A hand. Fingers. Carding through his hair.
His mind registered the sensation vaguely, world far too fuzzy, like the lining of one of John's comfiest looking jumpers. JohnHe breathed in slowly, letting the feeling of the fingers on his scalp fill his senses, overriding any signs of the possessive pain. John. Of course. It wasThe thought ended there, the comforting darkness covering him again.
-----
It was an accident really, John mused.
Sherlock. The sight of him on the ground, eyes closed and in clear distress, in clear pain. There was nothing for it. John's brain instantly went into a state of instinct-based shock. It was in