No Problem, Sherlock
Sherlock walked sullenly in to the flat, shrugged off his coat and dropped onto the sofa, burying his head into his slender, pale arms. John looked up from his laptop. "Sherlock…" "Leave it, John." he got up and stormed off to his room. John frowned, but went back to his work.
Half an hour later, the doctor began to feel a little guilty. It was obvious that the detective was upset about something, and whenever John himself was upset Sherlock was always caring and kind (which, of course, was contrary to the belief of Anderson and Donovan). He put down his laptop and made his way up the stairs, bracing himself for the task ahead of him. He knocked on Sherlock's bedroom door.
As he had expected, he received no reply. "Sherlock." John entered the bedroom and sat down on the edge of his friend's bed. "Go away, John. I want to be left alone." Sherlock's voice was almost a whimper as he sat up against the bedhead. "Sherlock, please," John said firmly, "you know I'm not going to leave you alone until you tell me what the matter is." "Nothing's the matter, I just want to be alone! Is that too much to ask?" he snapped, but there was a slight sadness to his tone. John smiled fondly. "Come here, Sherlock."
He pulled the insufferable man he had come to love as his best friend into an affectionate hug. "What's the matter?" the doctor whispered into his neck in a gentle voice, "You can tell me, Sherlock." "Donovan. She – " he trailed off, looking away. "Yes?" John gently rubbed Sherlock's back, and the man relaxed. "She and Anderson disposed of hundreds of pages in case reports I'd written up for Lestrade."
"The scheming little…!" John seethed furiously, continuing to soothingly rub Sherlock's back in comforting circles. "Don't worry, I'll call Lestrade," he continued, but Sherlock shook his head decisively, "No, John, that won't help." "We'll see about that." he replied, eyes blazing with anger as he envisioned Donovan and Anderson laughing their heads off together.
"Now, Sherlock, let's go downstairs and have dinner." John smiled, rubbing his thumb over Sherlock's knuckles. He stood up and waited patiently for the consulting detective to follow suite. "Let's go." Taking Sherlock's arm kindly, he led him back down the stairs, then sat him down at the dining table.
A minute later he came back with sandwiches and laid them before Sherlock. "I'm not hungry, John." he stated quietly, the first thing he'd said in the last ten minutes. "I know," the soldier nodded understandingly, "but you need to eat, Sherlock. Please…for me." Sherlock's eyes met John's for a brief minute with an undecided expression, telling John that the man didn't want to eat but didn't want to disappoint him either. He grinned, "Please?" he said again. Sherlock relented and began eating silently.
John sighed with relief and pulled a chair up to Sherlock's side. "Sherlock," he murmured, "I just want you to know that you are absolutely amazing and extraordinary, okay? Donovan and Anderson only resent you because they're jealous. They resent you because they'll never be as perfect as you." he leaned forward and gave Sherlock a brief, clean, friendly kiss on the cheek.
The detective broke into a grin. Putting down his sandwich, he turned to face his friend. Clearing his throat, he smiled, "Thank you, John." John laughed, "No problem, Sherlock."