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"Shit-"
It didn't hold any particular urgency. It was just muttered under his breath, and only brief, too, considering he cut himself off by sucking his injured finger.
Despite all of this, Sherlock was at his side within seconds.
"Watson, are you alright? What is it?"
John waved a dismissive hand. "Nah, mate, don't worry; just given myself a papercut."
But Sherlock would not be so easily deterred. "Let me see."
He pulled the afflicted hand towards him, slightly knocking John off balance in the process - "Woah, steady on, mate-" - and studied it with furrowed eyebrows almost like it was an important clue. Then he pulled John to his feet, took him to the kitchen sink and held his finger under cold water for a short while, before dragging him to a cabinet and rummaging in a drawer to find a plaster.
Carefully but firmly, he pushed John down onto their sofa, and concentrated so hard on applying the plaster that he actually stuck his tongue out.
John had let himself be tugged around without any protest - this was really a common occurrence - but now he said, a little bemused, "Sherlock, it's a paper cut. I really don't think this is necessary."
Sherlock looked up at him, and replied, perfectly genuinely, "Any cut, no matter how small, can become infected if not properly cared for. Did they not teach you that in medical school?"
"Well, yeah, yes, they did, I just.." He flexed his plaster-dressed finger to test its movement, then smiled at Sherlock gratefully. "Thanks, mate. You're a real one."
"I'm a what?"
"It's a figure of sp-" John made it halfway through his sentence before giving up. "Oh, sod it, come here."
And, much to Sherlock's surprise, he found himself pulled into a hug. He normally loathed being caught off-guard, but...
What could he say? John was a good hugger.
It started as a light embrace, a simple show of appreciation, but then John squeezed Sherlock just a little tighter - though not nearly enough to be uncomfortable - which Sherlock took as a green light to curl into him, pressing his head into the crook of his neck and holding him close. John certainly wasn't complaining. In return, he buried his face in Sherlock's corkscrew-curly hair. The detective gave a little contented hum.
Sherlock might be a handful sometimes, but he was John's handful.
And that was something he was bloody proud of.