AN: I was thinking about making a sequel to the last chapter and I kinda came up with this in the process. Not exactly a sequel, nor does it have any direct connection with the last chapter, but I added a bit of fluff…so I guess it makes up for it.:) I still stick with not slash…but this is just too heartwarming.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters.

Chapter 5: Not a machine

To John, Sherlock Holmes was many things: a madman, a man with the most extraordinary brain, a man that was hiding a pretty good heart, an arrogant git, the reason the army veteran had been able to cope with his past and move on, his best friend. All in all, he was one of the most amazing things that had ever happened in his life, but he could never describe the same consulting detective as an affectionate person. So it was an understanding that he was a bit taken aback when touching and constant displays of care crept into their usual routine as fluently as Sherlock insulting his blog and calling him an idiot.

John noticed it happening after a certain case. Not a particularly complex one, but it had a lot of running around the London and had cost them almost all of their free time.

By the point when they were finally able to detect the location of the criminal, they were both run out of energy. And it all happened in a blur really. John trying to approach the man, the criminal seizing him with a swift movement of an arm and pulling out a dagger. Fortunately the whole incident ended there by the arrival of the police and Sherlock knocking the man out when he was not paying enough attention. But it wasn't actually the end of it.

No matter how many times the good doctor made clear that it was fine, that Sherlock couldn't have known about the weapon, it was obvious that the detective still felt responsible for what had happened. Yes, Sherlock Holmes was feeling guilty. And that's when the changes began.

The first time it happened was when John returned home from a rather tiring day at clinic and wished nothing more than a hot cup of tea. However, he soon remembered that they were out of tea and would have gone out to buy some, had the detective not pointed out that he had already bought tea. And Sherlock never bought anything.

When John Watson thought that he could get used to his flat mate's pleasant approvement, a rather large amount of touches was added to their daily basis. The touches didn't include much. Just a squeeze of an arm or taking the other's hand and holding it in his or placing a hand on his shoulder and keeping it there.

Once, when they were sited at Scotland Yard and were listening to Lestrade's explanations, Sherlock reached out, taking his hand and absentmindedly started playing with John's fingers.

The changes were unusual, but John would be lying if he said that he minded much. He was sure that it must've been the guilt that was making Sherlock behave that way. John also knew that his friend needed it more than he himself, so he didn't comment on it. He knew that it must've been a rarity for Sherlock Holmes to be in such a vulnerable state, when he could do nothing to help his only friend.

A few weeks later, the good doctor was once again surprised when the simple handtouches progressed into full attempts of keeping-my-John-as-close-as-possible. But John was less surprised as he found that he really didn't mind those changes half as much as he had thought at first.

So, the next time when Sherlock turned out something touchy-feely, instead of pushing him away and telling him that he was not a child that couldn't take care of himself, John found himself doing the complete opposite.

They were in a cabbie, driving to a crime scene. Sherlock was typing away on his phone with his right hand, when he reached and held John's hand with the other. At first, the army doctor was not sure how to react as most of the times when his friend decided to display some kind of affection, they were not alone. But when the detective gently squeezed his hand, waiting for any kind of assurance that John was there, John was alright, John was safe, he made up his mind. The good doctor squeezed Sherlock's hand in response, as if saying: 'I'm here. I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere.' He couldn't help, but smile when Sherlock hesitantly started circling John's knuckles with his thumb. John found himself entwining his fingers with the detective's. And when his flat mate turned his attention from the phone and gave him one of his rare smiles, John couldn't care less if it was considered platonic or not.

AN: I hope you are satisfied with this tiny bit slashy but not entirely , sweet fic.;) Reviews are very much appreciated.