'No' Sherlock deadpanned.

'Yes' John replied, irritation creeping into his usually calm tone.

Of course, arguments between the two were not unusual and more often than not they would end like this, with Sherlock being childish and John indulging him against his own will – but today the subject was a little different.

'No!', Sherlock was barely masking the hysteria beginning to invade his brilliant, if rather petulant brain. 'I absolutely refuse to go. There is absolutely no need and therefore I. Am. Not. Going'

Ever the voice of reason, John wanted to keep the peace, but Sherlock was not making it easy. At all.'Nothing new there then' he thought with a sigh. His irate flat-mate was pacing the living room floor looking like thunder personified. He had been sulking for exactly two days, three hours and eighteen minutes and to put it simply, it was hell – John was used to an over-abundance of silence and sarcastic comments, but Sherlock had taken it to a whole new level, or so to speak. Silently, John cursed the oppressive white envelope sitting un-opened on the coffee table. 'Sherlock, don't you think-' Said grim-faced man turned towards him with eyes full of anger and an undertone of something much more terrifying. Not that John could place it, exactly.

'No, John. I know that you know that we both know what it says…and I'm not going,' He picked up the envelope and turned to cast it out of the window in what was perhaps the only slightly human show of his emotions all day. John snatched it back. They needed it, and he didn't care if Sherlock hated it. How could something so horrendously petty have started this? He sat down heavily on the worn sofa and watched as the only consulting detective in the world shredded the blanket draped across the armchair.

~Flashback~

'Sherlock, you are a grown man and you can go by yourself you know'

'Yes, John. I know I can'

'So why can I see three nicotine patches on your arm?'

'It's a three-patch situation! You think I'm scared, but I can assure you I'm not'

Sherlock didn't need to do any deducing whatsoever to see right through John, even at the best of times.

With that, Sherlock turned and followed the rather alarmed nurse down the garishly painted hallway. John was going to wait in the waiting room while Sherlock went for his routine dentist's appointment. He couldn't shake the feeling that the dentist would almost certainly end up traumatised, but he resolved to see it through. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unknown to John, Sherlock's eyes had been locked on him since he picked up the envelope, and continued to watch him as he eased it open and read the paper inside. John groaned as he reached the end of the formal, typed letter. He had a fair idea of what was coming, but that did little to stop a wave of dread crashing over him.

'Sherlock…' John hesitated.

'Hmm?' Sherlock put the book he wasn't reading down and turned toward John with distaste etched into every feature on his face. 'This book is utterly pointless. Surely it would be obvious to even you and your simple brain that the idiot's fiancé is sleeping with his brother-'

'Stop changing the subject. The dentist was right; it's all written here. You and your damned wisdom teeth are visiting the dentists. No ifs or buts, and… Oh my God Sherlock!' John suddenly jumped up and threw Sherlock's coat at him. 'It's in about half an hour! I told you we should have opened that bloody envelope when we got it!'

Sherlock calmly watched John panic and with all the grace he could muster, stood up and followed slowly. He knew about his wisdom teeth, but he hated his personal space being invaded (including his mouth) and had decided to put up with it – he could put up with it, but he couldn't bear to watch John worry about him although he would never admit it. What had surprised him however, was the speed at which his appointment had arrived. Sherlock suspected that Mycroft had something to do with it – the name 'Mycroft Holmes' could open any and every door and no matter where he was, Mycroft always knew when something was wrong. Damn him.

Sherlock was quickly snapped out of his still-observant daze as John opened the cab door in front of him and pushed him inside. He pulled the door shut. For a 'genius' as some would put it, Sherlock was terrible at hiding his emotions. He could feel nervousness practically radiating from him. Part of him wanted to laugh at him, and part of him wanted to comfort him…and all too soon the cab stopped and they were outside, staring at the ominous building in front of them.

'Well' John started. 'Lets…' Without stopping Sherlock marched through the door and John had no choice but to follow him inside. The waiting room was unchanged, except for the receptionist's smile that quickly dropped when she realised who it was. 'She remembers him then' John thought with a grimace. He signed Sherlock in and joined him on the uncomfortable sofa, much to Sherlock's apparent annoyance. Underneath, all he really wanted to do was cling to John and refuse to move, but that wouldn't do. No, he would have to see it through and get the damn teeth removed even if he was having serious thoughts of running away and hiding under his bed like a child.

Sherlock finally snapped when the same nurse arrived to escort him down the hallway. As soon as she appeared, he grabbed John's hand. 'John… come with me?' John was completely taken aback. Suddenly, he knew what that unknown emotion in Sherlock's eyes was – he was scared. He knew that it wasn't a good idea, and that Sherlock needed to go on his own, but really. How much harm could it do? With a silent smile meaning everything it could, John placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gently guided him out of the room.

