I Am Sher-Locked Up

The Calm Before the Storm

John

John sits at the table, scanning his computer screen without really absorbing much information.
Sherlock had been sitting on the sofa for the past hour, presumably in his mind palace; he shoots up without warning and declares,

"JOHN. I'M BOOORREEEEDDDDDDDDD!"

John's knee rockets up in reaction and he knocks his cup of tea over.

"Blimey, Sherlock, a bit of warning wouldn't kill you, would it?" he says, mostly to himself as Sherlock was already up and pacing. 

"There's nothing to do! There's no new cases--"

"Actually, I was just reading that Jemima Drew's aunt was killed--" John interjects
"It was her husband. It always is, isn't it? That's not the point though, I--"

"What about Norbert's fiancée, eh? She was accused of committing--"

"Arson, yes, I know, she actually was guilty of that, you could smell the lighter fluid from miles away; amateur..."

John throws up his hands in exasperation. "Well what would you like me to do, Sherlock; I'm not your entertainer, go find something to busy yourself with, for cripe's sake...."

Sherlock narrows his eyes at his flatmate and whirls around into his bedroom, from which music could be heard a short while later.

John shakes his head and returns to listlessly scanning the Internet for possible cases. His eyelids begin to droop after a bit longer, and he is pulled into sleep.

***

Sherlock

Sherlock plays a lively tune on his violin, taking great sweeping strides around the room and relishing the way the bow vibrates on some of the deeper chords.

After a bit, though, he grows bored, as Sherlock often does.
He sets his violin down after wiping the rosin off its strings carelessly. His eyes drift over to the box beneath his bed.
No. He tells himself very clearly: No.
He would not do this. He would not do this to John. He would not do this to his John.
His John? Where had that thought come from?
No matter, it was still settled. He would not do it. He would not worry John any further.
But still....

***

John

John wakes up with a start, going from 0 to 100 in 3 seconds the way he had always done ever since he found out about Sherlock's...disorder....
He holds his breath, listening for something he can't hear, but what was it?
His violin....
Hadn't Sherlock been playing when he fell asleep?
John resists the urge to jump to his feet and scour the apartment for his friend. Instead, he gets up slowly and casually, and strolls about the flat.
He comes to Sherlock's door after checking every other room.

"Sher--" His voice catches on the name, throat dry from worry. He tries again, louder. "Sherlock?"

He hears, to his relief, footsteps pad across the room and stop in front of the bedroom door. The door opens a crack.

"What, John?" Sherlock asks impatiently. 

"N-nothing. Just wanted to know where you were is all." And with that John turns and quickly walks back to the kitchen.

He felt a relief as if he had avoided something potentially catastrophic, but he didn't know what. But he had a feeling he would know soon enough.

***
A/N

While this may seem like a cliffhanger, I'm honestly just stalling for time bc I have no idea where to go from here. I think I've got a vague idea, but nothing concrete. Comments would be awesome!

-Hannah