A/N: Hi all! Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed or favourited my little fic. I will admit I'm quite flattered but I can't help but feel an annoying buzz of nerves as I prepare to upload this next chapter. After this I'm going to set a strict update-every-Friday rule (AEST) to get a "system" happening. Any comments and observations are taken on board so send as much constructive criticism my way as you want.

Shout out to Dark3Star, allixx and N3onG1rSherlockndZaDrfangirl for being my first reviewers :)

John didn't sleep well that night. His nightmares about Afghanistan didn't return but it was a different type of dream that plagued him. He dreamt of being in a hospital, surrounded by the dead and dying. But he couldn't do anything. Every patient he touched cried out in pain. No matter what he did he couldn't help them. He woke up sweating and shaking. John looked at the clock and saw it was 3:30 in the morning. He could hear Sherlock below him assaulting his violin. John had never had a dream like this before. He never felt like he was so useless. Perhaps his feelings of discontentment were more ingrained than he first thought.

The shaking doctor pulled himself out of bed and re-read the papers sent to him the day before. He had looked at them fleetingly but didn't give them much thought in detail. John read through the typical recruitment propaganda sent with every packet - he remembered the package he got when he first signed up like it was yesterday. A rush of adrenaline pumped through his veins. John glimpsed at his old uniform hanging up in his closet. He had always wanted to hold on to it even though it pained him to see the bullet hole. He dug through the pockets and grabbed his old dog tags. The dirt from Afghanistan was still on them. John sighed as he ran his fingers over them, again feeling melancholic. He did miss the action and feeling of pride he had back when he was a soldier. But he was unsure if he could do it again. Besides, a battered old veteran like himself wouldn't be accepted again. He looked back to the papers on his bed. Perhaps he could join the Reserves. It's not like he'd get shipped off to Syria the second he joined. He shoved the papers back in the draw and tried to sleep, hoping he wouldn't be haunted with the screams of the people he couldn't save. Not anymore.

Sherlock was deep in thought while he played his violin. He was desperate to know who the man was and why he was bothering John. He didn't like the feeling he was having. Was John hiding something from him? Was he unhappy? Was he sick of the life they had? Would he be thinking of leaving? Sherlock desperately tried to keep his fears at bay. He didn't even know why he was feeling like this. John would never leave him. He'd be lost without his blogger.

John woke up bleary eyed and sore. His sleep was still restless. He had no nightmares but he still felt like he hadn't slept a wink. Just before he could get out of bed his bedroom door bust open.

"John! Get up. We have a case" Sherlock said, the smile on his face almost contagious.

"Jesus, Sherlock, do you have no concept of all of knocking?" grumbled John. It was too early for this. He needed a cup of tea.

"Sherlock let me make some tea, alright? Then we'll go. Whenever there is a murder you act like a bloody kid in a candy store" John said.

Sherlock looked irritated. Why wasn't John hurrying up? There was a crime scene and he was missing it.

"Come later. I'll head off now" Sherlock yelled over his shoulder. He was out the door and gone within seconds.

John stared out the window in disbelief. He never went to a scene without him. Not recently, anyway. God he was acting strange.

"Mrs Hudson! Can you please put the kettle on?" John called out to his landlady.

"I'm not your housekeeper, dear, I'm your landlady. But I'll get us both a cuppa before you go" she answered with a sweet smile. Mrs Hudson was always so kind. He had no idea how she put up with Sherlock for so long. But then again sometimes he didn't even know how, or why, he did it.

John quickly dressed himself and joined his landlady on the sofa. He thanked her for the tea as he sat down.

"Dear, I'm worried about you and Sherlock. You seem to be having a bit of a tiff at the moment. What ever is the matter?" she asked sweetly.

John was puzzled by her question. "Tiff? Me and Sherlock? No, of course not. Things are fine. Everything is fine."

Mrs Hudson put her hand on John's arm and gave it a small squeeze. "I'm getting old, dear, not oblivious. I heard you boys last night and things seemed quite tense. I know when me and my husband argued he used to leave of hours as well. It's what kept us together, really. Until he…well, until he was no longer around."

"Oh God, not this again" John thought to himself. "Sherlock and I…don't always see things the same way. And he has no problem in voicing his opinions, no matter how untactful. He was edgy because there was no case. But he's back working now and everything is just the way it should be."

John smiled at the woman the best he could. He never had Sherlock's acting skills but he didn't want his landlady to start reading into things. It was bad enough that the two of them were under constant scrutiny from everyone at the Yard and public in general, especially since Sherlock came back, so the last thing he wanted was Mrs Hudson giving her two pence worth.

She smiled at John in return and slowly sipped her tea. "John, I know you two boys care about each other. I would hate for anything to come between you. Sherlock's a changed man, you know. For the better. Ever since you moved in all those years ago. You're both so good for each other, in your own way. Like two halves that make a perfect whole."

"Oh you boys, what on Earth and I going to do with you? How could such smart young things be so ignorant?" she thought to herself.

John awkwardly cleared his throat. He did not like the direction this conversation was going. "Your concern is appreciated, Mrs Hudson, but I assure you everything is fine between me and Sherlock. Thanks for the tea. I have to pop out before going to the crime scene."

The doctor quickly pulled on his jacket and ran down the stairs. His head was spinning. "Where did that come from?" he asked himself. Why was everyone always assuming he and Sherlock were a couple? Was two men living and working together unacceptable in the 21st century?

