"See, John, didn't I tell you I'd be fine?" Sherlock opened the front door of the flat and briskly ran up the stairs.
"Sherlock, look at you, you're covered in blood..." John followed him through the door, covered in mud. "You need to let me look at that cut on your face, Sherlock..." as he followed Sherlock up the stairs the door to Mrs Hudson's flat opened.
"Boys...boys what on earth have you been up to? Look at the state of you..." she caught a glimpse of Sherlock before he flew through the living room door. "Sherlock! What have you done to yourself? You're bleeding!"
"I'm fine thank you Mrs Hudson" Sherlock opened the bathroom cabinet and pulled various bottles out until he found a very old bottle of antiseptic. He applied it to his face, wincing slightly as he did so.
"Sherlock, what are you doing? That stuff is ancient you can't use that..." John went to take the bottle from Sherlock but he pulled away before he could grasp it.
"I'm fine, thank you!" Sherlock slammed the cabinet shut and pushed past John out of the bathroom, where he nearly ran into Mrs Hudson. "I AM FINE THANK YOU MRS HUDSON!" She looked slightly taken aback, but she was used to Sherlock's outbursts and had learned not to take them to heart.
"Ok ok, I'll leave you to it...just don't bleed all over the flat or it'll be added onto your rent this month..." she left the flat and walked back downstairs.
"Good because I'm thinking." Sherlock took to his usual place lying across the sofa, hands in a prayer position beneath his chin. He closed his eyes. "John?" he said. No response. "John? Are you there?" He opened his eyes. The room was dark. Apparently he had been thinking a lot, as hours had passed and John had gone to bed.
The morning light spilled through the living room curtains as Sherlock, in his favourite blue silk dressing gown, stirred a cup of coffee. He had retired to bed at about 3am after spending a lot of time thinking over the problems of yesterday, and as it was now 7am he felt he'd definitely had enough rest and his brain needed to be started again. He sipped his coffee and went searching through the piles of papers and various odds and ends on the dining room tables to find a box of nicotine patches. Coffee and nicotine in the morning, the perfect way to get things up and running. He pulled open the curtains with a flourish and let the early morning sunlight flood the flat. He sat himself in an armchair and looked out the window as he sipped his coffee. After a while he heard a shuffling coming from behind him.
"Sherlock, how do you survive on so little sleep?" John's groggy sleep-filled voice.
"I have enough sleep to provide me with energy for the following day. I do not understand how people sleep for pleasure, it seems so wasteful and unnecessary."
"Speak for yourself." Sherlock turned round in his chair to see John in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt with one hand trying to tame his hair and the other rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He sprung out of his chair.
"Right. I'm going out. I've worked out where we need to be and I want to get a head start on it this morning." He looked at John with bright eyes. "I hope you're ready to work late tonight, this could be a long day..." Sherlock bounced off into his room to change and John just rubbed his eyes. He could not understand how Sherlock's energy reserves worked but he wished he could work it out.
Sherlock sat in the arm chair in the living room, hair wet, coat still on, hands pressed together in their signature pose. The rain lashed down outside and he could still feel the remains of the outside chill on his skin, although he wasn't aware of it. The flat was silent, until the sound of the front door crashing open and footsteps running up the stairs. Sherlock didn't even flinch. As the footsteps got closer he took a deep breath. He knew what was coming.
The front door of the flat opened and John ran inside, soaked through and eyes wild.
"SHERLOCK? HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN HERE? I HAD NO IDEA WHERE YOU WERE, YOU DISAPPEARED, YOU COULD HAVE BEEN..." John didn't finish his sentence. He just paced up and down the room. "Every time, every time we have to run, we have to escape, something happens and you get hurt or you get put into danger and you nearly get killed and one day, one day you won't get out."
Sherlock didn't move, but flicked his eyes from their position fixed on the floor up to John's face. He said nothing.
"I've watched people get killed, Sherlock, people I know, people I care about, I've watched them get killed. I am done with watching people I care about get killed."
"You wanted the excitement" Sherlock said quietly, hands still pressed together.
"EXCITEMENT? Yes excitement but I cannot watch...I can't spend time wondering if you're..." he continued pacing and put a hand to his forehead.
"We all have to die sometime." Sherlock said, still looking at John. John stopped pacing and turned to face him.
"I...I am going to pretend you did not just say that, and then I am going to leave." John said quietly. And which point he turned and walked out the door. Sherlock heard his footsteps disappear down the stairs and the front door slam.
He still hadn't moved.