A/N: Bit of a drabble really, suddenly popped into my head last week. I only just got round to checking and submitting it. The title is stolen from Crowded House, it's one of my favourite songs ever. Well, enjoy~
He can sense it, inept as he is with people, he can feel the tension. It's not like he's completely above emotions, for years he fought off the sharp pang of loneliness. Yet he's confused, for Sherlock both frustrating and delightful. A challenge. He learned long ago that he couldn't predict his reactions, the faithful steady solider with surprising temper. So he didn't try to, though he couldn't stop his mind throwing up scenario after scenario on long nights of cold travelling.
When he returns and John punches him in the jaw he's startled by how predictable his reaction was after all. He is however, completely caught off guard when John grabs him by the lapels and kisses him. It's angry and messy and teeming with years' worth of longing and Sherlock is even more surprised when he responds. It's as if a large portion of his brain has mutinied against all his teaching, all his brothers' teachings. He's mentally yelling at himself, confusion and anxiety and desperation all whirling round his head faster and faster until his feels his hand sneak up to curl round the soldiers neck.
The crowd of jeering thoughts all settle like a layer of dust and he's vaguely aware that the wrenching feeling of isolation is dissipating. John breaks away, eyes still filled with anger, and the tiniest hint of apprehension. Sherlock gives him the smallest of nervous smiles. The shorter calls him a dick and stalks off. He is delighted to find that three years later he still can't predict John.