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"Dammit Sherlock! You can't just say things like that . You need to apologize to Lestrade!"
He ignores me in favor of something sticky and yellow in a test tube. One of his experiments no doubt and apparently more important than his insulting one of the few people who actually put up with him.
"Sherlock!"
He frowns up at me. "Why do I have to apologize? He knew she was cheating on him, I just proved it."
"And you are going to apologize for proving it! You can't just go around telling people things like that; it's not right!"
"If I was telling him something he already knew, why do I have to apologize?" he asks. I just stare at him because how can someone so freaking smart be so dumb?
Then I turn on hill and grab my jacket, heading out the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Out."
I slam the door hard behind me. Continuing down the stairs, I can only focus on getting as far as I can from the world's only - and most annoying - consulting detective.
I've made him mad. I don't quite understand why he's mad, that's really more his area, but I don't like it. I never like it when we fight. I want to go after him, to tell him how sorry I am for not understanding, but I know he needs his space to cool down.
Instead I text Lestrade and then curl up on the couch, determined to be the first thing John sees when he comes in so that I can apologize. I don't know why I'm apologizing, but I want him to know I'm sorry so he'll feel better. For reasons I've yet to work out, it upsets me when John's unhappy.
He's asleep on the couch when I get back to the loft, his arms and legs a messy sprawl. His experiment is abandoned in the kitchen, bubbling happily in it's test tube.
I consider waking him up for a second, making him clean up the experiment. But I can't bring myself to. He doesn't sleep on cases and when he does sleep I don't much like waking him.
He stirs a little when I pull off his shoes but doesn't fully wake up until I throw a blanket over him. Looking at me with bleary eyes and smiling sleepily he murmurs, "I'm sorry John."
"I know. Go back to sleep Sherlock. I'm pretty sure you haven't slept in three days." I tell before starting toward my chair and the new mystery novel sitting there but two surprisingly strong arms wrap around me, pulling me back to the couch.
"Stay." Sherlock says, sounding for all the world like a spoiled child. I'm annoyed with the loss of reading time but I still kick off my shoes and lay down beside him, letting him press up against me.
Soon I'm running my fingers through his curly hair and watching him sleep.
Sometimes with Sherlock, all you can do is forgive and forget.