A/N: This be my first Sherlock Holmes fic, and i chose BBCverse. Go figure. i would call this one possibly pre-slash, or maybe they just have an unconventional relationship. Because no matter how you ship them, ACD's Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are soul mates—always have been and always will be. That's the important part, folks. Also: i tried to keep the POV in third person objective, but every now and then a Johnthought sneaks in there.

uA note on style/u: Yeah. My style is weird. But i promise, if you slow down and read carefully, it makes sense. It is NOT my intention to mess with people; that's just the way i write, and i will not change. Sorry if it's confusing to anybody…

The seven words that Dr. John Watson never wants to hear:

We're dropping the investigation until further notice.

Oh God. Here we go. John bit his lip and glanced at his friend. Over the weeks, the detective had grown even paler and thinner than usual, and at present his temper was akin to that of a nap-deprived two-year-old. He'd slept an average of fourteen hours in the past seven days, causing delicate dark grey semicircles to form under his eyes. In spite of his exhaustion Sherlock seemed to have mustered enough energy to turn his acid tongue on Lestrade, and John braced himself for it.

We are most certainly not dropping this investigation, Sherlock growled, fixing his fathomless glare on the inspector. This is the second case in a row; i won't stand for any more incompetence. Not even from you.

Sherlock, it's been nearly a month and a half. Lestrade collapsed into his chair and rested his elbows on the desk in front of him. We have no leads, no witnesses, we haven't found any new evidence in the past three weeks.

That doesn't matter. Sherlock was nearly shouting now, and a pale pink tinge had risen into his cheeks. John shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

But it does matter, Lestrade insisted. It matters a great deal. Other cases have come up and we need your help with those. Crime in London doesn't just halt while you're working on one that catches your fancy.

If you could just get me another interview with the victim's sister—

Impossible, Lestrade interrupted. i told you i've already tried, and you won't learn anything from her you don't already know.

So you're abandoning this case as well because you've come to a few dead ends, Sherlock snarled, bearing his perfectly white teeth. How very typical. Good show, Inspector. Bravo. He clapped his gloved hands together, stopping only when John elbowed him hard in the ribs. Lestrade shook his head.

Look, i'm dropping it because we have limited resources and time and we've made no headway, surely you must see that.

No, Sherlock said stubbornly. All i see is your division's incompetence.

Fucking Nora, i'm doing the best i bloody well can! Lestrade was the one on his feet and yelling now. God, you act like such a child sometimes. Lestrade opened a drawer and took out a CD case, which he tossed across the desk at the detective. Why don't you take this home and listen the last track—

Greg—

—it's called "You Can't Always Get What You Want".

Greg, John repeated. Please. Lestrade dropped his eyes and fell silent, looking more than a little ashamed of himself. John turned to Sherlock and touched his arm.

i think it's time to go home. Sherlock shrugged John's hand away.

i will not abandon this case.

i'm not telling you to abandon it, John said, choosing his words carefully. i'm telling you that you need to take a break. We all need one. It's nearly midnight. Sherlock clenched his fists.

i can't.

Lestrade is perfectly capable of contacting you if anything comes up, John said firmly. Now let's go. Without another word, Sherlock turned on his heel and stormed of the office in a whirlwind of dark silk and Burberry.

Sorry, John said to the inspector. He's been a bloody Tasmanian devil lately. i've had a hell of a time dealing with him.

i know John, Lestrade said. i know. i shouldn't have shouted at him. He doesn't look well at all.

It isn't your fault. John sighed heavily and perched on the edge of Lestrade's desk. Four months ago, Sherlock was in one of his moods and i couldn't pry his miserable arse off the sofa for anything. The last case kept him going for a while, until—

Until we let it go. Lestrade finished John's sentence. One of the most complex bloody investigations i've ever seen.

Yeah. John picked a loose thread from his jumper. Sherlock really lost it then, didn't come out of his room for over a week. By the time the McDaniel case came up he was practically comatose. He wasn't eating and he'd lost so much weight...i was certain that this case would be the one. This case would level him out, keep his mind occupied. John drew a shaking hand through his hair. But now it's all gone to hell and i just. i'm at the end of my fucking tether. We both are.

Then go, Lestrade told him. Go be with him. You may not see it, but he's calmer when you're around. You're good for him. John smiled briefly and nodded. He headed for the open door but before he reached it, Lestrade stepped forward and caught him by the elbow.

Listen, Lestrade said, lowering his voice a little. Last time i saw Sherlock like this, he…well, just keep a close eye on him, okay. John blinked.

What do you mean?

Just trust me. Lestrade moved his hand up to John's shoulder and squeezed it briefly. You'll see. John didn't know how to reply to that, so instead he tried for an encouraging smile and left the inspector's office. Luckily enough, when John reached the street Sherlock Holmes was still standing there, waiting in all his soundless leather-gloved glory, cab at the curb. John got into the cab and it pulled out into traffic, into the constant blinking lights.