Missing Piece Chapter 15

The television had proved itself unworthy a distraction to Sherlock. There were enough things to point out, but nothing challenging enough to keep his mind focused on for a longer period of time. It wasn’t beneficial for keeping his thoughts away from John when the good doctor was sitting between Sherlock and his distraction of choice.  

Soon Sherlock’s gaze clung to John’s figure on the armchair and he fell silent. Keeping his mind focused on the vacant babbling on the soap while the cause of his disturbed feelings was there, almost right in front of him was impossible. John seemed content watching that stuff and the pain killers obviously worked, so it couldn’t hurt to engulf himself in figuring out what exactly it was that had made him fall in love.  

There had to be at least some valid reasons. John was special and unique in Sherlock’s life, so much he knew. He was his only friend, the only person that bore his moods and one of the few people that didn’t call him a freak, whose opinion really mattered to Sherlock. The only one that praised him when he made his deductions. In most cases the reason he laughed or smiled.

Always right by his side when he needed him. The day they met had proved that.

When John had moved in with him, Sherlock had been sure that it would just be a matter of time until he’d stomp out of their flat and never return. Sherlock wouldn’t have blamed him. It wasn’t as if he tried to be a desirable person to be around. But John had stayed, even when Sherlock had more or less poisoned his drink in the Baskerville case and used him as a guinea pig.

All that didn’t make John leave him and even if Sherlock would never voice it, he was ineffably grateful for that. Perhaps it was for all of those reasons that Sherlock felt more than just friendship for him, Sherlock couldn’t tell.

What he could tell was that meanwhile John had noticed his staring and gone rigid in his armchair. Sherlock’s heart skipped, like when he was little and his brother had caught him doing something their parents had forbid. He made a face at this inordinately reaction.

How on earth could he continue to act normal, or well their definition of normal, around John when his body acted this traitorous?

Sherlock started fidgeting, ignoring his urge to pace. He’d kill for a cigarette right now.
John shifted in his seat and winced, obviously straining his injured leg.

“Does it hurt much?” John turned around to look at him, startled at Sherlock’s caring tone.

“It’s alright, but I need to check the wounds. Disinfect them again” John was quiet for a moment, eyeing him thoughtfully “Could you help me remove my pajama so I can take a look at them?”

Sherlock’s mouth went suddenly very dry and for a second his poker face slipped. He was absolutely positive that it wasn’t a good idea to let his hands anywhere that near John, but it was a reasonable request. More importantly, it concerned John’s health.

He stood up and went over to the armchair, kneeling down on the floor as this would make it easier since John was shorter than him. Sherlock kept his eyes on John’s knees, trying to focus on the pattern of his pajama.

“This would be a lot easier if you’d stand up, John” He managed to keep his voice neutral and John complied.

Sherlock moved his hands to the waistband and he started to undress John carefully as not to cause any pain.

No, not undressing John, but helping him remove his clothes. Sherlock chided himself. Disobeying his command, his eyes travelled up John’s leg and before Sherlock could stop himself, he let the knuckles of his right hand brush over John’s skin. He felt John shudder underneath his hand and it took every shred of his willpower not to repeat the motion.

Practically junking them down the rest of the way, Sherlock took in a deep breath, trying to calm down his racing heart. Then he let go of John’s pajama and stood up to remove the top. He had no doubt that the blush on his face had to be clearly visible and he cursed his pale skin.

Unbuttoning the top proofed itself to be even more difficult. There was too much skin in close proximity to Sherlock’s hands. His fingers practically twitched with the urge to touch John. Not being allowed to touch and explore it was like standing right in front of an interesting crime scene and not being able to go and take a look at it.

Somehow Sherlock managed to remove that piece of clothing as well without groping John.

“I’ll fetch the antiseptic” Sherlock hurried into the bathroom while John sat back down.
It was only then that he realized that John could have removed the top himself. And it took Sherlock a few more seconds to realize a second thing. He’d have to help John redress as well. This time he’d let John take care of the buttons. He wasn’t sure if he could keep his hands at bay a second time.

