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Description
John, who came back to the apartment late in the morning, was not the least bit surprised to see you drag yourself out of Sherlock's room in one of his shirts and pair of boxers. You had made a small attempt at fixing your hair, but it still stood out. It didn't matter to you, because by the looks of the rainy weather, you weren't going out today.

"Case?" You asked. When you woke up, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, so you assumed he was working a case. You weren't that angry that he wasn't there, knowing that he is more dedicated to his job than anything else. It was a bit confusing at first, but the note on the table by his bed that read "I'll be back shortly -SH" cleared it up. John pulled his eyes away from the book he had been reading and confirmed your assumptions.

"Something to do with that man," he said as you poured a cup of coffee.

"Yeah thanks for being specific, John." He sighed and continued reading that damn book of his. There was no title and no distinguishing features that helped you identify it. You promised yourself that one day you were going to find out what it was.

A few minutes later, Sherlock came in, tossing his damp scarf and coat on the couch. He looked excited, surprisingly. "Morning, dear," he greeted in a slightly happier tone than what had been expected from him. He seemed almost too normal to be himself. You knew something was definitely wrong.

You usually wouldn't have noticed his blood stained skin that he tried to cover up with his collar, but when he bent down to kiss you, you could clearly see it. "Is that blood?" you asked, suddenly alarmed, and pulled his collar back slightly to reveal a gash just below his collarbone. "Dammit, Sherlock."

Description
John, who came back to the apartment late in the morning, was not the least bit surprised to see you drag yourself out of Sherlock's room in one of his shirts and pair of boxers. You had made a small attempt at fixing your hair, but it still stood out. It didn't matter to you, because by the looks of the rainy weather, you weren't going out today.

"Case?" You asked. When you woke up, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, so you assumed he was working a case. You weren't that angry that he wasn't there, knowing that he is more dedicated to his job than anything else. It was a bit confusing at first, but the note on the table by his bed that read "I'll be back shortly -SH" cleared it up. John pulled his eyes away from the book he had been reading and confirmed your assumptions.

"Something to do with that man," he said as you poured a cup of coffee.

"Yeah thanks for being specific, John." He sighed and continued reading that damn book of his. There was no title and no distinguishing features that helped you identify it. You promised yourself that one day you were going to find out what it was.

A few minutes later, Sherlock came in, tossing his damp scarf and coat on the couch. He looked excited, surprisingly. "Morning, dear," he greeted in a slightly happier tone than what had been expected from him. He seemed almost too normal to be himself. You knew something was definitely wrong.

You usually wouldn't have noticed his blood stained skin that he tried to cover up with his collar, but when he bent down to kiss you, you could clearly see it. "Is that blood?" you asked, suddenly alarmed, and pulled his collar back slightly to reveal a gash just below his collarbone. "Dammit, Sherlock."