"Ow! Damn it!" John shifted on the doughnut cushion. It helped. Marginally.
"Need anything?" The mirth in his eyes belied Sherlock's solicitous tone.
"A cup of tea and more painkillers," growled John. "And the telly remote. Please."
Sherlock brought each individually and in reverse order. "Thanks." John began flipping through channels of useless daytime programming.
Sherlock returned with his own tea and sprawled with it on the sofa, resting the mug on his chest. "Look on bright side, John."
"You mean if I hadn't discovered that icy patch by the steps, Mrs. Hudson might have? I have done, thanks." His bruised coccyx was less dire than her broken hip would have been. He would find it better consolation once his bum stopped aching. He'd not felt this pounded since... Yes, well. That had been under pleasanter circumstances.
"You have Mrs. Hudson and me at your beck and call."
"Until you get bored," muttered John.
Mrs. Hudson proved Sherlock's point by appearing at the door. "Do you need anything, John? Is Sherlock taking good care of you?"
"Good enough, thanks, Mrs. Hudson."
"Let me know if that changes, dear." She disappeared back down the stairs.
John wiggled, winced, and whinged. "Any other bright sides?"
Sherlock smiled like a cat with cream. "Think of all the fun I shall have kissing it better."