Chapter 1 – Gone too far

"…And you can't just expect me to be at your beck-and-call whenever. I DO have a life of my own, Sherlock. At least I try to," he mutters the last part. "Do you have any regards for my feelings?" John was pacing the carpet before the kitchen where Sherlock was eye-to-eyepiece with his microscope.

John was out with Sarah, again. She had called and said she really wanted to see him today. He was surprised she would even want to see him again. After the last incident… John shook his head of the thought.

"Are you quite done?" Sherlock didn't even bother to look up to see the army doctor's face getting redder. "I don't understand why you're upset with me. Sarah's the one that broke it off with you."

"Are you even listening to me? And, Sarah didn't break it off. We were trying to enjoy our meal before you came barging in and dragging me off!" he fumed.

"Of course I'm listening. Bit hard not to with you yelling. Now would you mind handing me th-"

"No."

"Fine." With an unneeded scrape of the chair, Sherlock gracefully stood up and walked over to the coffee table, where a slide with a burgundy blotch on it, sat. Walking back the mere 4 feet, Sherlock brushed John's shoulder, causing a shudder. From the close proximity, Sherlock guessed.

"Everything better now?" Sherlock quipped.

"No." John repeated, standstill.

"Alright, John." Sherlock sighed. "I apologize for dragging you out of your date, which really wasn't a date. I'm sorry for not taking into considerations of your feelings, though I did this to save you from more heartbreak." He shrugged.

"See. That's just it." Sherlock's words buzzed in his ears, but he paid no mind to them. "You're not sorry. You never are. Sometimes you're so arrogant and conceited that you can't see right in front of you." He took a sharp breath.

"…and I don't think I can do this anymore." John grabbed his coat and went for the door.

Sherlock knew John. He'd go for a walk, blow off some steam, and come back. With milk.

"Going out?" he mused. "If you are, we need milk."

"Yes Sherlock, I'm leaving." John inhaled deeply, his next words leaving him before he could regret them. "And I'm not coming back."

With that, he practically ran out the door and down the stairs to run into Mrs. Hudson at the bottom.

"Off in a hurry?" she quipped, smiling at the seemingly distraught man. "I heard the yelling. Having another domestic?"

John didn't want to face Mrs. Hudson right now.

"How about a nice cuppa, instead of the walk. Bit too chilly to be out and about." She tried to steer him into her apartment, but John politely shook her off. If he went in, she'd find out what he said, and…And he couldn't just do that to her.

"Can't, Mrs. Hudson. I'm sorry." He heard their door open, a pair of feet at the top of the stairs.

"Sherlock, apologize this instance. Poor man shouldn't need to catch his death because you have too much pride.

"That's not i-" John started, but Sherlock's baritone voice cut him off.

"I did apologize, Mrs. Hudson. I think I may have gone too far this time." His eyes were transfixed on John, but he looked away.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson." John repeated. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek, stole another look at Sherlock, and ran out the front, into the heart of London.

"Where's he off to in such a hurry? And what did you do this time."

"He's gone, Mrs. Hudson. He's left."

"I know that dear, but he'll be back. Then you two can sort it out, like you always do.

Without another word, Sherlock turned back into his flat, closing the door.

"Not this time."

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