Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock
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John pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Sherlock," he called out.
"Mmmm?" came the grunt from the other room.
"Why is there a liver in the freezer?" John asked, though he was unsure if he really wanted the answer.
"Experiment," Sherlock replied.
When it became clear that he would offer no further explanation, John closed the door. The sight of the liver had made him forget what what he was looking for in the first place. He was just grateful Ms. Hudson wasn't the one who had stumbled across it. Composing himself, he walked into the other room where the genius lay on the couch with his hands clasped under his chin.
"Sherlock," John began again.
At the sound of his name, Sherlock sat up and looked at John questioningly. "Yes?"
"Where did you even get a liver?"
"The morgue," came the short reply.
"They just let you waltz in and take a liver?" John asked, incredulous.
"Well, not necessarily 'let', but-"
John held up his hand to silence Sherlock. "I don't want to know," he said. Really, nothing about Sherlock should surprise him by now, but he didn't need to hear the details about how his flatmate stole a liver. "Will they find out you took it?"
"No. I was careful," Sherlock replied with a slight smile. "Honestly, John, this isn't the first time."
John grinned despite his initial annoyance. The whole situation was just very Sherlock. "Well, if you're ever arrested for stealing body parts, don't call me to bail you out."
"You'll always bail me out," Sherlock replied with full confidence.
"Oh?" John asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.
Sherlock nodded. "Of course. You need me."
John rolled his eyes. "Don't get too smug."
"Besides," Sherlock continued, "it's not as if its previous owner had any use for it."
John chuckled at that. "Oh so that justifies some freak coming and stealing it, huh?" he teased.
Sherlock's smile vanished. He looked down quickly. John frowned in confusion, wondering what his flatmate was thinking about. Without another word, Sherlock stood and left. When he heard the door to Sherlock's room close, he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Sherlock's behavior did seem a bit odd, but then again, everything about the detective was odd.
The sound of the violin filled up the flat, but only for a few moments. John picked up his book and sat in his armchair. He tried to read, but the silence was distracting. He had grown accustomed to having Sherlock running about and shouting. The silence felt uneasy and out of place.
After about fifteen minutes, John decided to check on him. "Sherlock?" he called out as he was approaching the door. Silence. "Sherlock?" he asked again as he knocked. No answer came. "Sherlock are you alright?" he asked, growing worried. "Sherlock, if you don't answer me, I'm coming in."
After a moment of more silence, John slowly turned the knob and entered the room. Sherlock was sitting on his bed, arms wrapped around his knees. "Sherlock?" John asked again hesitantly.
There was still no answer. Sherlock's eyes were burning holes into the sheet. He stiffened slightly as John sat down next to him. "What's wrong, Sherlock?"
"Why do you think something's wrong?" Sherlock finally replied.
"You're never this quiet, unless you're in your mind palace, which you're not. Whatever it is, it's got you too distracted to even play. So tell me what's bothering you."
Sherlock sighed and put his head against his knees. "I just... I didn't realize..." he trailed off.
John replayed the earlier conversation in his head. They had been joking, and Sherlock had even been smiling. So what was wrong?
"Oh so that justifies some freak coming and stealing it, huh?"
"Oh," John said aloud, his stomach dropping to his feet.
Sherlock eyed him curiously. "That's really how you think of me?" he asked, resigned.
The vulnerability shocked John. It was so out of character for his friend. "Of course not," he said quickly. His heart felt heavy with guilt. "I was only teasing, Sherlock, I could never think that about you."
Sherlock's brow furrowed. After he seemed to decide that John was telling the truth, he dropped his eyes back down to the sheet. "Oh."
"I'm sorry," John apologized again. "It's just... I mean, it doesn't bother you when Donovan says it. So why now?"
"Donovan hates me," Sherlock explained. "And it's completely mutual. But you're different. You're my blogger."
John wanted to punch himself. "I am different. I think you're amazing and clever. If I had known that it would hurt you, I would have never said it. I'm an idiot."
"Yes, you are," Sherlock agreed.
"I am. That was not good."
"Bit not good, yeah," Sherlock replied with an uneasy smile, meeting John's eyes again. When John returned the smile, he visibly relaxed.
"Hungry?" John asked.
"Yeah. How about Angelo's?"
John quickly agreed. He was forgiven, and all was well again between the two friends. He stored the new information about his friend away and slid on his coat. Sherlock adjusted his scarf while watching John from the corner of his eye. His face was unreadable as always, but John got the feeling that something had changed for the better that night.
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AN: Sorry if this idea has been done before. And sorry for any OOCness, Sherlock is a hard character to capture. Thanks for reading :)