1. The Loudest Kind of Silence

John leaned over Sherlock, placing his mug of tea on the coffee table in front of his. The cologne-masked smell of cigarettes hit his nostrils in an all too familiar way. He was smoking again. This was bad. He'd even stopped playing his precious violin over the past week. He just sat, staring into space, or whatever Sherlock's wondrous mind saw.

As John drew back, away from him, he thought he caught Sherlock's eye flicker in his direction but he was probably mistaken. Wishful thinking.

John retired to his room, lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. He was worried about the consulting detective, his partner. Work partner. Sherlock's ice-grey eyes flashed like daggers into John's troubled mind. Those cold, unblinking, mesmerising windows to the soul. Opaque windows, thought John.
With the remainder of his strength, left of over from sleepless nights and manic days with his companion, John heaved himself off the bed and grabbed his jacket in the attempt to do something normal and get some things from the shop.
Clasping the silver handle of his bedroom door, he swung it open, only to find himself face to face with Sherlock. And he was smiling.
"I've solved it John!" He said, his voice showed evidence of not being used for days. It had adapted a husky croak. It sung to John's ears. Sherlock's grin was fading. Why? John thought, oh, a response! He'd solved it!

"What? How? Who di…" John was babbling like a teenage fan. He felt his face begin to turn red.
Sherlock interrupted, "It's all sorted! I've called Mrs Van-Heller and explained it all! It was the window cleaner John! The window cleaner!"
As everything fell into place in John's brain, two feelings washed over him. The first was relief, the case was over! Sherlock would be okay; start eating and sleeping again. The second was less familiar… John found himself thinking how incredible it was to see Sherlock smile.
Sherlock calmed.
"Thank you John. I couldn't have done this without you." Sherlock moved forward swiftly and to John's surprise, slid his arms around him, his fingers grazing John's spine as they embraced. John felt hot breath on his ear and something inside him ached.
Their hug lasted a fraction too long, just enough to make it slightly awkward, before Sherlock pulled away, taking John's breath with him. The two men stood, staring at each other, acknowledging what had just happened.
John stirred first, "I was just, um, I need to go to the shop," he moved towards the door of their flat, desperate to leave the tension inside. Sherlock looked deflated.

"Oh, okay. Bye then," Sherlock muttered.
As John closed the door behind him he could feel Sherlock's icy eyes, burning deep into his back.