Accepted
Sherlock has had enough of John's attempts at social and moral correction. It feeds the underlying nagging suspicion that John's real interest in him is some kind of mission to "fix" him. They stomp though the door of 221B in the midst of an escalating argument. Sherlock throws an accusation at John: "Very good, a noble cause-'Fix the Sociopath!' There is NOTHING. WRONG. WITH. ME!" he shouts down the stairs, then whirls and stalks into the flat.
John is floored, momentarily stops dead on the stairs. "Sherlock-" He jogs up the stairs after the detective.
Sherlock continues to ignore him.
Of course. Of course that's how Sherlock would interpret his admonishments. He wouldn't understand that John is only trying to teach him how to get along better with people. He knows Sherlock cares in his own way; he just hasn't the faintest idea how and when to show it. John can see the good man under the cold exterior. If Sherlock could just learn to show it, others could see it too.
"Sherlock." John can't help but laugh softly at his friend's typical cluelessness.
He has the man's attention now, all indignant billowing coat and half-unwrapped scarf. The defensive anger flashing in his eyes is somewhat arrested by the fond, self-depreciating grin on John's face.
"Sherlock, you know I didn't become your friend because I wanted to change you. You're my friend because of who you are. I pushed too far. I'm sorry."
Sherlock finishes hanging his coat and stalks to his room without a word.
John sighs and drops into his chair.
When a case file suddenly appears above his head and is unceremoniously dumped in his lap, John knows his apology has been accepted.