The antiseptic, absorbent cotton and bandage was found way too fast for Sherlock liking, but at least the blush had subsided. And the thought of having to look at John’s injuries, injuries he was responsible for, was enough to get rid of the warm, fluttering feeling in his stomach.

When he returned to the living room, John was slightly bent forward, examining his injured leg. Sherlock took a moment to appreciate the sight of a nearly naked John. Stepping closer, Sherlock put a generous bit of the antiseptic on the cotton.

“Here” John raised his head, not quite looking at Sherlock and took the offered piece of drenched cotton. Though he found that unusual, he was grateful for it because John had gotten far too good at reading Sherlock’s face and he had no idea what John would see if he looked.

“Thanks, Sherlock” John dabbed the wound on his leg, wincing at the sting of the antiseptic “It’s healing quite nicely. Give it a month and I’m as good as new”
Sherlock forced himself to look at the injury, guilt nagging at his mind. He couldn’t let his feelings hinder him at providing John help while he needed it.

“Let me bandage it” John had just finished disinfecting his arm and looked up, a faint hint of surprise evident on his face. Sherlock felt another pang of guilt. Did he really appear that uncaring for John to be astounded at his unsolicited offer to help?

Kneeling down at the left side of the armchair, he grabbed John’s arm lightly and started to bandage it. Goose bumps rise on John’s skin, followed by a slight shudder. Sherlock arched a brow, wondering what could have evoked that as this was the second time John reacted like this to his touch.

Goose bumps usually occurred when somebody was either frightened, encountering intense emotions, feeling cold, experiencing something pleasant, anticipating something, during withdrawal from drugs or before or during having a seizure.

Most of them could be ruled out right away. It was neither too cold, nor was it probable that John would remember something that would trigger a reaction like that when Sherlock came in contact with his skin twice in a row.  In conjunction with the shiver however Sherlock could rule out anything else and mark it down as emotionally triggered.

Which meant in conclusion that John either found his touch pleasant or was averse to it. Or maybe Sherlock was just over thinking things again. It could simply be a reaction of John’s body to being touched and not necessarily have something to do with Sherlock being the one touching him.

He was no expert in reading human reactions, so it was possible that he got it wrong. John could anticipate pain caused by being bandaged by Sherlock’s untrained hands. He really shouldn’t read so much onto it.

But what if John truly found his touch unpleasant? Sherlock frowned. It didn’t matter whether John found hi s touch pleasant or not, because there was no need for John to like it. It was not as if Sherlock had any reason to make skin contact in the future. Regretfully.

Before his busy brain registered that his body took measures of its own once more, he scooted over and began to bandage John’s leg as well, evoking a sharp intake of breath from John.

“You don’t need to do this, Sherlock. I’m capable of bandaging it myself” John’s voice sounded off, but Sherlock couldn’t quite place what it was. Looking up, he found that John was once again looking anywhere but him.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind doing it” That’s when he saw it and his heart rate accelerated.  John’s pupils were dilated. Too much to hold the light responsible for it, because for that it was too bright in the living room. Not contracted like they’d be when John would see something unpleasant.

Should he act on this observation? Sherlock had enough data to verify his presumption, but still, should he really endanger their friendship based on this?

Fastening the bandage, Sherlock made up his min.

“John, your pupils are dilated. Seeing something pleasant?” his heart raced, dreading and eagerly awaiting John’s reaction at the same time.

A blush crept up John’s neck. “M-maybe it’s just the light” John stammered, clearly not believing it himself and they both knew it.

“No, I don’t think so” Now John paled considerably and Sherlock couldn’t contain his delighted smile. Spurred on by John’s reaction, Sherlock laid his hand flat on John’s thigh, drawing small circles with his thumb.

“Do you like my touch?” Sherlock inquired in a husky voice. John’s eyes widened and for a moment he simply stared at Sherlock in bafflement. If he’d made any mistake in his deduction, he would be so screwed.

“Sh-sherlock, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” John swallowed audibly, his eyes begging him to reassure him that this wouldn’t blow up in his face; that Sherlock wasn’t conducting some bizarre experiment on him.

“Can I touch you, John?” Sherlock felt breathless, despite the fact that he was simply kneeling there.

“Yes” John breathed, sounding equally as breathless “Oh god, yes”