John was still angry with Sherlock. Normally he'd never hold a grudge against him but he felt like he was at the end of his tether. Living with Sherlock was exhausting. It was like a constant battle with him. The man was like a child that needed constant stimulation and the way he treated his body was shocking. John shouldn't have to remind a grown man to eat and sleep every damn day. And all the experiments in the flat! John shouldn't be nervous about opening his own fridge. Or finding a decomposing rat in the oven. Or walking into a room and having to cover his mouth due to the smell of burning flesh. It just wasn't normal. Sherlock was like no person he had ever met. He was rude, uncouth, manipulative, had no regard for personal space, lacked any capacity to have any empathy at all and constantly took advantage of him. Was wanting an escape too much to ask? Even if it was only for a little while?

As the doctor pondered the many questions in his head he stopped next to a postbox and pulled out a concealed envelope from under his jacket. He felt like he was at a fork in the road and was about to make a potentially life-altering decision. John felt his phone vibrate and frowned. That damn man was becoming too much. He forced the envelope through the slot and hailed a taxi.

But deep down, even if he wasn't aware of it yet, John's subconscious was screaming with regret.

Sherlock's cab got to the crime scene relatively quickly given the morning traffic but it still wasn't fast enough. Apparently cabbies are more than happy to ignore the speed limit when extra money was involved. Sherlock opened the door and threw some notes at the driver before the cab had stopped. There was no time to waste. He saw Lestrade and Donovan waiting for him. He irritatingly noticed Anderson was on forensics.

"Trouble in paradise, Freak? Where's your puppy gone?" Donovan sneered. Anderson chuckled to himself behind her.

"Finally got a bit of cop on and left, did he? Everyone in the Yard had a betting pool going. We didn't think John would stick around for as long as he did" Anderson said mockingly.

"Wife still out of town, Anderson? Nice to see Sally here keeping your bed warm at night" Sherlock snapped. He was in no humour for this. Sherlock began to realise he missed John's presence. Perhaps he shouldn't of left so quickly.

"Would you three stop bickering? Donovan go back to the office and start the paperwork. Anderson stop acting like a child and get back to work. Sherlock…where on Earth is John?" Lestrade asked. Even he was confused as to where John was. John and Sherlock were always joined at the hip - seeing one without the other was as likely as seeing a giraffe in Soho. Sherlock walked towards the body without answering. He was irritated that he was feeling slightly lost without the good doctor. He pulled out his phone and quickly messaged him.

John, where are you? - SH

Will you be patient? I'll be there was soon as I can. Can't I have five bloody minutes to myself? I had some business to take care of. - JW

Sherlock sighed in frustration and walked towards the body then thoroughly investigated what he saw. Anderson and his idiots had trod all over the ground nearby and potentially ruined good evidence. Sherlock wished Anderson would take a long walk off a short pier and take Donovan with him.

"So do you have any ideas?" Lestrade asked.

"Mmm…twelve so far." Sherlock muttered in response. He needed John to help him right now and his patience was wearing thin. Just his train of thought ended he heard a taxi pull up. John quickly got out and walked towards the river.

"Ah, John! It's good to see you. Sherlock's just started" Lestrade said cheerfully. But he couldn't help but notice the solemn look on John's face. He clearly didn't get much sleep last night. Something was bothering him and if he was a betting man he'd guess it had something to do with Sherlock. It always had something to do with Sherlock.

"Hey Greg, sorry for being late. I was held up" John replied, faking a smile the best he could. He walked past Donovan and Anderson, trying to ignore their whispers.

"You know you two look like a couple of teenage girls, standing around and gossiping like that" John snapped as he walked towards Sherlock.

"Oi! I thought I told you two to get back to work! Now stop standing around and make yourselves useful! Don't make me ask again or you'll be on desk duty for a month!" Lestrade barked. Even he was getting sick of their carrying on. He's known Sherlock for five years and they have been at each other's throats since day dot. Donovan and Anderson sulked as they returned to their duties. No-one at the Yard wanted to be stuck doing desk work.

John walked over to Sherlock. "I'm sorry for being late, Sherlock. How's the deducing doing?" he laughed. He wasn't sure if it was worked but he was desperate to see Sherlock a little less…tense.

"I've narrowed down my theories from twelve to five. What do you think cause of death is?" Sherlock asked John, intentionally making eye contact. He unknowingly crept closer to his blogger, like he wanted to be as close to him as possible. John looked over the woman thoroughly. He smelt no alcohol on her and noticed the marks on her wrists and ankles. His head (and heart) wasn't in it at the moment so he decided to hazard a guess.

"I'd say drowning. By the looks of her I'd say she was kept underwater for a while. Maybe something like a brick was tied to her ankles and wrists to keep her down" John said. Sherlock noticed his odd behaviour. He could tell he was guessing instantly.

"Right. Send the body to Bart's and the papers to 221B. John and I will go now" Sherlock said suddenly. Everyone looked surprised. Normally they'd have to pull Sherlock away from a crime scene. They didn't need to have Sherlock's IQ to tell something was wrong between the pair. Sherlock strutted off towards the street and John trailed behind them. The detective hailed a taxi and shoved himself in.

Sherlock had enough of the guessing and strain. He could feel the tension between them and he didn't like it. Was this something new or had he just not noticed it before? And why the hell was he so confused about it all? It hadn't been like this since Sherlock came back. Surely John was over it by now? Were Anderson and Donovan right? Panic was starting to set in and hundreds of scenarios were going through his head. Sherlock almost stopped breathing when he finally realised what he was feeling: it was fear. Fear that he was going to lose John. But the consulting detective had no idea why.