Sherlock dabbed tenderly at John’s temple with a damp cloth. The blood had clotted to be sure, but the detective couldn’t bring himself to stop.
John was concerned by the uncharacteristic silence from his dear friend.
“Sherlock, what’s wrong?”
Sherlock looked at the floor. His mouth opened slightly as if he would answer, but no words came. John put a hand gently on the taller man’s knee.
“Sherlock, talk to me! I’m your friend. You can tell me what’s bothering you!”
The taller man’s sea-gray eyes misted with tears, and his lip trembled slightly as he answered in a hoarse whisper. "I saw you tied to the chair, and for a horrible moment, I thought you would die and I didn't know what I would do. Oh, John! I can't..."
"Hush, Sherlock. It's okay. I'm here. I made it."
"I know. But this wound, and...” Suddenly he lifted his head, and grey eyes met kind blue ones. “How could I live with myself if you died? I can hardly live with myself knowing it is due to me that you are injured."
John looked at Sherlock's young, pained face, and tried to think of something to say.
And then he looked at the long white hand wavering near his head wound. The smaller man took the hand and kissed its owner lightly on the forehead. He could feel the tension leaving Sherlock's body.
Sometimes... sometimes words were unnecessary.
“I did it, Molly. I managed to insert your scene into John’s blog post. You said at the end of ‘The Blind Banker,’ right?”
“Yes, Jim! You’re a genius, and I love you!”
“I love you more!”
“No, I love you more!”
At 12:47 Sherlock Holmes wrote:
John, if I find out that you truly wrote this drivel, I will be adding my own interesting post script to “A Study in Pink”