Sherlock budges over a bit more, so that John can sit properly rather than perching like a moron. As soon as the man is settled, Sherlock flops back against him, drawing an a slow breath. Yes John, you are now being used as a pillow, of sorts. Pale eyes turn up toward his friend, and Sherlock regards him quietly for a few moments, contemplation evident on his features.

He's never sure to say when things like this come up. Of course he jumped. It was the logical way to end the situation, to ensure the safety of those around him. Curls fall against the arm of John's jumper as Sherlock turns his head back to look at the expression in his eyes, trying desperately to read the doctor's face.

"I mean," he starts, a touch of discomfort in his tone. "You can handle yourself. You're a fine shot, you don't panic. You're... you're useful." He's trying. Really. He is.