But I Can Save YouJohn slammed the door, an unusual thing for him considering how much he hated the sound and how it seemed to echo through the entire flat.More Like This
"Another row with a machine?" Sherlock asked, not looking up from the article he was writing ("Telling Time with Moisture's Effect on Wood") for his website on John's laptop.
John gave a heavy and irritated sigh. "No. Roll up your sleeves."
Sherlock only furrowed his eyebrows as he contemplated how to write a particular sentence so that even an idiot would understand it–barely processing John's words.
When he didn't respond, John strode over to the table he was sitting at and angrily grabbed Sherlock's left wrist, ripping up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal his pale forearms. He snarled at the sight of the thin white lines that peppered the man's skin.
"Sherlock Holmes." He said slowly. "If I see any more scars appear, I will kill you." He growled, his eyes deliberately focusing on the table instead of Sherlock's blank expression. She