Johnlock Oneshots

10 - All The Things You Said

John needs to get out of baker street, there are too many newspapers.

WARNINGS: none today :)

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New Message From: Greg Lestrade

Hey John, I've got the weekend off, fancy going out for a couple pints tonight? -GL

Sure, same time and place as usual? -JW

Yeah, see you later mate. -GL

John switched his phone off and allowed his overused facial muscles to relax into a small smile, the hard lines of his face smoothed away by the promise of a good drink with a good friend. He needed an escape from Sherlock after the hell he'd put him through over the last week, he would even go as far as to say he deserved one.

Sherlock had been unbareable, refusing to talk one second then shouting about god knows what the next. The kitchen had been turned into what looked like a meth lab that no respectable doctor would ever allow in his home, but apparently that didn't matter to his adrenaline driven partner-but-not; and the living room wall had become an advertisement for murder.

There were photos of the 4 victims that no matter how hard John tried to repress seemed to follow him to his dreams and sing autopsies in his head, keeping him tossing and turning all night like he had when he'd recently returned from Afghanistan. Newspapers had gone from sheets of domestic comfort to downright abominations, the damn things littering every available surface in what had become a 5 mile radius in John's head. And don't even get him started on the man himself. It was getting ridiculous, and he needed out.

John understood why Sherlock was irate, the case itself was difficult even for the worlds only consulting detective, but a man could only hold onto his sanity for so long without his grip beginning to loosen, and John was currently holding on by a thread.

So yes, he was going to go out tonight and hopefully get drunk enough that when he came home and found a newspaper next to his toothbrush he'd laugh it off and go to his non-body filled sleep in an empty bed. Because Sherlock couldn't be bothered to join him. Or at least that was the plan.

"John?" The ex-army doctor sighed, dragging his eyes over to the door where his only friend frustrating enough to drive him to alcoholism stood waiting impatiently.

"What?"

"We're going out, get your coat and meet me downstairs in 5."

"Yeahhh, no." John replied, not even bothering to get up when he knew he wasn't coming anyway.

"This is important, Lestrade is withholding the 3rd victims library card and I need to confirm whether or not she owned a stolen copy of Hamlet." Sherlock said accompanied by a wide hand gesture, as if that would convince John to dive out the seat any faster.

"You're a clever boy, you can find Scotland Yard by yourself."

Sherlock glared at him.

"You're going drinking tonight." Sherlock stated after a second of observation, not needing to ask to know he's right.

"Yep, and I've got to get ready, so if you'll excuse me..." John murmured, standing out the chair to slide past Sherlock but getting stopped by a hand grabbing his shoulder.

"You're going drinking with a friend tonight, what friend? Wait don't tell me. Gavin."

"Try again." John said with a raised eyebrow.

"Gary?"

"Nope."

"Grant?"

"Now you're just getting desperate."