for all my yuri on ice fans

~Alex

Sherlock hadn't slept the night, and wasn't very hungry in the morning. He knew John ate breakfast for some odd reason, so he decided to make him something. Sherlock didn't know much about cooking, so he went down the Mrs. Hudson, and asked for her help.

"Okay just slice those peppers, and mix it in with the eggs, dear." Mrs. Hudson instructed. He did so perfectly, and he even learned how to cook French toast. When the food was done, Mrs. Hudson took a portion, and Sherlock took the rest upstairs to John.

When he went back upstairs, John was laying on the couch with his leg propped up on a pillow.

"I've got breakfast for you." Sherlock told John. He put the poor on a plate with utensils, then on a tray, and carried it to him.

"Wow. Thank you. I didn't know you cook?" John commented.

"I can always learn. It's not that hard." Sherlock said.

Sherlock sat on the foot end of John as he ate, and he read from a new book he got.

John ate the food, and placed the tray on the coffee table, and continued to read the paper.

"Edgar Newman was found dead in a motel room this morning." John told Sherlock.

"The CEO? Do they know who did it?" Sherlock asked uninterested.

"Not yet. They say that they saw him and another guy enter the room through camera footage, but no one was filmed leaving the room. The other guy has not been named yet" John told him. He was smiling behind the newspaper. He knew the case would peak Sherlock's interest. After a couple minutes of Sherlock not saying anything, John decided to ask him.

"How about we go there are check it out? It would be a really cool scene I bet. I heard he died of unknown causes." John suggested.

"I don't think I'll go. You can't leave since you're supposed to keep your leg elevated, and you can't make it up and down the stairs." Sherlock decided. John nudged him with his foot.

"My leg will be fine for the day. Let's leave and go to the scene." John almost begged. He hated feeling useless in the flat. Just sitting around.

"I already said no John. You need to elevate your foot." Sherlock told him again. John huffed, and swung his legs off the couch, and onto the floor. John took the crutches, stood up, and headed to his room to get dressed properly.

"You're being a pain in the ass, John." Sherlock said as he followed John.

"I will be fine. I know you are bored, and so am I. I want to leave this flat, and do something. If it'll make you feel any better, I'll find somewhere to sit at the scene." John tried to reason. Sherlock sighed, and gave in. John decided to wear looser jeans, and his old soldier green shirt from his ACUs. Sherlock not really caring about the heat outside, wore a lavender silk button up shirt, and dress pants, with dress shoes. Even as John had no been working out a lot, his body was still toned from his service. You could see all the small scars on various parts of his body, and a larger one running down the backside of his arm.

Sherlock was very used to seeing John in tee shirts. Most of the time he wore button up shirts or jumpers. He noticed all the nicks and scars on his arms. Probably from being in the field.

"Let's go." John said. Sherlock helped John slowly walk down the stairs, and they hailed a cabby to the location. There was traffic everywhere. Most Saturday's were like that. The traffic was really slow, and at one point, the cabby stayed parked in the same place for 5 minutes.

"At this rate the body is going to be bagged up before we can get there." Sherlock said. John shifted around.

"It's only a couple blocks from here. Let's pay and walk down to the motel." John said. He dug through his pocket, and gave the cabby a couple pounds, and started to leave the cabby.

Sherlock left the cabby, and was starting to protest.

"John you aren't supposed to be walking around as it is, and now you're going to walk four blocks to a scene." Sherlock protested. John laughed as he hobbled.

"How many times have I told you! I'll be fine." Sherlock just sighed, and followed him. He walked in front of John so people would make way for his crutches.

It took 10 minutes, but they soon arrived to the motel scene, and saw Lestrade's familiar car parked out the front, and police tape everywhere. Sherlock and John showed their badges, and got in.

"Have you concluded the cause of death?" Sherlock asked as soon as he got into the room. Lestrade and Donovan were surprised to see him there.

"Hello. Sorry it took us a bit, we had to walk." John apologized. Donovan showed John to a chair to the side.

