Chapter 2: A diversion

John didn't know why he said such a thing and wished really, really, hard to go back in time to erase it the minute his lips closed around the last syllable. But, of course, things were not so easy. The only thing which can be done was to wait and see. So very carefully John lifted up his head and looked at Sherlock waiting an answer.

On the other side, Sherlock was somewhere between stunned and worried. But he knew something was out of place the moment John walked the room. Truth be told it's been some weeks now that Sherlock noticed the rings beneath John's eyes. John was exhausted and both of his limp and nightmare were back. The detective heard him shift in his bed at night. He was of no help in this situation. How could he? He had no heart after all. Or maybe that it wasn't true, maybe he had one but hidden in the darkest place in the deepness of his chest. But he wasn't the one to talk about. John had slide to his side during his time out. Why could he possibly need his help for? John never asked anything, he was a soldier he went on by himself. Was it about his last girlfriend (a senseless nurse)? She left him some days before saying she couldn't compete with Sherlock. Was he injured? No Sherlock would have seen it immediately. Maybe the nightmares were much more… depressing than he first thought, could it be that? Was John sinking in depression again? He didn't think so but he couldn't prove either theory, so he did what he always did to know, he played along the game.

"What do you need me for John? "

The consulting detective was staring at John for, possibly, 5 minutes now, waiting for him to speak his thoughts. Unfortunately, John was far from being able to speak. His head was spinning trough thousands solutions to get away from a trap opened by himself. How was he going to draw Sherlock's attention on something else? How was he going to mislead him from his weakness? How to convince the annoyingly great mind that his cry of help wasn't a SOS?

John's breathing was becoming more and more shallow, quickly leading him to hyperventilation. His heart was beating faster in his chest almost hurting him. He didn't know what to do… he needed to get out; to get himself out. His hands were sweating and he still didn't know what to do.

Or maybe he knew. His panic attack was really close to anger. And anger was so easy to play. Playing angry was what would save him from his foolishness.

He was weak and a coward. But no one needed to know about it. No one and certainly not Sherlock. He drew a deep breath and began his rant.

"I need you to help me, Sherlock! I need you to buy the damn milk, Sherlock! I need you to clean your mess and to stop shooting our walls out of annoyance! I need you to keep your experiences out from any cooking device. And YES it includes the fridge! I can't carry on doing this all by myself! No need to be you to understand why Mycroft keep constant watch on us! He's right! You can't take care of yourself. I need that to change, I am your roommate not your mother. I need you to pay attention and observe my needs and act to relief me from you, Sherlock… I'm going out."

I know it took me a long time to write my second chapter but i was kidnapped by some weird alien with a bow tie and a time machine. I lost track of time. ( More officially i'm a slow writer )

Anyway, I see that some people are reading and following my story which is super-foxy-mega-awesome-hot ! I'm quite happy that there's people finding my story interesting enough to keep on reading it.

I hope i don't do much faults, since english is not my mother language i won't take offense on some correction.

Hope some more reviews to know if it really pleases you.