Trying to Tell You
At first, John just thinks that he simply has too much on his mind. Being flatmates with a mad-genius-man-child who insists on running about the back alleys and rooftops of London at all hours of the night tends to have that affect. Not to mention working at the clinic, dealing with Harry, and attempting to have a social life. So yeah, when he starts to lose track of things, he doesn't think too much of it. He has a busy life and a messy flat. It happens.
As time goes on, however, he begins to notice a pattern. For one thing, it's always something he needs when he plans to go out. It starts out small: a missing hairbrush on a bad hair day, a miss placed phone number from a pretty girl, his most flattering sweater nowhere to be found. Frustrating, but none of it raises any red flags. He chalks it up to being scatter-brained, or tired, or both, and moves on.
Then it begins to escalate. He's planning on going to the pub to meet up with some mates? All his shoes are gone. His clothes, freshly ironed a moment ago, are mysteriously wrinkled again. Going out on a date? His wallet disappears. The door to the bathroom locks somehow, and he has to go down and use Mrs. Hudson's bathroom to wash up. He unfailingly shows up to a restaurant with his date to be told he's got the reservation time wrong. No matter how many times he takes to calling beforehand to double check. And always, always, Sherlock is innocently busy with an experiment and a well-crafted blasé statement about the idiocy of normal people. Suspicious to say the least. But John is a patient man, and besides, he really could just be being paranoid.
All the same, there is something in Sherlock's eyes, when John asks him about whatever the catastrophe of the moment is, that unsettles him. Something fleeting and undefined. John knows he's intentionally shying away from examining further, but he can't help it. He is consumed with the feeling that whatever this is about, it can't lead to anything good. So he lets even these more ostentatious warning bells slide without comment.
When he goes to leave for a date one Friday night, though, only to find all the furniture from the living room piled in front of the door, he's officially had enough. To hell with the consequences, this needs to end. Now.
"SHERLOCK!"
A/N I've said it before, but poor John. It can't be easy haha although he IS being a little intentionally dense in this one, so poor Sherlock too! This is just a little idea that struck me today and wouldn't leave me alone, but I hope you like it! I *think* there's going to be one more chapter.
If anyone's curious about that new major story I've been working on… not going so well haha but it HAS inspired several excellent shorter fic's in an attempt to procrastinate, so that's a plus :D