Falling (JohnLock)

Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes sat blankly at the table of their kitchenette, his hands steepled in front of him, eyes closed. John struggled up the stairs with several full plastic bags of groceries. He opened the door and stumbled inside their apartment, knocking a few things over in the process and dumped the bags on the table in front of Sherlock. One had ripped. The consulting detective didn't even flinch when John aimed a look of pure annoyance in Sherlock's direction.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, trying to gain some sort of reaction from him.

Nothing.

John frowned and hit Sherlock's shoulder, making him jolt back to reality. He glared up at John.

"What? What is it? What do you want? I was thinking," he snapped. John narrowed his eyes at his flatmate.

"I have been trying to get you to help me carry the shopping up! I have to go to the store, since you can't be bothered to, just so we can bloody eat! And you can't even have the decency to help," John yelled, a pang of guilt immediately forming in his chest. Sherlock turned in his chair and faced him. John scowled down at him and Sherlock raised an eyebrow calmly.

"Are you cross?" Sherlock asked, oblivious. John made an incoherent notice of frustration and stormed out.

"Fuck!" he yelled on his way out. Sherlock raised both his eyebrows, completely shocked at John's outburst.

He knew that John was mad that Sherlock hadn't helped to carry the shopping upstairs, but he realised that that had been an obvious overreaction to the current situation. His anger had obviously been building up for awhile, even more obvious that it had been directed a him. He just wasn't able to figure out why he was so frustrated. He wouldn't do anything to hurt his friend. He knew that he could be blind sometimes, but he'd never make John so angry that he'd storm out.

His heart felt heavier all of a sudden and he felt... sad? Why would he feel sad? Because you made John angry, his subconscious answered.

The last time he had felt sad was when he was a child and some imprudent Neanderthal-like 'children' were teasing him. Since then he learnt to suppress his feelings, they only got in the way.

Only, when it came to John, he always felt the need to impress him or make him laugh. He stole an ashtray from Buckingham Palace just to see him laugh for a few seconds.

Sherlock smiled as he remembered all the times he had made John laugh. Admit it his subconscious implored. He frowned and stood up, wandering over to the window and sat down in his chair.

He looked at the chair opposite, John's chair, and felt a longing in his chest. He had to resist to urge to try and squeeze into one of John's ridiculous jumpers just to breathe in his familiar scent. He shook his head.