Sherlock and chocolate on a non-case day were not a good combination. Not at all. The added combination of the consulting detective's oral fixation and the sugar rush he derives from the cocoa substance was enough to drive John up the walls, or rather, ran out of the flat and not ever, ever, come back. Because we have a problem Houston- Sherlock loves to bite.
It all started the day John came back from shopping. He had seen his favourite dark almond chocolate on special and decided to buy ten packets. The good doctor truly believed this amazing opportunity wouldn't come again, as the chocolate brand tended to be rather expensive. When he had come home, John immediately noticed Sherlock lounging on the sofa, an unlighted cigarette hanging between his plush lips.
"Oh no you don't!"
John acted in the spur of the moment, dumping the grocery bags onto the coffee table, pulling out when of the dark almond chocolate packets from a bag before ripping it open, breaking off a large piece, snatching the fag from a the surprised detective's lips and effectively shoving a large piece of chocolate in its stead.
"Keep that between your teeth. Hmm? It'd do you better than these" John growled, waving the offending cigarette around before throwing it in the trash. The shocked detective simply stayed still, making no move to take the chocolate out of his mouth, just watched John quietly.
John's temper was seething, and Sherlock's lack of response was not helping matters. He furled and unfurled his fists at his sides, mouth set in a straight line.
"Right… so you're not going to say anything. Okay. That's fine. Just fine." John had started to feel suffocated by his own fury and decided air was a good idea before his anger escalated even further. "Well you just stay there then. And please… eat the bloody chocolate! I'm going out" and after a crazed gesture of hands to the chocolate, John abruptly left the flat, leaving Sherlock frowning in his wake.
After about half an hour of aimless walking, John had begun to feel increasing guilty as more and more of his anger ebb away. Irrational anger, that is. The ex-army soldier let it get too much to him. He knew an apology was in order for Sherlock. Hastily, he made his way back to 221b Baker St.
John had no idea what was waiting in store for him there.