“It’s disinfectant. Of course it stings,” John says grimly and puts the spray back into his bag. He looks at the gash in Sherlock’s right hand and sighs. “Don’t grasp into barbed wire next time. Then we won’t need it.”
Sherlock makes a face. He observes, how John takes out a bandage and shakes his head.
“You’re overreacting again. It’s just a …”
“Shut up,” John says mildly and takes Sherlock’s hurt hand.
Suddenly he hears Sherlock’s breath faltering and looks up with a frown. “Does this hurt?”
“No,” Sherlock says quickly. He avoids John’s gaze and swallows. “You can go on.”
“Okay.” John’s frown deepens but he focuses on the wound again.
He works carefully but quickly.
Sherlock’s skin is warm and smooth. Once more John thinks that Sherlock really has nice hands - what a weird thought, Watson …
It’s very calm around them. The only noises are Sherlock’s breathing and the ticking of the clock on the wall.
When John is finished, he strokes over Sherlock’s hand once - why are you doing this? - and then lets go. He looks at Sherlock - is he blushing? No. Must be the light … - and smiles. “That’s it. Uhm. Tea?”
Sherlock looks at him in a way, John can’t really interpret. It’s intense. But also … somehow soft.
“Yes. Yes tea is good,” he says quietly.
They look at each other for another silent moment, that feels much longer than it really is.
But it’s nothing …