Sherlock has his gun in hand, as he always does during his boredom periods. He's neatly lined up a crockery set along the fireplace - usually he targets the wall, but with so few cases lately, there are more bullet holes on it than there is wallpaper! Pressing on the trigger, he shoots down every single component of the set perfectly, dancing as he does so; have you seen the sport of shooting being manipulated into an art form? This was apparently one of Sherlock's many talents.

Immediately after the continuous shatter of the broken crockery, Sherlock scans the rooms for his next bullet victim. Unable to see any obvious contenders, he decides to stand his ground and shoot in a continuous circle around him. Arms outstretched, whilst spinning on the spot, he repeatedly activates the trigger, causing multiple bullets to shower the room. Suddenly, he hears a voice coming from the doorway behind him.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

John screamed in both anger and panic, as he drops to the floor, dodging the shots. He slowly stands from his protective, crouched position, with his arms still covering his face - just in case.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Sherlock arrogantly replied "I'm bored, John - bored! bored! bored!"

Sherlock began firing shots again, synchronizing them with each mention of the word 'bored'. But this time, he uses multiple methods and positions in doing so. Although appearing to be spontaneous, he is sure to aim away from John - he wouldn't want to harm his blogger after all.

On the last attempt, Sherlock tries to aim his shot differently once more, by wrapping his arm around his back and firing from the opposite side of his body; except this causes one of his recent injuries to flare up, resulting in his flinching in sudden pain. Being forced to retreat from firing, Sherlock stands holding his shoulder in pain.

"is that shoulder of yours still giving you jip?" John questions, concerned about Sherlock swiftly ceasing fire in such an un-characteristic manner. "here, let me see if I can help"

John begins to walk towards Sherlock, and instantly attempts to lead him over to his armchair. Naturally, Sherlock immediately pulls away from John, removing his own hand from his shoulder - despite still being in an immense amount of pain.

Shrugging off John's offer to help, Sherlock replies "It's fine. You worry too much"

But John knows Sherlock all too well by now. He knows how hard it is for Sherlock to admit that he needs help from anyone, let alone those that he is close to. And after seeing how badly Sherlock is still suffering from his injury, despite it being received weeks ago, John knows that he needs to help Sherlock. Regardless of whether or not he accepts it.

"Sherlock, just let me take a look, please?" John begs, "It's alright, I know what I'm doing – we used to give each other massages all the time in the army. Y'know stress relief, pain reduction, that sort of thing"

"I don't need a massage, John, I need a case!"

John continues to try and convince Sherlock that he needs some help or his injury will never improve. But he can see he is wasting his time. So alternatively, he turns the attention away from Sherlock. Sort of.

"Just whilst you're waiting then, to kill some time. Give the flat a break from those bullets." There's still no consent from Sherlock, simply a sideways glance sent in John's direction. "Go on," John continued, "humour me."

"If you insist," Sherlock sighs, agreeing if for no other reason but to keep John quiet.

John rolls his eyes and smiles slightly, knowing that no matter how much of a mystery Sherlock thinks he is, John will always find a way to get around him.

He heads over towards Sherlock, after now finally having permission to do so. He carefully takes the gun out of Sherlock's hand and places it on the desk – you can never be too careful, especially with Sherlock.

Placing himself in his armchair, Sherlock perches on the end, with his back to John. He remains there, nervously awaiting what is to come. After just coming from outside, John warms his hands up by breathing on them and rubbing them together.

He gently places his hands on Sherlock's injured shoulder; who winces at the sudden feel of John's hands on his body. Beginning the massage, John can feel Sherlock's soft, warm skin through his tight shirt. But it's not long before John can feel the severity of Sherlock's injury.

"Christ; you really did injure yourself, didn't you?" John states, now suddenly more concerned for Sherlock's health.

"It's fine, John, really" Sherlock replies, once again shrugging off John's concern.

"Sherlock, I can feel the tension through your shirt"

Sherlock smiles to himself, knowing that John must be one of the few people – if not the only person – who is able to see through his lies.

As John continues to massage his shoulder, Sherlock flinches slightly in pain, trying his best not to show his vulnerability. But John knows Sherlock well enough to know when he truly is suffering, and knowing that the pain should atleast be easing a little by now, he decides that this isn't helping.

Now recognising that Sherlock's injury is a lot worse than he has been letting on, John knows that he needs to do more if he is going to be of any help. But he also knows that Sherlock isn't going to like his next suggestion.

