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Sherlock sighed as he half-carried, half-dragged his better half up the steps to the flat. Again. Another probable concussion, for the same reason as always; flinging himself fearlessly, recklessly, between Sherlock and whatever danger he perceived him to be in. No A & E, Lestrade knew better than to even suggest that the ambulance be summoned. Sherlock simply helped John up, nodded a good night to the DI, and pushed his partner gently into the back of the cab. As always, John's natural inhibitions disappeared, there was not a single trace of embarrassment in the way he muttered to Sherlock as he laid his head gingerly in the detective's lap. "God, you are lovely. Did I ever tell you how lovely -" he would close his eyes and with what Sherlock would only describe as an amorous sigh would fall asleep until they were deposited at Baker Street.
"Need a hand wid 'im?" The cabbie shot Sherlock a slightly worried glance, but already knew the answer.
"Nope. Lighter than he looks." It was a running joke between them, as this was not the first, nor would it be the last time John would return to the flat in his present condition.
"John? John - Cap'n Watson?" Sherlock muttered against his blogger's hair.
"Hmmmph? Wha-?"
"Home, you're home, Sir."
"Ah, home..." He managed to slide carefully out of the cab followed by Sherlock, who threw some bills at the slightly smirking cabbie, then slid out, keeping an eye on the wobbling figure in front of him.
"I've got you," Sherlock wrapped his arm around John and helped him navigate to the door watching for the unevenness in the cement which could trip them up. "Almost, love, then you can rest for a bit."
"Sherrrl-?"
"Mmm."
"I love you."
"I know, you idiot. Next time -"
"I, I weaved when I shoulda ducked. Thorrrr-"
Sherlock kissed the top of his head carefully. "I love you too. C'mon, let's get you to bed, yeah?"
At last, Sherlock pushed open the door with his foot and carried John to their bedroom. "I'm going to get you undressed, and clean you up, then you can rest. John? Look at me? John!"
"Ya don't have to yell so loud - oh, Sherlock, I don' feel so good..."
"I know. I'm sorry." Sherlock removed John's shoes and clothing with a practiced hand. Another ruined jumper, at least neither of them really liked this one; jeans didn't seem to be too badly damaged, just a small tear in the knee. Sherlock held his breath as he pulled off the slightly muddy t-shirt. A gash he hadn't known about lay across three ribs. "Damnit, John. Why didn't you-" He moved the silent figure to the center of the bed, so he wouldn't roll off, and left the room to retrieve the supplies he needed.
Sherlock returned to their room and stood still for a moment, simply taking in the sight of his friend and lover stretched out on their bed did something odd to his heart. He walked over to the bed and sank to his knees. "Please, love, promise me, you'll stop, you'll stop trying to save me? I'm no good without you, I can't do this without you - just stop, please?"
"I can't - I can't do that -" mumbled the figure who was far too still for Sherlock's liking.
"Why?" Sherlock shook his head, as always, this conversation followed along the same lines.
"Because I love you - I've lived without you, and I don' wanna do it again." He lapsed into silence and Sherlock managed to pick himself up from the floor and climb onto the bed next to John; he held him carefully in his arms and placed a gentle kiss on the tip of John's nose.
"I'm going to wash your face, get the dirt off...might have to do some stitches on your ribs...I love you too. So much."
John let out a breath and opened his eyes. "I know." He reached up and touched the single scratch that marred Sherlock's face. "You need to clean that -"
"I will - need to take care of you first." He ran the warm damp cloth over John's face and relaxed a bit as he heard John sigh.
"Feels good - I'm so tired."
"I know, soon you can sleep."
"Don' leave -?"
"I'm not going anywhere, promise."
"'Kay." John kept his eyes on Sherlock's as the detective cleaned him carefully, then numbed the area where the stitches were needed.
"Breathe for me, John?" Sherlock whispered. "Sorry if it hurts, I'll try to keep them small..."
"It's okaaayyy - mmm..." John's fingers tightened around Sherlock's still clothed calf, then he closed his eyes and began speaking. "The first time, the very first time I saw you. When our eyes met - I knew. I knew - was like being shot again, but not painful, just something sharp, woke me up, made me knew I was needed, necessary again. You saved me that day, Sherlock - and I've spent the last ten years trying to thank you - hmmmm...damn that tickles."
"Thank you, John." Sherlock mumbled as he laid gauze down over the stitches and taped it carefully.
John blinked up at him. "Wha' fer?"
"For, just, hell. Everything, you idiot. Just everything. Rest now." Sherlock laid down and pulled John against him. "Rest now, love."