Sherlock looked at John, his eyes wide as he leaned forward, "John, you love me?"
John took out a cigarette and his hand shook as he tried to light it, "Yes, damn it. I said so didn't I?"
Sherlock looked down at his own pale hands, "I'm sorry, John it's just that..."
John's gaze softened, "Sherlock, we'll talk about this later. Let's get you so safety first."
No one paid attention to the wounded soldier that pushed a small cart with a sick, unconscious peasant inside, no one accept a monk that crept around the fringes of the city, discreetly following the two into the countryside. By the time John and Sherlock reached a small farmhouse, John was in a better frame of mind, for he had shot up a couple of doses of morphine and now he was feeling pain free and relaxed. As he wheeled the cart to the back of the farmhouse, Sherlock's body bounced around and John was relieved that he had not regained consciousness.
The farmhouse had belonged to his grandparents, but had been deserted since they died two years ago. As John lifted Sherlock out of the cart and into the house, his eyes teared for he could swear that the scent of his grandmother's cooking still hung in the air. After settling Sherlock in his own childhood twin bed, John gave him a small dose of morphine, cleaned out the wound on his ankle and then sat in the rocking chair nearest the wall, smoked another cigarette rocking as the legs of the chair creaked with his vigorous back and forth motions. Eventually, he fell asleep and dreamed that Sherlock was sitting in a chair with his legs pulled underneath him smoking a cigarette.
John awoke with a start and for a moment he was confused about where he was, it was dark outside and instead of seeing a chair with a Union Jack Flag Pillow on it, he saw young Sherlock tossing and turning in his own bed. John walked over to the nightstand, lit a lamp and sat down on the bed next to Sherlock, "Sherlock, how are you feeling?" John asked as he smoothed Sherlock's damp curls from his forehead.
Sherlock smiled as he reached for John's hand, "Yes, much better."
John held Sherlock's hand not saying a word when Sherlock kissed the inside of his palm; John took a deep breath and gently pulled away from Sherlock's grasp. "Sherlock, I've got to pump some water from outside and bring it inside. Are you hungry?"
Sherlock's hopeful eyes latched onto John like a puppy, "No, not really hurry back."
John smiled and then went outside; grateful for the cold air that greeted him as he pumped water into a bucket, then he dragged the water inside, lit a fire in the fireplace and rummaged around in the kitchen cupboards until he found some grains to make soup. He warmed a small basin of water over the fire and went into where Sherlock was resting. "Sherlock, let me take a look at that ankle," John said as he placed the water basin on the night table.
Sherlock threw the covers back and then said, "Oh God I reek. You can't see me this way," Sherlock said as he covered himself back up.
John pulled the covers back and smiled, "Sherlock, I'm a Doctor or almost a Doctor, remember? So, it's okay." John said and then inspected Sherlock's ankle.
"God, John I feel so sick," Sherlock said as he groaned, leaned over and vomited on the floor.
Without a word, John was by his side, gently removing Sherlock's shirt, bathing off his chest, pausing to let the warm cloth linger over the leach marks, cuts and bruises. John then removed Sherlock's pants, bathed his legs his hands avoiding the top button of Sherlock's underwear.
"It's alright," Sherlock said as he pinned down John's hand on his waist band.
John shook his head, "Sherlock, there's soup on the hearth. I need to tend to it." John said then handed Sherlock the cloth. "Finish washing. I'll be back in a moment."
Sherlock held the cooling cloth in his hand and then looked up at John. "John, do you find me repulsive?" Sherlock asked tentatively.
John sighed, "Sherlock I've told you that I find you desirable in every lifetime. Your face haunts my dreams. Sometimes my body hurts so bad with need for you that my stomach muscles cramp up. If in one of my other lifetimes I deign to sleep with another by my side; it's you I long for. It's you it's always been you."
"John, I don't want to die a virgin. Will you make love to me?" Sherlock asked as he tried to sit up.
John smiled. "Sherlock, you aren't going to die, for your problems are my privilege and I'm here to protect you." John said firmly and then left the room to check on the soup.