"It's no good, Sherlock, I'm going to have to do this properly." John ordered, knowing authority is one of the very few things Sherlock reacts to "Take of your shirt"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not doing that injury of yours any good, with your shirt still on. I need to get to it properly."

John tried to reason with him, but again, he knew it was very unlikely that would work either. And because he knows how arrogant and argumentative Sherlock gets, John knew that the best thing for him to do now was to simply continue with his plan and try his best to ignore Sherlock's protests.

"I'm sure we've got some oil around here somewhere" John pondered to himself, as he clambered out from behind Sherlock in his armchair.

He begins to scour the apartment for some oil, knowing that it will help aid his massage. To no surprise, Sherlock is instantly reluctant to do as he is told, despite the fact that John is simply trying to help.

As he continues to hunt around the kitchen, John can hear Sherlock arguing back from his armchair. Glancing over, he sees Sherlock crossing his arms over his shirt, in refusal of it being moved. He has the manner of a five year old, but the excuses of the typical Mr Holmes. Which, quite frankly, are similarly childlike too.

"oil? No, this is ridiculous!" Sherlock protests. "I've survived this long, I'll be fine. Besides, I'm sure it'll go on its own, in time"

"Just do as you're told for once and take off your shirt!"

"No! I am not removing my shirt, my shoulder is fine!"

"Now, Sherlock!"

If he wants to act like a child, then he will be treated like one, John thinks to himself.

Knowing that he will never hear the end of it until he does so, Sherlock obeys John and hesitantly begins to unbutton his shirt. He does so from bottom to top, which John assumes is Sherlock's way of hoping that he will change his mind before Sherlock has to remove the whole thing and reveal his injury – and therefore his vulnerability.

It's kind of cute, in a way. A non-gay way of course – I'm not gay, definitely not gay. And neither is Sherlock. If he's even considered his sexualit- no, focus, John. Oil… oil… where is it? I've seen it somewhere, I know I have! A-ha!

After eventually finding the half-filled bottle of oil in one of the countless kitchen cupboards, John returns to the lounge. Approaching the armchair, he smiles as he watches Sherlock – it's only too rare that he gives in and actually lets John win an argument. John is now beginning to realise just how painful Sherlock's shoulder must be, despite him denying so. John's smile fades and instead he finds himself feeling sorry for Sherlock.

Before John even has the chance to remove the lid from the bottle of oil, he gets distracted by Sherlock faffing around in his chair, making weird grunts and outbursts. He doesn't think much of it at first; just put it down to more un-subtle protesting on Sherlock's behalf.

Typical Sherlock. Nothing can ever be straight forward.

But then Sherlock reaches from his seat across to the desk next to him, where has just set down the bottle of oil. He appears to be reaching towards a small pair of scissors, but is forced to retreat in pain – it probably wasn't a good idea for him to reach over with his damaged shoulder.

John sees him struggling and offers to help Sherlock. However, he can't help but show a little bit of satisfaction in proving 'the world's greatest detective' wrong.

"Your shoulder's 'fine', is it?" John states with a smirk

"It was until you started poking it," Sherlock snarls back

John smiles sympathetically as he watches Sherlock attempt to hide his injury once more. He looks across and tries to figure out whereabouts Sherlock was looking and deduce what it was that he wanted. Sherlock is still irritated; not helped by the fact that the top button on his shirt appears to have tangled itself up in its own cotton, making it almost impossible to be undone.

Ohhh! It was the scissors he wanted. He could have just asked, I was standing right there. Such a child.

John soon realises what is going on, from both the annoyed look on Sherlock's face and the just-out-of-reach scissors on the desk. He picks up the scissors and takes them to the top button, sure to move Sherlock's hands out of the way first.

"here let me help"

"I can do it; I'm not completely incompetent," Sherlock states, nudging John out of his light.

"I've got the scissors, now come here"

"John-"

"Just sit still!"

John is forced to sit on Sherlock's lap, facing him, and pin down his arms with his free hand. It's lucky that he has maintained his military strength from his own past, otherwise getting Sherlock to remain still enough to prevent injury, could prove quite a challenge!

John manages to cut a couple of pieces of thread, loosening the button, but by this time Sherlock is writhing around beneath him. Not confident that he will be able to continue to use them without harming the restless child beneath him, John gives up with the scissors.

"Right! If you are refusing to sit still, then we are just going to have to pull it up over your head!"

By this time, John is beginning to get frustrated with Sherlock. And that's before the massage!

Why does everything have to be a challenge?! Take of your shirt, that was it. The one thing I asked him to do, but no. Even that's too much to ask without him using it as an excuse to cause yet more mayhem!