"You aren't supposed to be walking around. Why are you here?" She asked. She tried to get John to prop his foot up on something, but he refused.

"We were bored, and I couldn't stay in the flat any longer. Do not worry about me, I don't feel any pain." John assured them.

"How could you let him leave the house?" Donovan scolded. Lestrade watched confused.

"I didn't let him. He just got up demanding to come here, and was already trying to walk down the stairs. When the cabby stopped, John paid and left the car. I couldn't get him to go back. He's being stubborn." Sherlock grunted. Lestrade could tell he was a little bit distressed.

John took his notepad out, and wrote down what Sherlock would say.

"No bleeding that is noticeable. He does have a little red stain right here." Sherlock said, pointing to a stain on Newman's white button up. The man was sprawled out on a neatly made bed, and his eyes were closed. He almost looked asleep, minus the pale face and slight smell.

"He walked here. Last night it was raining, and the bottom of his shoes have some mud on there, and his trouser ankles are a bit musky from the water. He had an umbrella, but it's gone." Sherlock pointed out. John made sure to write down everything. He felt a little bit of uncomfortableness in his leg, but ignored it for now.

Sherlock popped open a couple of buttons from the man's shirt, and looked at the tiny would. It was almost not even visible. Someone could've mistaken it as a piece of red fuzz at a glance.

"Cause of death; Carotid Artery Puncture." Sherlock told them. Lestrade was impressed, once again.

"How can you tell?" Lestrade asked.

"Sherlock, open up all his buttons." John asked him. Sherlock undid all of the buttons, and they saw that his torso was slightly tinted purple.

"Newman was stabbed in the Carotid Artery with a needle most likely. The pressure of all the blood made the tear in the artery so large, that all his blood spilled out inside his body. That's why there is a whole bunch of bruising on the torso." John explained.

"Well explained John." Sherlock complimented.

"I think we've seen someone like that before. Finding the murder weapon is a bitch though since it could be a sewing needle for all we know. Finding the needle will be hard." Donovan said. Sherlock examined the small hole.

"I'd suggest you'd give up on finding the murder weapon. I can tell it was a sewing needle from the slight abrasion. It could be anywhere, and even if you find it, you wouldn't be able to accurately analyze the fingerprints." Sherlock told them.

Sherlock trashed him gloves, and just started to walk around the room.

"The killer's shoe size is a size 12. He wore dress shoes that have the bottoms worn off to eliminate the traction and logo. They were black. He's about 173 centimeters tall, and is probably bald. I can find any hairs." Sherlock said.

"He wore a net of some sort to keep the hairs from falling off." John added.

"He's right. The footage showed a man with silvery brown hair, and we can see him reach for his head just before he enters the room with the man." Lestrade told him. Sherlock eyes widened. That was one of the first times he was proven wrong.

"I completely underestimated your intelligence, John." Sherlock told him. John smirked.

"I knew because I saw a print out of the two walking into the motel on the paper. I'm not that intelligent, I'm just resourceful." John told him truthfully.

"Either or you're quite intelligent for a man of your stature." Sherlock teased. He turned around to look around some more.

"Was that a short joke?" John asked. "You're lucky I have crutches. If I didn't, I'd body slam you right now." John threatened. Donovan and Lestrade laughed at their bickering.

"I can't find anything else so far. Text me the lab results and coronary report when they're done." Sherlock concluded as he was getting ready to leave. John tried to stand up, but felt a streak of pain up his leg. He forgot to take his pain medication, and he left it at the flat. Sherlock looked back at the sitting John, and helped him up. John's face was very blank.

"You're alright?" Sherlock asked. John nodded.

"I'm great. Let's go. It's a bit humid in here." John rushed. Sherlock let John hobble out first, and they walked to the street to hail a cabby. Sherlock looked to his side, and noticed that John was a bit pale, and he had a very slight crease between his eyebrows. John may not look in pain to anyone else, but Sherlock saw everything. Sherlock daringly stepped into the road, and stopped the first cabby by force.

