Where are you? -SH
Where did you go? -SH
Sherlock sat by the fireplace halfarsedly playing his violin. He gazed around the room, mentally pacing. He found a small object to throw, then picked up his phone again.
I'm sorry, John. -SH
Please come back. -SH
He plucked his violin irritably. Playing usually calmed him, but the tuneless sticatto increased his unrest. Today the violin was more hindrance than help. It felt like hours staring at the entrance as no one opened the door, no one walked up the stairs and no one greeted him.
Please John! -SH
Come home! -SH
Violin discarded, he sat tapping his bodaciously understated right shoe quickly against the floor until he couldn't stand the sound any longer. He thumped his long fingers against his knee until even that sound was too much. He stopped and started, needing the release of nervous energy, but unable to tolerate the sound.
John, please come back, I'm sorry! -SH
John? - SH
He strode pointlessly around the room, randomly changing direction, fingers shaking, eyebrow twitching, until a small sound caught his attention. A key in the lock. A key in the lock! John! Sherlock quickly sat down in his armchair, then thought better of it and got up, then changed his mind and sat down again, trying to appear relaxed. That went out the window by the time calm, soft footsteps were halfway up the stairs.
He met John at the doorway, looking breathless and traumatised.
'Where were you? Where did you go? Why don't you ever answer my texts?'
'I told you. I went out to get milk... About twenty minutes ago? What are you sorry about, by the way?'
'I don't know! I assumed you'd know!'