It may not have been an actual fight but right now John just didn't feel like being in the flat so instead he stormed down the stairs and walked down Baker Street. He wasn't entirely sure where he was headed; he had no destination in mind. He then considered the small restaurant Sherlock had taken him to where he had left his cane. It was a nice place, and he was hungry. He found he was getting much hungrier lately. After the war his therapist told him he would probably suffer from an eating disorder, which proved to be true. He'd sit down for breakfast with coffee and an apple and only have a couple bites of the apple. The apple would be able to last him the whole day. Now he was eating full meals regularly, seconds even. He was starting to gain weight back and he felt good. Naturally Sherlock had noticed the difference.

"You've put on a bit of weight." He'd observed one day as John jogged up the stairs with a full bag of groceries.

"I suppose I have." John said with a shrug, placing the groceries on the table and faced him. His eyes looked John up and down before adding "Good" This time the conversation with Sherlock didn't feel judgmental or blatant. It wasn't a "you've gained some weight it's time to cut back" comment. John had started to be able to begin to read Sherlock and he saw the way his eyes changed when Sherlock looked him over. The simple "good" was more than just that it was "good. You look healthy. You look good. You look happy. Stay happy." It had been his time with Sherlock that changed his attitude, made him happy again. Made life worth it again.

He considered this as he turned around and started heading back to the flat ready to put up with anything foolish that Sherlock didn't know. Even if he thought it was as important as the solar system. But as he started to approach the flat there was a sudden loud blast and it took John a moment to realize a bomb went off. Quickly he was sprinting towards the building.

"John what's going on?" Mrs. Hudson pressed as he pushed through the door.

"A bomb. Call the police. An ambulance too." He shouted quickly as he started to run up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He was at Sherlock's side at once, turning his body over to face him. John recognized those pupils, he'd seen then plenty of times before, and he had pretty much expected to see them when he turned up Sherlock's face. What he was not expecting however, was the barely there trickle of blood coming out of Sherlock's ear. For some reason, John reached out to it, running his fingers into the blood as though he was hoping it wouldn't be real. But it was, and as he reached around for something, anything, to wipe the blood off, he swore he heard Sherlock whimper.

"John." He said in a faint whisper.

"Shh Sherlock. Relax." John said quickly, tracing his thumb over his cheekbones,

"You're concussed. You have to stay awake. Just listen to me and stay awake." John assured switching gears from faithful friend to serious doctor. He continued to talk to him muttering nothings along the lines of you're okay. Everything will be fine. Stay. Awake. When the ambulance finally came John rode with them, refusing to leave Sherlock's side and panicking when he fell asleep on the way to the hospital. He waited and waited while they ran tests and fixed him up. Sherlock was simply shaken up. Nothing was wrong. Everything was okay. It was hours later when Sherlock woke up, opening his crystal eyes to the new morning. The first thing he saw was John plopped in a crappy chair, his feet carefully propped up next to his own, trying to take up as little room as possible on the bed. Sherlock eyed him up though he felt a bit woozy he was otherwise A.O.K. John was asleep but judging by the bags under his eyes he was working with about two hours. Sherlock debated for a moment but nudged his foot against John's anyways. John's eyelashes fluttered a bit before recalling the past events and where he was and quickly woke and straightened up. He looked around for the source of his disturbance before his eyes finally landed on Sherlock.

"You're awake." he breathed, relief washing over all the previously strained features of his face. Sherlock looked him over and wracked his brain, maybe for a witty response but all he could manage was a,

"You stayed," because he honestly couldn't fathom it. John didn't need to be there. It was obvious there was no risk of him dying. No extreme danger, just a rough bump to the head. But here John was, clearly exhausted, watching over him. It took Sherlock a couple beats to accept the gesture. But quickly he decided he appreciated it. Liked it even.

"Of course I stayed." John responded as if there was no other possibility. That staying was the only option, because for him, it was.