Johnlock Fluff (mostly) Oneshots

Hurt

Hey yall. I got this idea from a book that TheJudgerOfStories  wrote. Check their book out, it's amazing. I'm also taking this from a dream I had a couple of nights ago. I decided to write this a few nights ago, I even wrote myself a note on Samsung Notes again. "Sherlyyt lr jaen het beat ip for being hay. See book saving in Reading list. Think of dream where hurt in book". Roughly translated from 3am me, "Sherly or Jawn get beat up for being gay (or hay, who knows). See book saved in Reading list (the book I mentioned before). Think of dream where hurt and bit in woods." So, let's get to writing. TW: Homophobia and slurs. Idk, I guess I'm kinda in an angsty mood rn. But it ends happy.

John's POV
Some days are normal, where nothing much happens at all, then other days your husband named Sherlock calls you from an alley in London somewhere being demanded to be picked up because someone had hurt him.

When this happened, I was instantly worried but not surprised. It was my husband, it was a good day if I didn't want to kill him. 

I asked him where he was and he told me where to go (I apologise, I can't give any addresses, I live in a town in midwest Wales which has 11,000 people. I don't know any London street names). Sighing, I told him I would be there as quickly as I could and I put my coat on again.

When I went out on to the street, it was freezing cold. It was the middle of January to be fair. Once I finally managed to hail a taxi, I told the cabbie where to go, and to please hurry because  Sherlock was hurt. I was incredibly worried for him because I wanted to know who hurt him so badly that he couldn't get himself home. 

As soon as the taxi stopped, I threw (TheJudgerOfStories STILL NOT BROKE BECAUSE I CAN STILL THROW MONEY) money at the cabbie and asked him to wait because I needed to get Sherlock and I didn't want to risk having to wait another 5 minutes just to get another cab.  

I ran into the alley and saw my husband sitting against the wall. At first glance, he seemed hurt but not desperately so, but when I looked closer, there were several small yet deep cuts on his arms. He probably had more hidden by his shirt. I immediately went over to him. 

"What happened, Sherlock?" 

"I'll explain when we get home, can you help me please?"

I nodded and carefully helped him up. Luckily, the cab was still there, so I guided Sherlock to the taxi and helped him in. I told the driver to go to 221B Baker Street and we were off. Thankfully, he didn't ask any questions about the state of the man sitting beside me. 

Sherlock began to fall asleep, resting his head on my shoulder. I did my best to keep him awake because I knew that we were only 5 minutes from home and if he went to sleep, he would wake up soon and would just feel more tired than before. 

"No Sherlock, stay awake or you'll feel more tired afterwards. You can sleep once I've cleaned your cuts."

"Mmph" He complained. "i'm not sleeping. Just resting my eyes" 

"Well, stop."

"Why?" 

"Because, Sherlock dear, we are home and I don't want you walking into a lampost because you have your eyes are closed."

The cabbie laughed at this as I handed him money. After I thanked him, I helped Sherlock out and took him up to our flat.  

I sat Sherlock down on the sofa in the living room and went to go get my first aid kit which had everything I needed to clean and sterilise his wounds. When I got back from getting the first aid kit from the kitchen (we keep ours in the kitchen. Is that weird?), Sherlock was sprawled out on the sofa with his eyes closed. He said that he would tell me what had happened once we got home, but it could wait for tomorrow.