"What's your problem?! I'm off right now, can't you tell by the sign!" The cabby complained. Sherlock threw a good amount of the money onto the passenger seat, and helped John into the cab. The cabby got almost triple what he'd normally get, so he didn't complain, and took them home quickly.

"You forgot your pain medication this morning, didn't you." Sherlock said. John nodded.

"I was going to bring it with me, but I forgot." John admitted. Sherlock rested his hand gently on John's thigh, which made him wince.

"What are you doing?" John asked. His face was flushed, both from the pain and from blushing a little.

"You're leg is heated. This is what I was worried about. The humidity and walking caused an infection. We'll have to disinfect it when we get home." Sherlock said worried. When they got there, Sherlock grabbed onto John's bad side, and helped rush him up the stairs to the bathroom.

"Take your trousers off." Sherlock told him. John blushed.

"What are you thinking?" He asked.

"How else am I going to disinfect your leg with pants over it. We have to redress it." Sherlock explained. John agreed, and he carefully tugged his pants off, leaving his boxers. Sherlock unwrapped the bandage around his thigh, and saw the sewed wound, surrounded by red inflamed skin. John winced a little at the blowing air conditioning hitting the wound. Sherlock dug through the cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol. John paled even more as soon as he saw that. Sherlock took John's belt, folded it, and placed it in John's mouth so he wouldn't bite his tongue off. John braced for Sherlock to pour the alcohol on. Sherlock quickly dumped the alcohol on the wound, and quickly wrapped it up again with some bandages.

John didn't move around, but his face scrunched up, and his mouth dug into the belt. When the pain lessened a little, John dropped the belt, and Sherlock gave him his medication to dry swallow. Sherlock helped John into the living room, and he propped his leg up on the couch.

"Let the wound air out and the alcohol dry up. Then wear some loose pants so the wound doesn't get humid again." Sherlock ordered him. He rolled his eyes as he left the room to clean up the bathroom.

'Why is he such an idiot?' Sherlock thought to himself. When he walked back into the room, he closed the windows.

"If it doesn't heal by tonight, I'll get some hospital cleaner, and clean it again." Sherlock said. John agreed. John starting to feel better as the medication kicked in, so he picked up a book from the coffee table, and started to read. Sherlock looked through the bookshelf, but he already read every book there. And he memorized every word. He decided to pick up his violin, and he looked through some sheet music online from the laptop. It took him awhile, but he finally found something to read off of. He studied the online sheet for a couple of minutes to memorize, and then he started to play. It was Stay Close To Me by Stammi Vicino.

John stopped his reading, and watched Sherlock play the violin. It was so smooth and fluid. John had never heard him play this song before. All of a sudden, Sherlock started to sing the words to the song.

Sento una voce che piange lontano

Anche tu, sei stato forse abbandonato?

He sang in a deep smooth voice. John has never heard Sherlock sing until now.

Orsù finisca presto questo calice di vino

e inizio a prepararmi

Adesso fa' silenzio

He reached a heavier piece of the song.

Stammi vicino, non te ne andare

Ho paura di perderti

Le tue mani,

[Tenor] Le mie mani,

e i battiti del cuore

si fondono tra loro

Ora sono pronto

Sherlock reached the end of the piece, and ended it with a long held out chord, and then stopped. Sherlock hadn't realized that he closed his eyes while playing, so when he opened them, he saw John smiling and clapping.

"That was gorgeous. What did it mean?" John asked. Sherlock smiled.

"I'll sing it in English." He told him. He readied himself, and began to play again.

I hear a voice crying in the distance

Perhaps you, too, have been abandoned?

He sang.

Come, let's quickly finish this glass of wine

And I start to prepare myself

Now, be silent

The song definitely had the European flare of drinking wine.

With a sword I would cut those throats that sing of love

I would enclose in ice the hands that write those verses of fiery passion

John listened attentively to the lyrics.

