John barely makes it up the flight of stairs leading up to Sherlock's flat; he was beyond tired. Sherlock had asked him, or rather demanded him to come by 221B. Sherlock hadn't given a reason, but John imagined it must be important because instead of Sherlock messaging him like he normally would do (and would be more appropriate at that hour seeing as it was 1am) Sherlock had called him several times on his mobile phone and then proceeded to call him some more on his and Mary's home phone and then on Mary's phone. John reaches the door of the flat and shoves himself through the front door, stumbling as he enters rather carelessly.
"What took you so long?" Sherlock asks rather dully.
"I was asleep when you called me, you know?" John huffs at Sherlock, while trying to maintain some balance after having almost tripped over his own feet.
"It's no excuse for taking so long. I had called you enough times to have woken you up quite fast." He says with a smug tone. John wanted to punch him in the face.
"You can't be serious, Sherlock! By the way, thank you so much for not only waking me up but also Mary! Next time, wait till there's bloody light outside before calling."
"I am dead serious. You're excuse is a poor one. And please, John, you know how I see sarcasm; a very idiotic way of mocking someone. Anyway, you turned up like you always do so you can't be that mad at me."
Sherlock turns to John and gives him his cheeky smile. John softens up a little; damn you, thought John, while starting to smile back at Sherlock. Sherlock was on his laptop on the desk, typing furiously at his blog most likely; must be updating it after having done some new, horrific experiment, judging by all the lab equipment lying around. Now Sherlock could do them in peace seeing as he lived alone now. Walking away from the front door, where he had been standing until now, he looks around the apartment; the flat looked as though it had been turned upside and down and then turned inside out. Books were strewn all over the apartment, papers lay in all possible corners of the place and John was pretty sure there was almost a good few inches of dust on some of the furniture. John sighs deeply and then goes to slump down on the chair opposite of Sherlock at the desk.
"Sherlock…" John starts.
"Yes, John, I know the place is a complete mess but I'm far too busy to have the time to clean up. I have far more interesting and important things to do with my time." Sherlock says in his blunt tone.
John opens his mouth to ask how Sherlock knew that he was thinking about the mess, but then he closes it again. Sherlock most probably had some very obvious deduction about it, and John was far too tired to listen to it. As Sherlock had spoken he continued to type something on his laptop, and now occasionally lifting his head up to look at John, before returning his gaze to his screen and his furious typing continued. John was attempting to find something to say to break the silence, but gives up and sighs with defeat as he picks up a book from the top of the towering pile next to him.
They sit in silence for about 10 minutes. John stays quiet hoping Sherlock will be the one who brings up the reason he called him over here, but alas, no such miracle rears its head. John slams the book shut in frustration.
"Right Sherlock, why did you make me come here?" John asks rather demandingly.
"I didn't." He says in a matter-of-fact manner.
"Yes you did, Sherlock. Now tell me why." John was turning on his father-like tone with Sherlock.
"I never made you come here, I simply insisted upon it."
"Ok, fine. Why did you insist that I come here then?" John's tone was reaching an annoyed pitch.
Sherlock was silent. He was silent because he was embarrassed of his reason for insisting upon John's being there. He felt foolish for it.
"Ok, ok. I see" Sherlock looks up from his laptop, "You're in the mood for the Have-John-Guess-The-Obvious-Reason game." John's tone was mocking and sharp.
Sherlock looks at John blinking, and rather confused and hurt by his attitude. He'd never heard of such a game before. Is it something like Cluedo? He thought, because if it is he won't like it.
John huffs and glares at the now confused Sherlock.
"Is there a case you want my help for?" He says trying to tone down his already annoyed voice.
Sherlock still remains silent. John begins to visibly show is frustration.
"No, then. Is there something you need to boast about and I was the only person to call? Made a fascinating discovery in an experiment?" John formed a mocking tone.
Sherlock narrows his eyes at John and lifts his head higher, folding his arms across his lap.
"Fair enough." John starts getting frustrated. "Bloody hell, Sherlock! Tell me why you decided to call me over here at 1 in the fucking morning!"
Sherlock still refuses to reply. John was beyond tired and already frustrated, leading to him becoming extremely infuriated with Sherlock at that point.
"Right, well clearly you're in the mood to act like a 5-year old tonight. I'm off." He says as he turns his body to get up from the chair.
"Don't go." Says Sherlock in a rather hurt tone.
"And why not?! Clearly there isn't anything of great importance going on here!"
