John licked his lips, nodded, and left, closing the door behind him. But he didn't relax. He lingered outside the bathroom, sorting the bedding on the floor, cleaning, pacing, mind and body not allowing themselves to stop until Sherlock was in front of him again. This event had been far too much, and it wasn't leaving his thoughts easily.
Sherlock opened the door and stood leaning in the frame once he was finished, a sad sort of adoration in his features as he watched John fret.
"You haven't exactly slept, have you? Or eaten. You should eat, John. And rest. Everything is going to be fine." He wasn't used to being the voice of comfort beyond 'It's alright now' but John deserved far more than that flippant phrase.
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"You haven't exactly slept, have you? Or eaten. You should eat, John. And rest. Everything is going to be fine." He wasn't used to being the voice of comfort beyond 'It's alright now' but John deserved far more than that flippant phrase.