#socicpathic

Diana leans down beside him on one knee and then takes his hand and puts it near her heart like her mother always did with her when this happened “Concentrate on how many times my hearts is beating under your hand in a minute and then start counting along with them but I want to hear you count hmm. Do you think that you can do that for me?” She takes her other arm and runs a hand down his back rhythmically, rubbing her hand in circles, trying to get him to relax and breath easier “Sir, sir...start counting my heartbeats now if you can.”

it was a quiet and foggy evening, and John was strolling down the road with Sherlock - just as he would if he were with any of his closer companions. ( but it was at this point in time primarily the consulting detective that he spent his time with, so not much could be said about that... ) his own feet lightly padded on the sidewalk while he wondered aloud about the current murder that was undergoing a special ‘Holmes style’ investigating. 

as they made their way it couldn’t be helped that it started raining. in a hurry to protect his notes on their current case, John quickly tore open his jacket to tuck the book away... when he saw someone darting into the street and in the way of oncoming traffic. book forgotten, it was left to briefly hang in the air before cascading to the ground below ; the ground that a soldier's feet striking hard as they carried him over, when ---  C R A S H ! ! !

he’s down, and even if there’s been blood shed he doesn’t care. as long as she’s at least mostly alright - albeit in shock but she pulls herself out from under him, like he was only getting close because he’s seen her skirt. John’s face is concerned as he pushes himself up though, but he is soon to realize it is his own, drawn from his palms on the ground. and as he goes to push himself up to start, he’s shocked to find his sore ankle won’t - no, is isn’t able to support him..!

He was so worried about the other, with the state of mind he was in.  John didn’t entirely trust him to up and go out on his own, to do whatever he might deem necessary with how he was feeling, what was crossing his mind... But then he told Sherlock how he felt, how he would miss him if he was gone ( an understatement for the concern he felt when he would be unable to help the other and vice versa ) , and he was hopeful that it might at least get his attention. 

But he hadn’t said it because he wanted him to stop. He didn’t pull it out of the air like an invisible binding contract to guilt the other back. The soldier had pulled it from the depths of his heart and opened up just a bit, exposed that vulnerability that near anyone could take advantage of by catching either of them in a compromising position - and Sherlock had come back to bask in it, hold him and seal any cracks that had allowed such an honest light to shine though.

“Well, you should know that I see it. Even more so, that I find it absolutely adorable..!”

And with that fingers ruffled through curled locks, and he leaned up to place a kiss to his younger lover’s head through those ‘messy’ locks. John held Sherlock so dear to him, but not only because of his stunning cheekbones and endearingly lively hair. Not even his beautiful eyes could be all that kept him where he was when the security of another and more private location wasn’t too far out of his reach just outside of the city. No. with the world they lived in he could just as easily go and live somewhere else and take up a new job that would offer more of a challenge to him.

But the doctor wouldn’t go and do that, nor would he have any desire to leave his treasured sociopath behind. Why? What the detective encompassed, what build him up and what he stood for, were all things John loved and admired. A man of logic, of reason, and of a good heart who knew how to lead. Not in all ways was he a leader, but nevertheless his blogger would follow him to the ends of the Earth if it meant he got to touch that soft skin of his, hear his laugh and see that rare smile dance into his features...

Quickly - perhaps almost too quickly - the doctor came up from behind his detective.

He held Sherlock there from behind, hugging him close despite the height difference that normally kept his chin at least slightly raised; if it meant it got a glimpse of his face while he spoke, a smile when their jokes were exchanged. There was something there, whether he would completely realize it or not. The way his heart quickened when  he was closer to the sociopath, whether they were feeling the rush of the case or not. The satisfaction in laughing with the man everyone saw as so distant and cold at times, drawing out the warmth he  knew was there with a compliment or at times mere presence. John was happy to be with Sherlock, and perhaps it was because he unwittingly felt the same that he ended up clinging so tightly, a hold he hoped was reassuring as he pressed his face to the younger’s back. 

“Sherlock... I’m never going to let you feel that way. Despite how I may have lashed out before, I promise it wouldn’t ever really be your fault if I get like that... I’d hate to say I was trying to find someone to blame, but I-I’m afraid there’s not much else I can say on that matter...” His voice broke for a moment, and so he spun the other to face him - carefully, he moved the detective’s hands however he might need to to see his face, and from there he did what he could to wipe his tears away. ( But even then, he was oblivious to the amass of tears in the corners of his own eyes that threatened to spill over. “Please tell me if I’m ever hurting you... I’d rather be upset for a while and let it all get better than  find out later that I would be the one to hurt you so badly... Surely you must realize that you’re important to me..? I'd never want to hurt you like that, or at all if I could help it. No matter how upset I might be, I want you to understand that nothing would make it okay. Can you please repeat that back to me..?”

" oh, really then? I don't suppose you'd prefer I waited until it was 'just an infection', with spider veins running dark up your arm? " perhaps he was being a bit over dramatic, but it was not something that the doctor wanted to risk, not when he had the ability to avoid it when and where he could.

It was with a frustrated and evidently softening sigh that he added, " we do have a first aid kit for a reason, you know... you should be more keen on taking care of yourself, even in little ways like this. it's not good to be hurt, and I wouldn't want you 'going' because you weren't able to catch this sort of thing... " perhaps he was being over dramatic. but then again, he couldn't have another partner of his leaving on him... not when he knew he'd be missing them both so much, and the sort of things that came about when that happened.

“It was reckless and dangerous, Sherlock.”

Though Greg was frowning, it was more from concern for his friend than any real anger. Mostly, he was just relieved Sherlock was awake, and on his way to getting better. The case had been one of the hard ones; Greg had held out on his own for as long as he could before admitting defeat and calling Sherlock in on it. They’d caught the suspect and got a confession thanks to Sherlock, but Sherlock was also badly injured and stuck in hospital for who knows how long. Needless to say, Greg blamed himself for that.

He shifted forward in his seat next to Sherlock’s hospital bed, leaning closer as he worried his hands together. Sherlock was right, of course; he would be better soon, but that didn’t mean Greg wasn’t going to worry. Complications could always arise after an event, after all.

“That’s not all that matters. Sherlock, if anything had happened to you--” Now it was Greg’s turn to cut himself off. He took a deep, steadying breath, leveling his gaze at Sherlock.