I'd managed to avoid the fanfictions... I thought I could finally get into "serious"(my own stories/characters) but the fanfiction ideas keep popping up... I got 2/almost 3 months without writing anything though, I'd say that's an accomplishment. But I got bored and wrote this during class.

"Tell me."

"No, I don't think I will."

"John."

"What?"

"I don't like repeating myself."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

"Hm?"

"John.." he hissed, glaring at the shorter man. "Tell. Me."

The shorter one giggled, watching the other one. Sherlock's hands ran through his already mussed up hair, dropping the dark curls across his face. His white shirt was wrinkled from his incessant moving around the room.

"Why must you be such an insufferable idiot?"

Neither of them are sure of how it happened or what even did happen, but after a few tossed around insults, John's fist connected with Sherlock's shoulder. Once that sunk in, Sherlock's blue-grey eyes were wide, actually surprised, and John was stunned. His mouth dropped open, searching for some sotrt of apology that would suffice for Sherlock.

"I- I- Sherlock, I'm sorry- I didn't mean to-"

Sherlock's face, once again, drained of emotion as he turned his back to John, straightening his shirt and pulling out his phone. "Don't fret over it, John. It's done."

"Sherlock-"

"What?" he growled, turning his head slightly, just enough to glare at John. "If you're just going to keep on apologizing, you may as well stop now. I'm really not interested."

If he wasn't expecting the punch, he really wasn't expecting what came next. The full impact of his flatmate smacked him directly on the back, knocking his legs out and landing him face first on the floor, the reason for his fall still sitting on him, holding him down.

"John, you're trailing down dangerous territory." His voice was sharp, threatening, even while muffled by the floor.

"I don't bloody care, Sherlock! You're going to listen, for once. Do you even realize how hard it is to live with you, sometimes? I'm trying to apologize and I don't care that you supposedly don't want to hear it. I'm sorry that I hit you! I didn't mean to-"

"I suppose you also didn't mean to jump me and tackle me to the floor and shove my face into the carpet. Your apologies are tedious, and I dwon't thee ther pobrem." Part way through, John had placed a hand on the back of Sherlock's head and forced him further into the rug to smother his speech.

"You left no other options. I don't know how else to get through your big ego. You never listen to anyone unless it could benefit you."

There was a struggle under him; Sherlock rolling over and wrestling for the upper hand. He'd pinned John down, arms twisted oddly beneath him, bright blue eyes glaring into his in a murderous expression. Blood ran down nhis forehead into his eyes, his left sleeve torn and spotted with blood.

"I suggest you calm down, John, else you want to be subject to my latest experiments: Effects of Acid on the Human Male, Before and After Death. Now, allow me to teach you a thing or two about civil social behavior. When attempting to apologize, you do not attack the person you are apologizing to, nor do you continue to insult said person."

"Fine, Sherlock, I-mmmphaggar!"

A strip of duct tape was pressed down over John's mouth, silencing him as he watched the taller man pace in front of him.

"Despite popular belief, I do listen, not only when it interests me. Just because I dopn't act on what I hear does not mean I don't listen. I simply delete all useless information later on."

John had somehow managed to untangle his arms, reaching up to pull off the tape. "I-"

Sherlock ignored his attempt to butt in, continuing on his rant. "I believe I also informed you when we first met that I was hard to live with. You are perfectly aware of me "big ego", are you not?"

"I'm trying to be a good friend, Sherlock, because, according to you, you don't have any, but you're making it terribly hard."

"You see, John, as you said, I don't have any friends."

"Then what am I?'

"You- John, I'm not one to understand, as I've no experience in the matter, but I don't believe one normally hits their friends, no matter how much they want to, as I know you'd like to."

"I told you, I didn't mean to. Though you did deserve it-"

"Three times?"

"Maybe it was a bit excessive..."

"You also bit me..."

"Well-"

Before he could finish, Sherlock turned, retreating to his room without another word. The door slammed closed, ending any further communication for the night. John fell back, collapsing on the ground where he was sat and closing his eyes. He had absolutely no idea what had just happened.

Sherlock sat in his room, cross-legged in the middle of his bed, staring at a wall, his fingers steepled under his chin, in thought. The blood trickled down his forehead, into his eyes, which roamed down to the ripped sleeve he'd pushed above his elbow, now stained red. Teeth marks lay on the center of his arm, a few inches below the wrist.

When he heard the front door slam shut, he stood, walking out of his room to the bathroom. His hair was a mess, the front curls matter down with blood. A small gash sat just above his eyebrow, covered in blood, quite a bit of it dripping onto his shirt collar.

He sighed, peeling off his ruined, blood-stained shirt and dropping it on the floor. As he turned on the shower, his phone vibrated in his pants pocket.

New Message:

John: How's the venom?

He rolled his eyes, dropping the phone on the sink. How many times has he had to explain to John: Hedgehog's do not have venom. And just because one person compared him to a hedgehog DOES NOT MEAN he is one.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the beginnings of a bruise on his shoulder.

The phone went off again:

John: I know, I know. No venom. I'm trying to apologize without you taping my mouth shut. Don't be a prick.

John: Sorry, sorry. No insulting.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and turned back to the shower.