Author's Note - Well, this is the last of the little one-shots I've stored up. I'll add more as I find prompts that inspire me, but this is the last of the daily updates. Thanks so much to all of you that favorited, followed and reviewed! It seriously makes my day knowing you all are reading and enjoying what I write.

Tending Your Watson

"John, hand me my-"

Sherlock's mouth froze and as much as John wanted to smirk at actually rendering the genius speechless, he forced his face into a look of innocent curiosity.

"Hand you your…"

"You've been in a fight," Sherlock accused, catapulting off the couch and swooping down on John.

John gave a little questioning sound and looked down at himself. He did look a mess, really. Torn clothes, bloody knuckles, a missing fingernail. He was also sure he had the beginnings of a black eye and could feel the swollen split in his lip. He gave a shrug – he'd had worse. A lot worse…

"Just a little scuffle at the pub."

"The pub?"

"With Greg."

At Sherlock's blank look, John gave a sigh and shook his head.

"You didn't even know I'd gone out, did you?"

"Beside the point. How did this 'scuffle' come about?" Sherlock asked, grabbing John by the shirtsleeve and dragging him toward the couch.

John went along, watching in bemusement as Sherlock collected a bowl of water and the first-aid kit.

"Uh, well, quite silly, really. Greg got himself pretty pissed - having trouble with the wife again, you know. He might've been running off at the mouth a little at this group at the table next to ours about what crap their football team was- ouch!"

Sherlock had taken a seat next to him and produced a pair of tweezers, plucking a piece of gravel from John's palm. He studied intensely for a moment, before turning that sharp gaze on John again, sweeping over him and stopping on his midsection. John batted away his hands as they reached for the bottom of his jumper.

"Sherlock! Leave off, it's fine," John most certainly did not whine while he tried to keep Sherlock's octopus-like appendages from seeing the boot impressions John was sure were decorating his ribs.

"You took a beating from four- no five opponents. That is not fine. And on your own, as well. Where was Lestrade during all of this?"

John looked away sheepishly as Sherlock finally slithered around his defenses and rucked up his jumper, hissing air through his teeth as he took in the bruising John was sure was going to be quite colorful over the next few days.

"Sent him off in a cab right before," John said. "He was about to pass out - no use in him sticking around for it."

"You should've texted me."

John actually laughed, making Sherlock look up at him sharply from where he was prodding John's ribs. John quieted at the offended look that came over Sherlock's face.

"You actually would've come? Figured a pub fight would be too dull for you."

"Ribs aren't broken," Sherlock said quietly, pulling John's jumper back down and reaching for the cloth next to the bowl of water.

John reached out and laid a hand on his forearm, drawing Sherlock's eyes back to his.

"I'll text you next time."

Sherlock stayed stiff and still for a moment, seemingly searching for a lie in John's words. Not finding one, he gave a nod and began methodically cleaning John's wounds with an attentiveness he'd never seen the detective give anything alive. When he was disinfected and bandaged (maybe with a bit more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary), he stood with a yawn.

"I'm off to bed," he said, stretching a little and then rubbing his ribs ruefully.

Sherlock hummed an acknowledgement and began putting things back in the first-aid box. Looking down at him, John couldn't help but reach out and run a hand through those curls, prompting widened grey eyes to snap up to his.

"Thanks, Sherlock," he smiled, and with a gentle ruffle, left the detective speechless once again.

A week later, he was grabbing his coat on his way out to meet Greg again when Sherlock appeared next to him, already donning his coat and scarf.

"I'd like a pint, as well," Sherlock said haughtily, brushing past John to the door.

And if Sherlock didn't drink a single thing all night and gave everyone around them a suspicious eye… Well, John didn't point that out and found he didn't mind in the least.