Still not trusting Sherlock to do as he is told – and who can blame him – John remains in control of Sherlock's arms. He holds the two of them together in one hand, and gently moves them to behind Sherlock's head, holding them still. With his one remaining free hand, John stays perched on Sherlock's lap and gradually, but forcefully, guides the shirt over his head.

Careful not to get the buttons caught up in Sherlock's perfectly-maintained locks, John is forced to use both hands to strategically aid the tight curls through the head hole of the shirt. To John's surprise, despite him no longer restraining them, Sherlock's arms remain in position behind his head.

Wh- er, okay. He's actually doing as he's told. Without being told. That's new.

John stretches himself over Sherlock, as he retrieves the last few strands of hair out of the entanglement that was the top button of the shirt. Placing the crumpled shirt on the desk to the side of them, John feels it necessary to point out that all the fuss Sherlock was making earlier, all of his childlike mannerism was not actually necessary and did, in fact, only makes things a lot more difficult.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

As John makes this passing, sarcastic remark, it comes to both of their attention that John is currently stretched out over Sherlock's now-topless body. Looking face-to-face with one another, the pair of them are forced to shrug off the awkward situation, as only two straight men would do best.

I'm really glad no-one saw that. Imagine the rumours! There is only so many times I can express, we're not gay. Absolutely not… gay.

Once he has clambered off of his lap, John then turns the attention onto Sherlock's shoulder. After all, that is the reason behind all of this.

"Right then, let's have a proper look at this shoulder, shall we?"

Retreating to his previous position of being nestled in behind Sherlock on the armchair, John instantly notices that the injury is a lot worse than he had actually realised. A large bruise covers the entirety of Sherlock's left shoulder.

Taking into consideration the lack of complaining that Sherlock has expressed relating to his shoulder injury, John is now more than shocked to be faced with such a hefty, and obviously painful, wound.

The reasoning behind Sherlock's earlier difficult and defensive behaviour, when asked to remove his shirt, is now all too clear to John.

Knowing that he is now able to see the full extent of the damage, Sherlock suddenly seems a lot more relaxed about John's massage proposal. Despite this, he continues to appear embarrassed for exposing his weakness to John. Strength and power are main components of Sherlock's image, and now that image is cracking. John's view of him is altering, or so he suspects.

"Shit. You should have done something about this sooner, Sherlock," John sympathetically expresses his concerns, towards his friend.

"Like what?" Sherlock questions, knowing that there is little else anyone can do – let alone himself – for such an injury

"I don't know; told someone? Rested it for a while, maybe?" John suggests, "Who knows how much extra damage you have caused, continuing to work with an injury like this"

"You know how much Lestrade relies on me, how much he relies on both of us," Sherlock replies honestly, in the knowledge that he can trust John. He knows that John won't judge him on what he says, not like the others. "I can't afford to be off work, John"

"I'm sure the wall would agree with you on that one," John laughs.

He's concerned, but he doesn't want to lecture Sherlock. He doesn't want to start shouting at him, telling him he has done everything wrong, because he knows Sherlock will only close up again if he does so. Sherlock is finally beginning to relax, properly relax, like normal people do, and John doesn't want to jeopardize that.

It's good for him to be open about things. Even if it is just for a short time. Even if it's just to one person. Just to me.

The pair of them laugh at John's remark on the damage that Sherlock causes, when he is away from work. Recognising how much more relaxed Sherlock has now become, John begins to massage the damaged shoulder once more. He is more gentle but thorough in doing so than last time, after now becoming aware of the true severity of the injury.

They both sit in silence at first, as Sherlock closes his eyes, relaxing into tender motion that John's hands perform. Around and around and around. Sherlock finds his head mimicking the circular motion of John's fingers, as he falls deeper and deeper into a relaxation state.

It suddenly comes to Sherlock's realisation what is going on and his head snaps forward as he is sprung back into reality. He leans his head back slightly, again into John's massage, as he takes it upon himself to break the silence that has fallen in the room.

"Do you miss the army, John?" Sherlock inquires, curious about the effect that it has had on his flatmate

"I served my time," John responds, in a highly respectful manner. Respectful not only of his own duties and everything he fought for, but for those soldiers still fighting today. "Besides," he continued, "I can still carry on protecting my country now, just closer to home – and that's all thanks to you"

"but what we do, and actually physically being out there fighting for your country, they're completely different," Sherlock replies "You could argue that they are both wars ultimately resulting in the protection of our nation, but they're not the same. Not really."