This story that has no meaning

Will vanish this night along with the stars

If I could only see you, eternity would arise from hope

John smiled. Sherlock looked right at John as he sang the next two lines.

Stay close to me, do not leave

I am afraid to lose you

Sherlock sang with more and more passion. John blushed a little.

Your hands, your legs

My hands, my legs,

And our heartbeats

Are blending together

Sherlock started to slow down. He was singing both parts of the duet, but it was just as fluid than singing only tenor.

Let's leave together

I'm ready now

John clapped when he finished. They were both smiling. Sherlock took a small bow, and placed his violin back.

"You were amazing." John told him. Sherlock had a crooked smile on his face.

"Thank you. I knew it was the perfect song after I recognized the lyrics." Sherlock said. Sherlock looked towards the clock.

"I'll order some dinner. What do you want?" Sherlock asked.

"I'll have some Chinese." John said. Sherlock nodded, and spoke to the Chinese place, in Chinese, to order some food. He remembered what John liked, and how to speak Chinese. 

When the food was delivered, Sherlock gave him his meal and a fork, and Sherlock munched on a serving of rice he ordered. John glanced at Sherlock in his chair. He looked adorable almost. He had already changed out of his day clothes, and lounges around in grey pajama bottoms, a white tee tank top, and his silk navy blue robe. His legs were crossed, and he ate his rice slowly with the chopsticks. Sherlock looked up from his food to John.

"What's wrong?" He asked. John looked away, back to his meal.

"Oh nothing." John said. He finished his meal before Sherlock since he was eating slowly, and placed it on the coffee table.

When Sherlock finished, he threw away to cups and chopsticks.

"Can you hand me the laptop? I haven't written about the Charles Carbine case yet." John asked. Sherlock handed him the laptop, and he rested it on his lap.

John started to type quickly, occasionally stopping to read, and make changes. After an hour or so, he finished the article, and posted it. It was captioned The Cyanide Mistress. He placed the laptop down on the coffee table, and carefully felt around his wound. The heat was gone, and the red skin was nearly clear. The bandages were dry, so Sherlock went to redress his leg for the third time, and he helped John to his bed. John took another dose of pain medication, and fell asleep.

Sherlock headed to the living room, and sat around, bored.

He decided to escape to his mind palace for the night to think a little.

Sherlock whisked himself away, and he was in his mind palace.

He looked around, and he noticed he was lying in a field of grass. The sky was completely clear, and there was nothing but grass all the way to the horizon. Words flew around him as he thought to himself. He saw images of John float around, and various descriptive words float around those pictures. It was getting a little bit clustered, and his mind stopped on one image. His third person mental image of the time he kissed John. It was so innocent at the moment since it was an experiment, but now that he looked back at it, he was embarrassed.

'Do I actually look like that when I kiss?' Sherlock asked himself. His mind playing over the couple second scene, then rewind, and replay it. It was so short. He noticed that at one split second, John's eyes were closed. But only for a moment. Such a quick moment that it was almost unnoticeable to the mind. Almost that is.

'Did he enjoy it?' He thought. 'Maybe he closed his eyes because my hair got close to them. That would explain it. A human's reflexes is to close the eyes when an object becomes very close, in order to protect themselves.' Sherlock rationed to himself. His mind swarmed with more mental images and videos. He didn't hear any audio, just the visual.

He reminisced of the times that they got drunk together. And the times that they would share a short laugh or smile. Mostly smiling since Sherlock didn't laugh that much. He remembered all the times John laughed though. He had a folder in his mind that subconsciously places all his memories of John's laugh and smile in. It was a great folder to look at. It make Sherlock want to smile.

A couple of words flashed by him, but he couldn't read them in time. They disappeared as soon as they appeared.

'What did it say?' He thought. Sherlock spent the rest of his night in his mind palace, going over his memories. Mostly the ones of him and John. They brought a sort of weird happiness to him. The same happiness he got off of drugs, except it was more addicting and attainable.

hope you liked me adding the pair skate song in there my victuri fans.

~Alex