It's not like usual. The sex is good, so very good, and Sherlock manages to find the centre of his pleasure and his release relatively quickly. He doesn't bother to reciprocate the pleasure. John's hardly broken a sweat, his breathing his nearly normal.
The guilt that he experiences is odd at first. He's so rarely experienced it that he doesn't quite know what to do with the burden.
A trip to John's bag gives him the tools he needs to clean and wrap the still bloody arm. Sherlock will do both silently.
John tries hard to feel something. He feels nothing, though, but an odd disconnect as he hold Sherlock's arms, having nothing else to do with his hands. The sensation is nothing more than uncomfortable and bearable.
He only vaguely watches as Sherlock doctors him up. The silence weighs heavily on him as he watches the lightning flash outside. Still, when Sherlock is finished, John gently pulls him down on to the bed. His head goes to Sherlock's shoulder and he curls up close.
It's fine, it's all fine, he thinks.
But somehow, a line's been crossed and they both know it.
The guilt that he experiences is odd at first. He's so rarely experienced it that he doesn't quite know what to do with the burden.
A trip to John's bag gives him the tools he needs to clean and wrap the still bloody arm. Sherlock will do both silently.
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He only vaguely watches as Sherlock doctors him up. The silence weighs heavily on him as he watches the lightning flash outside. Still, when Sherlock is finished, John gently pulls him down on to the bed. His head goes to Sherlock's shoulder and he curls up close.
It's fine, it's all fine, he thinks.
But somehow, a line's been crossed and they both know it.
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