John was sitting in his favourtie armchair, looking at the steam dancing around his still hot tea. He was deep in thoughts yet not being able to focus on anything beside one question he couldn't find the answer to. How did he let this happen?

Everything he had said to Sherlock earlier this evening seemed so ridiculus now that he felts so horrible inside.

Of course they were arguing almost everyday and sometimes one of them said one sarcastic comment too much and they didn't talk to each other for some time, but this? Oh, this was far more complicated than an ordinary argument.

John knew it will be a bad day the moment he got up from bed. He got late for work because he hadn't slept at all thanks to Sherlock's loud experiments he clearly had to do at night, even if John asked him not to.

Then Sarah acted like she wanted to irritate him on purpose (Or maybe it was him who found everything so utterly annoying that day?). They split up some time ago but it was still pretty awkward between them and he was struggling with acting normaly towards her. John sometimes wondered why did he let go of such a wonderful woman but then a name of a certain, unbearable person pops out in his mind and he remembers why.

It was raining all day and when he got out of work he realised he hadn't taken any money with him and was forced to walk back home. John tried to be calm, as he always did. But this time he couldn't. He felt a bulge of anger growing in his stomach.

By the time he reached Baker Street he was soaking wet. He found it very difficult to walk upstairs, feeling more and more tired withe very step he took. All he wished for was not to be bothered. John decided he would end this day with a big mug of tea and a good book in his hand.

Apparently things didn't want to go his way. At all.

The moment when he appeared in the living room made Sherlock jump off the sofa he was previously lying on and run towards John, talking about something with excitement. It was probably about the case he was working on right now but, even if he really tried to focus on Sherlock's words, he couldn't understand a single thing. All that he heard was some incoherent mumbling.

He was so tired.Sherlock probably didn't even realize that water was dripping from his hair and clothes, which made John stand in his very own puddle.
The more possible option was that Sherlock saw that right away but didn't bother about it.

- Not now, Sherlock - was all he could manage to say. He tried to speak in a calm, normal voice but it turned out to be a hoarse and weary whisper.

Again, the anger started to burn up inside him. John didn't really know the reason why.
If Sherlock could just leave him alone today, everything would be allright tomorrow.

But Sherlock was Sherlock and that was not an option. He followed John to the kitchen still talking about something passionately. John was leaving wet marks behind him, which clearly didn't bother him enough to change his clothes. Catching a cold would be a perfect end of this day anyway.

Thinking that a hot tea is a perfect solution to all his problems right now he walked to the fridge to grab some milk, trying to ignore Sherlock's, now very iritating, voice.

John, John! Are you even listening ? John!

He felt that soon he won't be able to take it anymore. This day had to end.
John opened the firdge door and starred at the inside of it, blinking a few times. The human fingers that were on the top shelf were in the plastic bag that apparently was torn somewhere and now everything that was under it was covered in blood.

- John, if you were so kind to listen to a word I am saying you would realize how important it is for you to-

- ENOUGH! - John shouted, slamming the fridge door with a loud noise. He hid his face in his hand, inhaling loudly. - Sherlock, that's enough.

- You don't have to repeat yourself. I understood the first time that you are clearly not interested in anything I'm trying to say - was Sherlock's response. He felt quite offended so he decided to add : - Honestly, John, I don't care if you have a bad day but don't act like it's my fault.

- Of course it is your fault! The great, bloody Sherlock Holmes who doesn't care about anyone but himself! - Words were escaping from his mouth without him even realizing that. Suddenly he felt such anger he couldn't control it any longer.

- Don't be ridiculus. Suddenly it bothers you ? It's not like you didn't know that before. - He answered with a sarcastic voice.

Hearing those words made John feel sick. He had a feeling this argument was not like their usual ones. He knew that if one of them didn't stop it's only going to get worse.
John didn't feel like letting this go, though.

- I'm always there for you! All I ask for is a little time when I'm not bothered by your existence! It's not so much, is it ? You can be so tiring, Sherlock. So tiring it makes me wonder what exactly am I doing here with you! - John shouted, his chest falling up and down, his breathing shallow.

For a moment there was silence. Sherlock starred at him with his blue eyes like he was looking straight through his soul, making him freeze.

- Then try to work this one out while I go and solve this case by myself. I hope the time I'm out will be enough for you to get some rest from my tiring existence.

Sherlock started walking downstairs, followed by an angry shout :

- Right, now get mad at me like you always do and don't come back for hours so I could feel guilty about it! Not this time, Sherlock! - John felt so angry it clouded his mind. Deep inside he alredy knew he was actining rather ridiculus but somehow he couldn't stop the words from falling out of his mouth. At that moment he wanted to hurt him, hurt Sherlock Holmes. Just to see if he could feel anything at all.

John heard the sound of doors closing in a response and that was it. He stood there in silence for a long time, looking at the spot where Sherlock had been standing, suddenly feeling numb.
Sighing, he realized he was shivering and decided to finally change his clothes and make some tea.
Later John sat on his armchair trying to read a book. He couldn't focus though, and was forced to reread the same line over and over again. Irritated he threw the book away and layed his eyes on the tea instead.

He rubbed his forehead with his hand, feeling very tiredy. What on earth has gotten to him? Obviously he had a bad day but that was not an excuse to take it out on Sherlock. John didn't mean a word he had said to him. It was just the anger mixed with tiredness talking through him, still he felt awful about it.

If it wasn't for the argument, he would now chase criminals through London's streets with the only person he really cared about.

Sighing again, he took out his phone, deciding to text Sherlock and join him.

Where are you? JW

He waited some time but didn't get a response. Sherlock was probably still mad at him and didn't bother to reply. Swallowing his pride he started to write another one.

Look, I'm sorry. I wasn't myself. Tell me where you are so I can join you. JW

Still nothing. He felt a shiver run down his spine so he decided to take a hot shower before he really catched a cold. It turnes out it's not a wise idea to stay in wet, cold clothes such a long time. Besides, he was certain that when he got back a message from Sherlock would surely await him.

To his suprise, he couldn't be more wrong. Usually Sherlock sends him so many messages during a day it now felt weird that he hadn't recived any. That made him slightly worried and guilty that he wasn't there with him right now. If it wasn't for his foolish outburst, he could be by Sherlock's side trying to keep him alive when he solves cases, like he always did.

It could be just a foolish hunch but he had a feeling something went wrong. Sherlock was away for far too long.
It could be nothing. He could stay away from Baker Street on purpose and if he found out that John was worried he would laugh at him.
Right now it didn't really matter.

He grabbed his coat and went out, trying to figure out how exactly is he going to find him.