FROM THE BAD THING TO THE WORST...

1
John woke up, put some clothes on and went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, carefully avoided fingers, tongues, nails and different sets of mold and reached the milk.
The bottle was empty.
Like a demonic voice rising from Hades, he heard Sherlock say: "John, we ran out of milk. Go buy some."
John closed his eyes and tried to repress his sudden anger.

2
A sudden shriek in the night.
- Oh no -
Then something which sounded like a gasp.
- No, not again -
A loud vibration.
"I need to sleep!" John groaned.
And again, as many other nights, a long, noisy cacophony. It sounded like Sherlock was playing his violin with a stray cat instead of a proper bow.
"GO SHOVE IT!" John yelled.
Why did he have to make such a horrible noise when, John knew it for sure, he was good enough to play to the Teatro alla Scala in Milan or the Opéra in Paris?
John covered his hears with his pillow and begged for this torture to end soon.

3
This situation was unbearable.
As usual, as soon as the cab stopped Sherlock jumped out and left an incredulous John behind to pay the fee.
The only difference was that tonight's fee was almost 50 pounds and John was very tight.
Having to pay an absurd amount of money in cab fees every week just because Sherlock didn't want to take the tube ("People will touch me, John, I can't stand it!" - stupid, petulant Sherlock) was far too much.
Grinding his teeth, John entered the flat persuaded to talk to his expensive flatmate, but he could only talk to the closed door of his bedroom.

4
When he saw the glossy black car parked outside 221b Baker Street, John sighed desperately. He had had a full shift of screaming children, worried mothers and last but not least two cancer diagnoses, and the last thing he wanted to do was coping with the two evil brothers.
He limped into the flat to find Sherlock and his brother Mycroft face to face, staring at each other icily.
After a short moment of silence, they started quarreling like two teenagers crushing after the same boy.
John snapped: "You two, SHUT UP! I don't give a damn about your petty feud, I had a horrible day at the surgery and I need - no, I DESERVE - some peace, so shut the hell up!"
He shut his mouth, turned on his heels and left the living room slamming the door behind his back.

5
"Enough is enough, now, Sherlock. Just stop it".
John was tired of listening to Sherlock's yells and insults toward the Yarders.
"You cannot talk seriously John, look at the mess they made. How was it possible for them not to notice a 6.6 foot tall green-haired COP KILLER hidden in the wardrobe? Idiots"
John looked around: Anderson was sitting on a chair, hiding his face in his hands and nervously tapping a foot on the floor, while Sally was sobbing loudly and D.I. Gregson was nowhere to be seen.
At John' feet, a little pool of Lestrade's blood. He felt sick.
"Listen, Sherlock, you should really stop talking. It's not their nor Lestrade's fault. Stevenson's the only one to blame here, he's the murderer.
I know you care about Lestrade more than you show, but, seriously, look at them: Greg's not only their boss, he's their friend and they feel guilty enough just knowing their friend is having surgery. Don't be so..."
He stopped talking, for Sherlock had already gone away. He murmured "Ill-mannered bastard" and called a taxi to go to the hospital.

…AND ALL THE WAY BACK

+1
"John wake up, you're safe now".
John woke up to the soothing sound of Sherlock's voice. He was trembling and his cheeks were stained with his tears.
He still sobbed slowly for a while, while Sherlock embraced and caressed him, then he stopped.
"I'm so sorry Sherlock" John whined; "there's no need to be", Sherlock replied, "I am here with you and you're safe now".
Sherlock lowered his head to kiss him, slowly and carefully wiping John's face to erase his tears.
Since the first time he had done this, John thought that kissing Sherlock was probably the most fantastic thing he could do in his whole life; of course, making love to him was absolutely amazing and being his partner during his investigation made him felt more alive than ever, but kissing those sweet tender lips was like heaven on Earth, it was bliss and grace and every time John did it he felt like he was falling more and more in love with his insane but brilliant consulting detective.

"Who cares about money, violins, brothers and bad manners when there's something fun going on?" John thought smiling.