Holmes had been acting strange all week and considering it was Friday evening and he still hadn't risen from his place on the settee since that morning, Watson sensed that this wasn't just a case that was tormenting him. Pushing the door to the sitting room open all the way, Watson walked in and leaned against the chair opposite his roommate.
"Holmes? Old boy, what are you doing. You haven't moved all day, really its not good for your legs to be in such a state, they need to move so your blood can circulate".
Holmes said nothing in reply, his grey eyes glazed over and distant, his attire being only his white shirt, boots and trousers. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his mid chest, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair wild and unkept making him look crazed, Watson urged on.
"Holmes".
No reply.
"..Holmes".
Feeling his temper getting the better of him, Watson told himself inwardly to calm down. If there was anything he hated more than anything, it was being blatantly ignored. Sighing and rubbing his eyes with both hands he started again,
"Holmes I-" Sherlock cut him off abruptly, the intense volume of his voice startling Watson.
"GET OUT, WILL YOU. OBVIOUSLY I WISH NOT TO SPEAK WITH YOU. GET OUT". He was staring up at Watson, eyes wide and dark, brow furrowed in frustration, both hands gripping the cushion beneath him tightly. Watson swallowed thickly, hurt flashing through his eyes at Holmes' tone, and nodded quickly, turning on his heel and limping out of the room but not before muttering a soft "...s-sorry to have disturbed you" and shutting the door behind him. Holmes let out a shaky breath, his shoulders heaving forward as his elbows rested on his knees, face falling into his open palms. He spoke softly into his hands, his eyes shut tightly,
"...oh, John..if you only knew..".