A Heart Made of Glass

Healing Factors

John's POV

My shoulder ached. Badly.

I stifled a groan as my eyes blinked open, the pattering of rain fogging the window up. That explained the ache. That and the night on the cot. Slowly, I rolled from my side to my back, the movement making the faulted joints creak. Rolling it slowly out, I finally dared a glance towards the bed.

I hadn't looked that way, fearing that it would be perfectly made, that this had all been some sort of a fever dream.

My breath caught in my throat, watching him. He was still there, asleep, curled in on himself. He'd rolled in his sleep so that he faced me, arms tucked protectively around his knees.

I rolled my shoulder out a couple more times, letting it rest to a dull ache before finally standing from the cot. I gazed at him for a moment longer, not wanting to let him out of my sight. But I remembered what the doctor said, very clearly. He hadn't eaten in god knows how long. I needed to get food in him, soon.

I headed towards the kitchen, yet paused in the sitting room. He'd mentioned last night that I hadn't moved his chair. I hadn't, in all the time that had passed. It was too painful to see empty, even more, to try and move it. So it had sat there, for three years...

I shook my head, dropping the thoughts bogging my mind. I finally stepped into the kitchen, grabbing eggs and milk from the fridge. Both of which I- we - were low on. That would take some getting used to again, I guessed.

Soon, the kitchen was filled with the smell of frying eggs and raspberry jam, two plates made and ready. I was just setting them onto the kitchen table when quiet footsteps sounded from the sitting room.

"John?" The deep voice was bleary, still laden with sleep.

"In here," I called. I turned to watch him shuffle in, using the cane to support himself. "I was just about to wake you. I made breakfast." I motioned for him to sit down, already moving to my chair.

"I-I can't."

I stopped, frowning. "Why not? You haven't eaten in who knows how long, you need food."

He scowled, crossing his arms. "I'll eat when I'm hungry." I opened my mouth to retort, interrupted by his stomach growling loudly. His face flushed bright red.

"Well that's clearly bullshit, you're hungry." I stepped closer to him, lowering my voice. "Please, just eat."

"No."

"Sherlock.''

"John."

We stood, staring each other down. Finally, Sherlock's eyes flickered to the food. He swallowed, fear flashing across his face. I felt my face soften, the realization coming to me.

"Did they- Did they punish you for eating? Drinking?" He nodded, refusing to meet my eyes. "Oh, Sherlock..." I murmured.

Carefully, I took another step closer. We were scarcely a foot apart, he didn't flinch away. "Look at me, please." His eyes finally dragged up to mine. "You are safe here. Whatever they did to you, it won't happen again. I promise you."

His eyes searched mine, regretful and lovely. Slowly, I grabbed the glass of water off the table.

"Do you trust me?" I asked softly.

He nodded, starry eyes trained on the glass. They flickered up to mine as he nodded. "I always trust you."

My mouth dried out as I stretched the water glass halfway to him. He took the glass shakily, our hands touching for a moment. I pulled my hand away, my heart thumping in my chest.