Somehow I got an idea for this in my history class. I know it may suck, but oh well. And I may not update this or my other fanfic for weeks...I'm sorry...my teachers think we're addicted to homework. Thank you if you read this! Even if you hate it, at least some one read it!

I don't own anything Sherlock.


John huffed his way up the stairs, five grocery bags filled to their rims. A few days ago, Sherlock had thrown everything out of the refrigerator to make room for varying body parts from the morgue. John had visited his sister that week, and wasn't there to stop the souring milk and molding yogurt. So today had been a restocking day, in hopes these items of food would live to see their demise at supper.

With one final step, John nearly fell into the flat. "Sherlock?" He called, "A little help with the groceries, possibly?" A moment went past, and silence answered John's question instead of his flatmate. With the motivating goal of getting all the bags into the kitchen, he sighed heavily and carried the load a bit further. John heaved each bag onto the countertop, cursing Sherlock twice for each bag. When he finally limped out into the living room, lo and behold-

"John, you're back." Sherlock Holmes, sitting askew in his armchair, immersed in a staring contest with his dear friend, a skull, resting atop his knee.

"Did you not hear me call for you?" John accused.

"No, I was too busy containing an enraged outburst upon your noisy entrance."

John huffed and cracked his back, still out of breath, "What?"

Sherlock tore his eyes away from the skull to glare fiercely at the doctor, "There hasn't been a case in 2 months. Everything is setting me off. Everything makes me want to set London ablaze. I'm going mad, John!"

John snorted, "As if you weren't already." He sat down as Sherlock growled and hurled a nearby coaster at the wall. Sherlock stood abruptly, rigid and tense. John relaxed into the couch, taking deep breaths to slow his heart rate. A moment passed.

"Why are you breathing so loud?!" Sherlock demanded suddenly.

John, having dozed off slightly, jumped, "Wha?"

"Stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"Breathing. Loud!"

"I'm just breathing, Sher-"

"Why?! Just stop!"

The two men stared for a moment, John confused and Sherlock annoyed beyond belief. When the silence had settled in, Sherlock sat in his arm chair, his eyes still wild as his mind raced. An uncomfortable silence dragged on, as do most silences after a loud exchange, John couldn't take anymore, and he let out a expelled a stale breath he'd actually been holding. Sherlock through up his hands in disbelief, "Oh for Heaven's sake, John!"

And with that Sherlock stormed out of the flat. He slammed the door hard enough for the floor to tremble from the sound. And a grocery bag fell from the counter in the kitchen. John mumbled another curse.