Sherlock paced back and forth in front of the couch as John typed on his phone.
"I need one," Sherlock mumbled to himself, fisting his hair with both hands. He picked up the Union Jack pillow and tossed it up and down a few times before punching it at John, who ducked without comment.
"What's wrong with you?" Sherlock asked, hands clasped behind his back.
"Nothing."
Sherlock looked over at him. "You were in a bad mood this morning; not like you for a Saturday."
"Do not start on this, Sherlock," John said under his breath.
Sherlock stopped directly in front of him and stared. "You slept only a couple of hours."
"Anderson could've beat you to that one," he said, frowning down at his phone.
"You were fretting over a girlfriend."
John froze.
"It would have to be someone new, because you haven't been sending inordinate texts on your phone lately and I haven't seen any dreadful poetry in your emails." Sherlock spoke to the wall and resumed pacing. "You haven't had on your date shoes or fussed over your hair, either. So not a girlfriend." He glanced at John's face then looked back at the wall. "You haven't asked her on a date yet or even contemplated doing so. Why? Someone you shouldn't be attracted to. Too young? No, no." Sherlock waved his hand distractedly. "But there is guilt." Sherlock looked directly John again, who remained ramrod straight on the couch with a blank expression. Sherlock smirked down at him. "It's someone I know."
For a second John's eyes shifted to his laptop.
Sherlock snatched the computer off the table before John could lunge for it. "Let's see who Ms. Forbidden Fruit is," he said, waking up the screen.
"Sherlock, Sherlock no." Sherlock heard actual panic in John's voice. This was going to be funny.
"Oh, come on." Sherlock held computer over his head, fending off John as the screen loaded. "You know I'd find out sooner or lat-"
A photograph of himself stared back at him from the laptop.
Sherlock's comment died in his throat. Heavy silence settled over the room.
When Sherlock looked away from the screen, John had already grabbed his keys and wallet off the table and was pulling on his jacket.
"Go fuck yourself, Sherlock," he muttered before he slammed the door.
Sherlock stared at the closed door for a second before he caught sight of the photo of himself again and swallowed.
He slammed the laptop shut and pulled a bag of right toes out of the fridge.