John smiles, stating, "Change is a good thing." But then he begins to think about, and he remembers just how lucky he was to leave the army when he did. And how he did. "I left with a minor injury, nothing more. There are people who have been a lot worse off than me, Sherlock"

Hearing this, Sherlock pulls away from John, recognising how pathetic his situation must seem. The reality of situation suddenly becomes apparent to him, and he turns to face John in the chair, instantly apologetic for his behaviour.

"I am so sorry, John," expresses Sherlock, "Here I am complaining about a little bruise and you're stood there with a hole in your arm!"

John laughs to himself, realising how much Sherlock must actually care about John and his feelings, even though it is one of the many things he denies. But watching Sherlock fuss now, John can see that Sherlock is generally disgusted in himself about the way he has been so ignorant towards John and his situation.

Oh my god. He's serious isn't he? He actually thinks that I deserve this massage more right now, than he does. And he can't see the difference? Sherlock Holmes can't see the difference here? Oh my god I've broken him, I've actually broken Sherlock.

"Hey, It's alright, Sherlock," John reassured him "I'm okay, really I am. Look. It's a scar, that's all. And it's barely even that now." John smiles sympathetically at Sherlock, trying to comfort him and make him see that he is in the right. He deserves some special treatment once in a while.

"Whereas you," John continued, "you can barely move your arm without causing yourself immense pain."

"Yes I can – I've been carrying on fine the last few weeks" Sherlock protested, beginning to close back up

"Sherlock, really, just forget about me for now. I really am fine; just focus on getting yourself better. You're no use to any of us in this state," John encouraged, eager to keep Sherlock being as open and honest as possible, for aslong as he can.

"John, it's okay to admit when you're in pain, you know?"

"Like you do, you mean?"

Sherlock smiles, sheepishly, knowing that John has a point. The cards are beginning to turn, as Sherlock realises that actually he would quite like John to become more open with him. Not about how much Sherlock annoys him, or about which girl he is going on a date with this time, but about the real stuff. About his family, his past. More specifically, his army past. Sherlock has been reliably informed of how much talking can help ex-soldiers to cope with rehabilitation into everyday life, and he wants to be able to help his flatmate friend as much as he can. And what better way than this?

In the knowledge of the benefits of 'opening up', Sherlock arises at a proposition for the pair of them.

"Alright then, how about this;" Sherlock suggests, "I'll tell you when whatever you want to know – when I'm in pain, what annoys me, what doesn't annoy me – all of that kind of thing, but you have to do the same in return"

Smiling, John replies, "…well, now that you mention it, a massage wouldn't go a miss"

Sherlock suddenly panics. That's not quite what he had in mind. He was thinking more along the lines of talking. Expressing feelings and thoughts, sharing concerns with one another. Not one on one massages. He's never performed a massage before. Surely he'd just cause more harm than good simply by even attempting to give it a go?

"but… but…," Sherlock stutters, nervously, "I don't know what I'm doing"

"It's fine, I'll guide you through it," John smiles, before heading over to the desk and retrieving the oil.

"I don't want to hurt you, John," Sherlock anxiously replies

Handing him the oil, John once again comforts Sherlock, by giving him the knowledge that John believes in him. "It's okay, I trust you," he expresses, with an encouraging smile.

After handing Sherlock the oil, John swiftly removes his own shirt, placing it on the desk next to Sherlock's. Settling himself down in Sherlock's armchair once more, he is sure to leave enough room behind him for the detective to clamber in.

Holding onto John's good arm for support, Sherlock bundles his long, gangly legs into the space reserved for him. In doing so, Sherlock notices the bullet scar in John's shoulder. He is once again reminded that John was physically injured, and majorly so at one point. He knows that one small move in the wrong mannerism and he could cause John serious pain.

Still not really sure of what he is to do, Sherlock finds himself confirming with John one last time, to ensure that he hasn't already changed his mind.

"Are you sure about this, John?" he hesitates

"Absolutely. I have faith in you, and I know you can do it"

John smiles to himself at Sherlock's nervousness, when being placed in such an intimate situation – it's one of the qualities that makes Sherlock so… Sherlock.

Making a mountain of a molehill again. Atleast it's for the courtesy of others this time – that's an improvement. I mean what could really go wrong anyway? It's a massage, that's all, nothing more, nothing less.

Sherlock exhales with anxiety, as he unscrews the bottle lid of the oil. John patiently remains sitting as still as he can, whilst he waits for Sherlock to compose himself before beginning.

