Hello! Thank you so much for picking this to read! This is my first Sherlock fic! I've had an idea for a Sherlock chapter fic for a while, and if this does well I'll probably write it.

I don't own anything you see here. I hope you enjoy it!

Sherlock Holmes sat with his legs drawn up to his chest in his chair by the cold fireplace facing the window, pale blue dressing gown fanned out around him. His solution to his problem was quite simple, though maybe not ideal. But failing was not an option.

The morning was calm. Cool air rolled in through the open window, making his dark curls flutter just slightly.

John Watson came into the room, dressed and ready for work. All he lacked was his morning tea.

"Morning, Sherlock."

John knew Sherlock heard him, he just wasn't going to waste words on pleasantry when he could devote his entire brain energy to whatever puzzle he had bouncing around in that mind of his. His ice eyes were fixed onto something only he could see.

Sherlock waited patiently as he listened to John make his tea. John walked back in, blowing on his tea to cool it down and carrying the newspaper. With perfectly calculated sprezzatura, Sherlock leapt from his chair, as if on an impulse, and collided with his flatmate. It was perfectly timed to look and feel like a clumsy accident, but Sherlock Holmes was anything but clumsy. His foot connected with John's ankle, and as John fell he effectively twisted it.

John dropped hard, shouting in pain from his ankle and the scalding tea washing over his chest and neck. "Sherlock!"

"I'm terribly sorry, John," said Sherlock as he leaned over him and calmly helped John up and limp over to his armchair. "Are you alright?" Sherlock knew his ankle was sprained.

"No! You sprained my ankle!"

"Are you sure?"

"I am a doctor, Sherlock, I know when my ankle's sprained!"

"Can you stand?"

John tried, but collapsed back into his chair with a sigh of annoyance and pain.

Sherlock took John's empty teacup from his hand and returned it to the kitchen, hiding a self-satisfied smirk. He came back with a towel and made a rather pathetic attempt at wiping up the spilled tea before tossing it at John.

John appreciated the effort though. "You realize I have to leave for work in ten minutes?"

"I guess you have ten minutes to call them and say you can't come. You'll actually be less in my way here than you would be bumbling around at the clinic."

John did call. He hated feeling like he was abandoning them, but Sherlock was right. His ankle was already swelling and he couldn't put any weight on it without feeling a stab of pain up his leg. They said they'd do what they could to find some other doctor to fill in. John felt horrible about it and wished he was drinking his tea instead of wearing it.

John pouted all morning, all afternoon, into the evening. He snapped whenever Sherlock said anything, which wasn't often. He wondered how the replacement was doing. If there had been any patients he couldn't handle.

Sherlock paced erratically, wondering if he'd overreacted. It was the homeless network he'd gotten his information from and how trustworthy could they be really?

A short while later John got a call from the clinic.

"What? There was a what? Is anyone hurt? Any of the patients? They know who did it? Okay, thanks for calling," he ended the phonecall in a quiet, slightly dazed voice.

John looked at Sherlock, mouth slightly agape. "Someone tried to rob the clinic."

John didn't think Sherlock looked surprised, but he rarely did, did he?

"Prescription drug abuser?"

"Yes."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Yes, actually," John said quietly. "My replacement. Shot in the shoulder. He's in the hospital." John chuckled, unbalanced and quiet. "Good thing you sprained my ankle earlier, eh?"

Sherlock gave a slight, knowing smile, steepled his long fingers under his chin.

John sniffed. "Are you making tea?"

If you liked it let me know in a review! If you didn't, well stick around anyway, I tend to get better at these things as I go. ;)