John yanked his jacket from the back of the chair at which he had left it. He shrugged it on his shoulders and made his way down the stairs. If Sherlock wasn't in the greater part of London, he must be in Baker Street. The flat was a finite space, How many bloody spaces could that 6-foot tall man squeeze himself into. So he threw himself down the stairs and into Mrs. Hudson's door. The scream she let out was understable and very loud.
"It's just me, Mrs. Hudson." John spoke quickly.
"Oh god, John. What's wrong? What do you need? What happened?" She was clad in a floral dress and an apron. Baking, then.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hudson, but this is very important." then John stepped closer to emphesize the importance of this, "Is. Sherlock. Here?"
"What?" Mrs. Hudson's eyebrow knitted together, "No, I told you, I haven't seen or heard him. Nothing."
"I believe you, but I don't belived him." then, before he took another step and forced Mrs. Hudson to use violence on him, he added, "Would you mind if I look around?"
"If you must, love."
John toppled over couch cushions (he put them back, of course) and looked under tables, but there was no sign of the madman. He mumbled a thank you and even accepted the cookie she held out for him on his way out.
He kept walking, in no real direction, and found himself outside. What the hell? Sherlock was really getting into his head; he couldn't even think straight. Yet he never dropped the cookie he held tight in his hand. Well, at least his priorities were still intact.
He opened the door and slid inside, making sure to slowly close it again so Mrs. Hudson wouldn't know how stupid he was. Then he heard a noise. The noise of a door opening. Not the door to his flat; this one was a metal door. Mrs. Hudson's door was still closed. Who the hell? He tiptoed towards the only place in the whole building he had been avoiding, not consciously, and heard the door open wider. He dared to speak.
"Sherlock?"
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Fanfic"What mattered was now, this exact moment, when John loved him. What mattered was that Sherlock had found a reason to smile. What mattered was that John's fingers had found their way to Sherlock's chest and were gently running along his skin below h...