Expecting to feel Sherlock's soft hands meet with his skin, John is met with a cool surprise as a stream of oil trickles down his torso, from his shoulder. Sherlock soon recognises that he has gone wrong already, and his frantic nerves increase.

"oh god, John, I'm sorry!" Sherlock panics, "I told you I couldn't do this"

John simply smiles, and tries to reassure Sherlock that he is doing just fine. Again, he doesn't want to panic Sherlock, and instead finds himself continuing to teach the apprehensive detective further.

"hey, relax, it's okay," John replies in a sympathetic manner, "here; just bring it back up to the top and start again. It's not a problem"

John smiles once more, as he carefully takes a hold of Sherlock's hand, with his injured arm. Gently grasping Sherlock's fingers from behind, John guides them all the way down to the bottom of his torso, collecting the escaped oil as they go.

John gets distracted for a small second, as he feels Sherlock's hot, sweaty body pressed against his back. As he looks up at Sherlock's face, he receives a loving look from those handsome eyes, he can't help but adore. Keeping their hands entwined together, at the bottom of his torso, John struggles to do anything other than keep his eyes locked onto Sherlock's.

Before long, the pair of them appear lost, staring fondly at one another. The sensual tension takes over within Sherlock's body, and he leans in closer, raising his oily hand up to rest upon John's soft cheek.

Noticing that John hasn't pulled away, Sherlock gives into temptation and locks his moist lips onto John's. Unable to find Sherlock anything but irresistible, John allows himself to fall into his alluring kiss. Feeling Sherlock's moist stroke against his own skin, John can't help but feel tempted…

The realisation of the situation is apparent to John all too quickly. Against every instinct that is now present within him, he forces himself to recoil from Sherlock's embrace.

What the hell just happened?! That's Sherlock! Sherlock Holmes, the annoying detective, the arrogant man, the… only real friend I have. Noooo. But he's not gay, he can't be. Can he? I'm not gay, definitely not gay! But then, what was all that about…?

John panics and, whilst scrambling to get up out of the chair, hurries to form an excuse for him to leave the apartment. Knowing that the pair of them found the other desirable, John feels that a means of physical escape is the best way to deal with the situation – move on, and forget it happened.

He swiftly puts his shirt back on and heads for the door. Naturally, Sherlock is confused by John's sudden change in behaviour. It's just the pair of them alone in the apartment, there's no-one else there – who is he trying hide from? He tries to stop him walking away, but John doesn't let him speak, at first. Sherlock ends up talking over John, gradually getting louder, in an attempt to grab his baffled attention.

"John?"

"I… er… milk"

"John…"

"I forgot to get milk earlier"

"John…"

"we need milk"

"John."

Sherlock finally manages to retrieve John's bewildered attention – he takes a hold of both of his shoulders, and looks deep into his eyes. John wants to look away, feeling embarrassed at himself for falling under Sherlock's charm, but he can't. Deep down, he knows that this is what he wants, he can feel it.

What is happening? Why am I suddenly feeling this way towards my best friend. My straight best friend. Whatever these feelings are, they're new and… exciting? No, that can't be it surely. There's definitely something there though. And Sherlock clearly has some sort of feelings of his own, some new thoughts and bodily reactions even he can't explain…

"You may think I'm blind when it comes to love," Sherlock confesses, in a deep and seductive voice, continuing to fall deeper into John's eyes, "but when I'm with you, my vision has never been clearer. I know exactly what I want. It's you, John Watson, I want you"

Now that he has his full attention, Sherlock begins to unbutton John's shirt once more.

It's clear to them both that the tables have now turned and John is the nervous one; not really aware of whereabouts these sudden feelings have come from, let alone what should be done with them.

Despite the fact that Sherlock keeps his eyes locked on John's, John can't help himself but look down at those gentle hands, as they gradually remove his shirt, inch by inch. He continues to follow Sherlock's hands, as they retreat back up towards his neck, lightly pressing against his oily cheek – reminding him of those sensual feeling he just experienced.

John's eyes then lock back onto those of the appealing man stood before him, as he bites his lip in anticipation of what's to come. Sherlock notices this and smiles seductively towards John, as he pulls John's shirt down his back and onto the floor, pressing their warm, oily bodies together.

Their faces are a mere few centimetres apart, as Sherlock leans in for another kiss, cradling John's neck as he does so. Stretching his body up towards Sherlock's, John kisses him back lustfully, and finds himself wanting more as Sherlock pulls away. Lovingly taking John's hand, Sherlock reassures him, before leading the pair of them back over to the armchair, never losing eye contact for a single second.

"It'll be okay. I promise"