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[whatofthewarts]

Irene Adler had many homes, and many more hiding places, but months after her death Sherlock was certain he'd found at least half those in the country. She had her many stolen jewels tucked away all over the apartment, and it took him the better part of the afternoon to dig them all out of their hidey holes. When he had them in his pockets, he went searching for someone else entirely.

Although they had their obvious differences, given their different environments, Sherlock found it was remarkably easy to track himself down.

"Making headway, I presume?"

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[lostwithoutmyblogger]

Sherlock has drifted off to sleep under his blankets, down like the dead, apparently, since his return doesn't shake him.

[whatofthewarts]

He smashes up the ice block, quiet as he can, and leaves it in an insulated container by the bed for him. Then he goes off to find Watson, to 'borrow' supplies and indulge in conversation for a while.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He'll eventually make it back up, but still limping. Waiting for him to come back.

[whatofthewarts]

When he does, he has instruments galore. Archaic by Sherlock's standards, yes, but perfectly serviceable all the same.

"I didn't expect to see you up so soon."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"...I didn't expect to see you back."

And with help. His breath catches.

[whatofthewarts]

"Why ever not. I have many talents, but observing dimensional travel from afar is not one of them. Much more fascinating up close."

He picks up the ice bag and sets it on Sherlock's chest.

"As you requested."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Thank you."

For the ice.

Obviously.

[whatofthewarts]

He nods.

"I assume you will need assistance in applying it to some of your...nether regions."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I hadn't considered."

Pushing the blanket back. He's still nude underneath it, bruises coming in back up and down one leg, especially on the hip he landed on.

[whatofthewarts]

"Lie still; I shall get to these, first."

He takes off his coat and grabs the ice.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I can."

He protests, hands lifting up to press over his mouth. Baring himself unconsciously.

[whatofthewarts]

Holmes's gaze lingers there, at Sherlock's hands, those long fingers. The way they'll stifle any sound.

He finds a red, swollen mark on his hip and lightly holds the cloth with the ice there.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

His eyes close, and he hums softly.

"You said you invented ice therapy? It isn't common?"

[whatofthewarts]

"Ice isn't common in the summertime, unless you have money. But with the right chemicals, in the right proportions..."

A very crude ice pack, sans ice. He sets it on Sherlock's poor ribs. Someday, it will be featured in First Aid kits everywhere.

"The chemicals are difficult to come by, so ice was the more prudent option. Hold that on."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"You're years ahead of your time."

He admits, holding it there, arching back.

"Maybe if we did this again, we could be more careful." He suggests, a tiny bit anxiously.

[whatofthewarts]

Holmes's eyebrow lifts. He's moderately impressed. He noticed, of course, that Sherlock had enjoyed it...but doing this again would mean giving up some control. He hadn't been sure Sherlock would find it acceptable to give it up to him.

"Certainly. I admit that what we did was...unexpected."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"It helped."

He feels calm enough, finally, to admit it.

"My work will improve."

[whatofthewarts]

"I have no doubt. Improving is what we do."

He pauses to tsk at a bruise low on Sherlock's leg.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

His foot arches leg cramping a touch, trying to stretch.

"Where did you learn to fight? I can box perfectly competently-"

[whatofthewarts]

"Many of my techniques are used in the Far East. They can be learned here from immigrants. Others I developed myself, through practical study of human anatomy."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Fascinating."

He whispers, easing as his leg does.

"Better. Thank you."

[whatofthewarts]

"What sort of world do you live in, that a man doesn't need to fight in proximity to other men?"

Because he finds it so strange that boxing has done so well for Sherlock, there.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"A very cold one."

Is how his tired mind explains it right now. That's all he can manage.

[whatofthewarts]

He doesn't need to ask why Sherlock is in a rush to get back to it. Besides, this world is less than personal, too. It's the human condition.

"You sound fatigued."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I don't remember the last time I slept."

He confesses, dazed. Good time to be playing, obviously. Better time to lose his virginity.