Sherlock had been out that night, John decided to stay in. Strange, because normally it was the other way around. John had said he just wanted to stay at the flat and read and relax, but Sherlock knew better. How trivial of John, to still think that he could get away with anything without Sherlock observing. John did want to stay in, but it was because of a headache. Sherlock could tell due to the shorter-than-normal patience level John displayed, and the decibel of John's voice had quieted. Wasn't anything nasty, but enough to keep adventurous John inside.
Munching on take away while wandering the streets, Sherlock thought back on his own day. Ugh. Errands. He wished he could think back on a day full of puzzles and conceited brilliance, but not today. Without his more responsible friend by his side, Sherlock was forced to do his own dirty work. The bank, UGH the bank. I despise those people, he thought. Is it so difficult to really make that transaction? Of course I didn't bring my ID, you silly creatures, you should know who I am. Don't you read the papers? Give me the damn money.
It had been 7 months since Sherlock revealed himself as a very much alive french waiter, and John was back at the flat for a few weeks. Mary had needed to fly to Florence for some reason. Always so vague, that Mary Morstan. He thought. He didn't think much of it...he rather liked Mary. Which was, undoubtedly, surprising. Sherlock always hated the women John brought home...well perhaps not hated, but he was very much annoyed by them. Mary, however, was something different...she was charismatic and funny. It was like she was just on a different level than the other women...she really was great for John. Somewhere in the back of his head, he still wished he and John could have the life they had before Moriarty's death, but he was really quite alright with the one they settled in at the moment. It pained Sherlock to think too much of what John must have gone through when realizing Sherlock was dead...to have seen his best mate 'die'. So, Sherlock didn't think about it much. But if he did, he was comforted by the thought that Mary had come along at some point and brought light back into John's life.
But since she was gone for a bit, it made Sherlock un-admittedly happy to have John back in his armchair. With that thought, he figured he should check up on his temporary flatmate.
How's the headache? SH Send. Although he wasn't with him, Sherlock smiled to himself at the thought of John sighing in frustration at the deduction of the illness. It will never get old, John trying to side-track Sherlock. And it not working.
I really hate you sometimes. Aha, yes, there it was. No shame befell Sherlock on the self-pride he encountered.
Yes, but that did not answer the question. SH
Well if you must know, you nosy weasel, it's actually much better. I deduct that the cause of it was being around you too much, because now I can go run a mile and be just fine.
Sherlock chuckled at the text, primarily the purposeful use of the word 'deduct'.
Well you better pop a few ibuprofen, I'll be home in half an hour. SH
He pocketed the device and turned the corner, heading for Baker Street.