Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock
Updated 7/3/14
A Thousand Miles by Boyce Avenue
John sighed and ran a hand through his sandy hair, streaked with silver. A girl at the clinic had thrown up on him multiple times and then her mother hadn't listened to John's diagnosis. The women had been red faced and shrill, demanding that her daughter get treated by a real doctor. Of course, John was a real doctor, but the woman was inconsolable.
John staggered through the doorway into 221B dramatically, dropping everything beside the door and leaving it wide open.
"People are idiots," John grumbled, collapsing on the couch next to Sherlock and not caring if the other man was listening or not. "We could run away, live in the woods, you know. It could work."
A wry smile tugged at Sherlock's lips. "Let's get packing then."
John laughed, his chest heaving. He wasn't sure why he found that comment so funny, but it had been a long day - cut him a break. "Why can't you always be this funny?"
Sherlock looked up from his laptop. He'd already forgotten John was there. "Hm?"
John snorted. "I said, why can't you always be this funny?"
He rolled his eyes as Sherlock cocked his head, seeming to actually be giving the question some thought. Finally, he waved a hand in a dismissive manner. "It comes and goes."
John shook his head in sheer disbelief. "That's all you've got? All of that hard thinking and that's all you can come up with it?"
Sherlock was the one to sigh this time. "Honestly? I never really try – it's not worth the effort to open my mouth just so some idiots can pretend to understand my killer wit."
John pshed. "Really?"
"Yes, really."
"Well, I understand your," he raises his hands to make air quotes, "killer wit."
Sherlock grinned. "And that's why I try with you."