Not my blood

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John was sitting in his chair when Sherlock threw open the door and walked into the flat. Sherlock looked like he had got into a fight and lost. Blood covered his shirt and pants. He had one eye closed and blood dripped around it. His hair dripped with the stuff. John gasped. Sherlock had done this once before but there wasn't this much blood. John jumped from his chair and ran to his friend. He grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him into the kitchen. "Sherlock! Your bleeding." he cried.

Sherlock looked at him calmly. "Don't worry John, it's not my blood," he said.

John glared at him. After Sherlock had gotten cleaned up he sat in his seat across from John. John put his book down. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" John said.

"Murderer thought it would be funny to keep the blood of his victims. He dumped it on me as a last-ditch attempt to escape," he said.

John sighed and stood up. He walked closer to Sherlock and bent down. He kissed him on the forehead. Sherlock turned bright red. "Don't scare me like that again," he said before turning and walking away, leaving a blushing Sherlock to think.

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