starting to enjoy the feeling of being supported instead of keeping yourself up all the time. It was a change, but a good one. Hopefully. When Sherlock unlocked his door, who should be standing there with a surprised look on his face? John Watson, of course! Although it looked like he was more fascinated with Sherlock's arm around your hip than the horrible dark purple-yellowy bruises on your hands. Although you didn't know, he was an army doctor and had a sharp eye for injuries. But he was also Sherlock's friend/colleague thingy and knew very well about Sherlock's no-social/physical-interaction-unless-it's-a-murder rule. So maybe it was understandable that he was surprised. 

However, two cups of tea (and some biscuits) later, he seemed to be able to digest the general gist of what had happened.  

"So, ______ was wandering around, got ambushed, fought back, got stabbed, you tried to help, she ran away, got hit by a truck and you phoned the ambulance?" 

"Yes John, and then I kissed her. Really, you mustn't leave the important details out- Oh, look at the mess!" The mess he was referring to was John's quite fantastic spit take. And he looked to you, to Sherlock and back to you looking... Flabbergasted. Yeah, that was the word.  

"So, you two.." And apparently he was suddenly lost for words and you nodded at him. 

"Yes John, technically we are, as you call it, together," you said. "But I don't think we're that sentimental, I don't think either of us could stand it." You looked at Sherlock as you said it and half-smiled. And that was returned with one of Sherlock's happy-proud smiles. That's how you would describe it. And then John had to interrupt the moment. Obviously he didn't mean to but still. 

"So now, ______ has to stay with us for a while because..." 

"The doctor said that she needs close medical attention and care to her ribs for the next week, at least. Honestly John, you should know this." 

"Alright Sherlock, just making sure," John said, his hands making a mock surrender gesture. "So the question is, who'll sleep where?"