The dentist's room was, in Sherlock's opinion, a room full of torture devices. Ignoring the slightly nervous looking dentist, he turned to John and let his nerves out the only way he could. 'The Dentist is an idiot. He still thinks that he's going to win the custody battle for his children, but it's obvious that his cousin is on his wife's side'! John closed his eyes and prayed for a miracle as the dentist finally made himself known.

'Ah…excuse me, but what gives you the right to say that? And how can you know that anyway?' Sherlock's brows knitted together as he thought.

'It's obvious! John, back me up here. Look at the way he keeps glancing at those' (he gestured towards pictures of young children sitting on the desk) 'and the way he looks at the woman next to them. Not his wife; you can see by his awkward stance – Their features are similar but she's obviously not his sister, that's her over there. So a cousin perhaps, and-'

'Stop it, Sherlock' John knew what he was doing, but he also knew that they needed to stay on the dentist's good side; delaying the procedure and upsetting the poor man was not going to help. Sherlock made a slight noise of indignation, but was interrupted by the dentist again.

'Sir, I need to ask your relation to Mr. Holmes…'

'I'm his…friend. Well, we share a flat but…' He trailed off, blushing.

Unfazed, the dentist replied 'Okay then, I'm going to have to ask that you step outside. We only usually let family members in. It won't take long, and you can come pick him up as soon as we're done here'

At this, John paled and looked over at Sherlock. He had his eyes closed, but John could still sense how tense he was. It was the little things, the way he had his hands balled up and the slight set of his jaw. He gave his friend's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but as he turned to leave Sherlock bolted upright and he spoke softly. 'John…' John refused to let himself look back at him and spoke from the doorway

'You'll be just fine. I'll see you in a bit' With that, he left.

In that moment, John had never hated himself as much or felt as guilty. He had left Sherlock when he needed him; in the only moment he had ever seen raw fear in his eyes. The look on his face when he had turned to leave… No. He was doing the right thing. Wasn't he? He sat with his hands folded over each other and watched as they shook while the clock on the wall ticked away in his ear. Twice he imagined a loud thump coming from down the hall, and twice he almost ran to help - only to force himself to stay seated while the minutes passed agonisingly slowly. People came and went in a blur while the only constant in the room was the ever-smiling receptionist…and the minutes slowed still further. Eventually it occurred to John that it was taking far too long, and he was already on his feet when the nurse told him that he could come and pick up Sherlock. He walked as quickly as he could without looking slightly mad and stopped in the doorway. 'If I had a camera' he thought. There, sprawled in the dentist's chair, was Sherlock. He was spread-eagled, looking up at the ceiling with hazy eyes and an open mouth. John was instantly relaxed, making sure that he was fine. He let go of a breath that he didn't realise he was holding and pulled Sherlock up into what could vaguely be described as a standing position. The dentist talked at him, telling him when Sherlock should take the pain meds he had prescribed but John wasn't listening. He was only concerned with reassuring himself that he wasn't harmed, and subsequently getting him home as soon as possible.

Sherlock was vaguely aware of a strange sensation of movement, somewhat unusual for the state he found himself in. As he dragged his eyes open, he realised that he was in a car, and more importantly, he was horizontal. Then he felt something underneath his head, and somehow made his eyes focus enough to make out John's face above him. Even stranger…

John was staring out of the window of the cab when he felt Sherlock stirring in his lap. He looked down and realised that he was absent-mindedly winding a strand of Sherlock's dark hair around his finger and pulled his hand away as if it was on fire. 'Please, please say he didn't notice that', John winced as Sherlock's eyes opened. They stared at each other for a good minute until Sherlock groaned and touched the side of his mouth. He winced, much to John's undecided amusement and dismay. He gently swatted Sherlock's finger away and explained that 'yes, it was gauze and no, you can't get rid of it yet' with as much patience as he could muster through his urge to giggle. Really, it was not very often that he caught Sherlock in a state like this, if at all. It reminded him of the time he had been awake before the early-rising detective and had discovered that he was not in fact a 'morning person' despite the hour he usually chose to rise. Sherlock had taken at least half an hour to wake up properly, during which he was even more bad tempered than usual. John suppressed another chuckle at the memory and watched as the early bird closed his eyes again.

As soon as he had touched his mouth, Sherlock knew he had made a huge mistake. Pain flared around his whole jaw and he deduced that he was finally rid of his wisdom teeth – whatever the consequences of this may be, he was glad. Through hazy eyes, he could tell that John had drifted off into some sort of daydream judging by the distant expression in the man's eyes and his ever-so-slight chuckle every now and again. Even so, he never moved his hand away from its idle position next to Sherlock's head. Although he knew it would pass, it greatly annoyed Sherlock that his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool as he just couldn't think as sharply anymore and every time he so much as moved his head, pain would shoot through his body. For the time being, he was contented to stay still and let his head clear itself at its own pace.