John ignores Sherlock's hurt tone and astonished face and he roughly pushes his chair back and makes a start for the door when he hears Sherlock say:
"I felt lonely."
John stops dead in his tracks. He thought he heard Sherlock wrong. He turns to face the still sitting Sherlock.
"What?!"
"I felt lonely." Sherlock says rather more loudly.
Sherlock looks at John with wide eyes; John felt a shiver down his spine. He felt as though he could see straight into Sherlock's soul.
"I've never heard you say that before." John says rather mockingly.
He immediately regrets having used that tone with Sherlock. He sees how hurt Sherlock gets because of it.
"Look Sherlock, I didn't mean to sa-"
"Doesn't matter."
Sherlock cuts him off rather coldly. He put on his macho, hard-set tone but John could see Sherlock's eyes widen with hurt and saw his face hold back the painful emotion that was spreading across it.
Sherlock had turned into more of an emotional character since he and John had reunited. John wasn't too sure what to make of it. He never knew what had happened to Sherlock all that time he had been presumably dead. Mycroft said he had had a really tough time after the fall, even worse than he himself had had. He had even asked his shrink about Sherlock's change in character and what to make of it and she said psychological trauma, especially trauma that involves a loved one, can cause major personality changes in some people. Showing these shreds of emotion was a major change in his personality, comapred to when he had first met Sherlock. When they had first met he wouldn't elicit a single shred of emotion or have an emotional response to anything.
"So when you feel lonely, you call me?" John put on a softer tone.
"Why does it matter?" Sherlock still keeps his hard tone.
"Isn't there anyone else to call? How have you handled it before?"
"Isn't there anyone else to call. What an idiotic question. You know me well enough to know that you are my only friend! Anyhow, how many others apart from you consider me their friend?"
John stays silent, in agreement with what Sherlock had just said and the point he was trying to get across.
"If you want to leave, then leave. I'm not forcing you to stay here. You have Mary waiting for you at home anyway."
His tone was harsh and rather hurtful, and Mary's name rolled off his tongue as if he were speaking of some sort of foul creature. For that, John feels like leaving, but then he looks at Sherlock again; a thin yet slightly muscular man, sitting alone, only covered in his white bed sheets, blankly staring at his laptop screen, trying to type something else into his keyboard, just sitting there alone. Alone… The word turned around in John's head. He couldn't leave Sherlock alone, especially after he had just said he felt lonely. Sighing out of defeat, he goes to take the chair and moves it to sit next to Sherlock.
Although not responding, Sherlock notices what John does and turns his head away slightly so John can't see half a smile spread across his lips. He never liked letting John see how happy or how much better he made him feel, it would elicit too much emotion towards John in his opinion. Sherlock hadn't realized how much more "emotionally open" he had become since he and John had reunited. For him the matter was that he felt so comfortable around John. Sure, after the reunited it was tough, and everything was different, but deep down Sherlock still felt the same with John; John made him feel more normal, more human from some aspects. What Sherlock did realize was how lonely he felt lately and how easily that aching feeling for someone's company ate at his chest every day. When John was in the flat with him, it felt like home, it felt nice, he felt happy and warm on the inside. When John was gone he felt abandoned and lost. He felt like he did before he met John. Around John everything felt like it feel into place.
They sat in silence for a few hours; Sherlock typing and John glancing to see what he was typing. Soon John fell asleep to the sound of Sherlock's fingers hitting the keys on the keyboard. Sometimes Sherlock would turn to look at the sleeping John; now he could smile freely. He felt so happy to see his best and closest friend asleep on the chair beside him. He didn't feel abandoned like this. At that moment, Sherlock felt at peace with everything for the first time in his life.
Unfortunately this feeling of peace was short-lived; a single ring echoed through the flat. The ring tore Sherlock away from his typing and it tore John away from his sleep.
"Who the hell could that be?" John says groggily as he rubbed the nagging sleep out of his eyes.
"A client, obviously… But this early in the morning?" Sherlock turns on his detective mode, forgetting his peace with everything, forgetting his happiness. Something felt off about this, he thought.
Getting up from his chair, he walks around the still dizzy John, clinging to his bed sheet so it doesn't fall, he slowly heads towards the door. Before he is able to reach it the door swings open and in it, stands a woman, looking to barely be in her twenties, standing awkwardly with a backpack in her left hand and a crumpled piece of paper in her right hand.
Upon seeing Sherlock, standing in shock staring at her, she politely smiles at him.