John was peacefully sitting by his desk, working late on some files for the today's work. Without a knock or warning, the door opened and Sherlock walked in and sat down right in front of John like if he was a patient. Neither of them said a word.
John was looking at Sherlock with an asking look and Sherlock's eyes were blank with... yeah, nothing. The colour of his eyes seemed dull and too yellow in the poor light of John's office and his skin was oddly blue-ish.
John's eyes lowered to Sherlock's dry lips and then up again to meet a heart-shattering look from his best mate.
He swallowed hard, and still said nothing. He slowly picked up the pen by his hand as he tried to smile instead of saying hello, not trusting his voice to not break. A bad feeling hit him in his lower stomach and he suddenly felt sick as it spread up his spine.
He turned to the paper yet again and tried to focus on the small letter front of him, but the sound of Sherlock's heavy breathing was suddenly very distracting.
Sherlock had moved closer to him and was almost hanging over his desk now. Somehow it still looked normal to John when he was doing it. With anyone else, it would have looked stupid and overly dramatic, something you would expect to see on a dull Sunday afternoon on a lousy looking channel with way too many breaks through the show and the last bit of sunlight shining right into your eye but you're feeling too lazy to move and get the controller
John was looking up at him almost every 5 second before Sherlock finally decided to say something.
"John."
His voice was dark, low and sounded like a wreck. It was rough around the edges and made John's hair on the back of his neck stand up straight. Sherlock sounded very tired.
"Are you on a case, Sherlock?" he said, voice high, finally pulled himself together to totally let go of his work and meet his eyes.
Sherlock was quiet for a moment, like if he was actually thinking about it. He nodded and put his arms on his desk.
"Yes, and I need your help. Busy?"
He looked down at his work-to-do.
"Actually-" he started but was of course cut off by the hopeful eyes of Sherlock as he stood up, letting his coat swirled around him.
"Excellent, John, we'll leave at once."
John was now standing up himself, walking past his desk to meet Sherlock like he would if he was about to let a kid down.
"Sherlock, if you would have let me finished, I would have said that I have too much work to do and Mary's waiting for me at home already. I'm sorry, mate." John awkwardly tried to put a soothing hand on Sherlock's shoulder but regretted halfway through.
And as he had almost predicted, Sherlock looked even more sad and tired. He said nothing for a while, just reading John's face with a frowning face.
John saw something twitch in his face just before he stormed out of the door. Sherlock's mouth moved into a grimace of some sort as he flinched. He looked like he had just deleted something from his mind. Before John could blink, the breath from Sherlock himself was replaced by a wind from his coat being pulled through the air and out the door.
