AN: This is my first chapter fic so please let me know what you think.

John gets injured and Sherlock decides to take care of him.

Thanks to bethanyyerinn who was beta for this fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They belong to BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Sherlock and John were yet again chasing another criminal through the streets of London. They had ended up on a fire escape overlooking an alleyway with the murderer already on the ground below, running around the corner at the end of the alley. Sherlock jumped, and after a second's hesitation, John followed. Sherlock landed easily and took off running again only to hear a loud crash behind him.

He turned in a slight panic to see John sprawled on the ground, clutching his ankle. He'd landed wrong on his foot and ended up tumbling into a row of bins that Sherlock had narrowly missed himself. Sherlock rushed to his friend's side.

"John," he said, worry clear in his voice.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," replied John before continuing, "Quick Sherlock, you have to go, he's getting away".

"No, John, just hand me your phone," said Sherlock. Before John could protest, the detective had snatched the phone from his blogger's pocket.

John concentrated on the pain in his leg while Sherlock made a quick phone call to who John assumed was DI Lestrade.

"Well?" John asked, once Sherlock had hung up the phone and had slipped it into his coat pocket.

"Don't worry, Lestrade was waiting ahead as planned and they got him. He wanted me to go to Scotland Yard now with all the evidence, but I told him it'd have to wait until tomorrow. "Come on, let's get you home." And with that he bent down, wrapped an arm around John's back, and hauled him to his feet, supporting John against his side.

John was surprised at the warm feel of Sherlock's arm wrapped tightly around his back. It was comforting to have the detective so close to him. He could feel Sherlock's breath on the side of his face as his flat mate told him he was going to get a cab.

Getting into the cab was awkward, but they managed to get in without too much hassle or further injuring John's leg.

The cab took them both back to Baker Street, where Sherlock helped John out of the cab, supporting him against his side again. They made their way slowly up the stairs, Sherlock practically dragging John while John just cringed in pain. John figured his ankle was only sprained, but it still hurt like hell.

They were both glad that Mrs Hudson appeared to be out at the moment. She had been less than happy the last time one of them had come home injured and had made them promise that they would be more careful next time. Neither of them wanted Mrs Hudson to find out that they had broken their promise.

Sherlock helped John onto the couch, where he spent the rest of the evening with his leg propped up with ice on it.

Sherlock was being uncharacteristically nice, getting the ice for John's ankle and offering to make him tea. Sherlock asked if he needed anything else before he headed into the kitchen to work on his experiments.

x0x0x

John woke the next morning to the sounds of Sherlock moving around in the kitchen.

"We're out of milk," Sherlock said, as he walked into the living room having seen that John was awake. "I didn't want to wake you last night," Sherlock continued, "I thought you would be more comfortable down here with your leg and all..."

Sherlock's voice trailed off and he looked nervous. Nervous? Since when did Sherlock get nervous? John was now eyeing the detective suspiciously, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

"John, I… I just wanted to say... you know... about your leg… I..." Sherlock stammered, trailing off while gesturing to John's leg.

Apologizing was uncommon for the detective, and even though he never actually said the word, John could tell he was genuinely sorry.

"It's fine Sherlock, it wasn't your fault. And besides, it's only a sprain," replied John, while wondering why the detective was apologizing for something that wasn't his fault. Why was Sherlock acting like this? John had been injured before while chasing criminals throughout London with Sherlock, and Sherlock never seemed to care any of those times, so why would Sherlock feel the need to apologize this time?

"Anyway," said John, seeing the uncomfortable look on Sherlock's face, "I'd better go get some milk, since we're out. Plus, we're running low on food."

John tried to stand, but put too much weight on his injured foot. With a yelp of pain, he stumbled forward, crashing into Sherlock, who had to steady him.

"Here, I thought you could use this," said Sherlock, reaching down beside the couch. Still keeping a firm grip on John, he pulled out John's old cane.

Taking the cane, John took a few practice steps around the living room. Sherlock could tell by the unhappy look on John's face that he was remembering the last time he had to use his cane, when he'd first returned home from Afghanistan, before John and Sherlock had met.

"Shopping," said John, snapping out of his reverie, remembering why he had gotten up in the first place.

"Don't worry John, I can do that. You just rest your leg."

Yet again Sherlock was being uncharacteristically nice. John wasn't sure whether to be afraid or relieved, so he went for wary instead.

"I'm sorry, but I can't trust you with the shopping. Last time I did, you came home with nothing but tea and you were gone for hours," said John, smirking at the hurt look on Sherlock's face.

"At least let me come with you then," Sherlock insisted.

John sighed. "Fine, but that means you're carrying the bags," he replied as he grabbed his wallet and coat and made his way over to the door, leaning heavily on his cane.

Shopping with Sherlock, thought John. This was going to be interesting.

AN: Planning on writing 4-5 chapters for this. Next chapter will be about John and Sherlock shopping together and will include Sherlock meeting Johns old therapist. Thanks for reading and reviews are much appreciated.