A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this updated. I was away for the weekend without computer access and when I got back I watched the last episode of Sherlock and was far too sad to write this. But I'm good now, so here ya go! Hope you like it! :)

'Damn that obnoxious git'kept going through John's mind as he walked. He couldn't have just gotten the food, could he? Oh no, he had to just sit there on his stupid computer while the freshly-kidnapped-and-saved doctor went out.

He was thinking about how he was going to punch Sherlock a new one when he felt himself being pulled by his coat. The food fell from his hands as he was thrown against a dumpster with a loud noise. "Bloody hell…" John groaned and looked up to see a young punk, maybe 17 or 18, standing over him, fists clenched and ready for a fight.

"Gimme your money, old man."

No way, I'm getting mugged? John thought, angrily shocked.

"I don't have any," John said, standing up.

"You're lying, you just bought food. No way you had the exact amount for it on you," the teen countered.

"It's called plastic, you daft punk. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm not very much in the mood for this sort of encounter," John spat defiantly as he walked past. No way was he going to deal with such crap now. Sherlock was so getting punched tonight.

The kid grabbed John again and pressed him roughly against the stone wall, holding him in place with one arm while his hands roamed.

"Get your bloody hands off my arse!" John hissed.

"I'm just looking for a wallet, now shut up. You really think I'd want an old man like you?" He pulled a wallet from the doctor's coat pocket and flipped it open with one hand, smirking. "You little liar. Although this ID certainly isn't you, you're far uglier. You pickpocket someone?" He took a couple steps back, letting John loose from the grip.

Growling, John turned around and swung at the punk, landing a good fist right at his head with a smirk. "Don't fuck with me, kid."

The boy growled recovering quicker than John expected. "I didn't want this to become bloody, but I see your pride has left me no choice."

"John, would you—" Oh, right. He went out.

Sherlock looked at the clock on the computer screen. John had left a half hour ago, so he should be back any moment, he thought as he stood up. He was getting hungry and tired of waiting, so he decided to meet John at the bottom. Putting on his coat and scarf, he bounded down the steps and left the apartment, but became confused when John was nowhere in sight.

He sighed and walked in the direction of Angelo's, figuring he'd meet John partway instead.

His mind went in circles as he wondered why John had seemed so angry earlier. What had he said? It was stupid to think Sherlock would get the food? Well, it was, that was John's job; Sherlock solved the cases and his flatmate took care of everything else.

John had had a bomb strapped to him once and he didn't flip out on Sherlock like he was doing now. It puzzled him, but not in the good puzzle sort of way. It was in that annoying way that people do, with their emotions always bouncing everywhere.

If John was a girl, Sherlock would have blamed his menstrual cycle, but he figured it was safe to assume this was not the case.

When he was a good few blocks away from the store, Sherlock spotted John and froze as he saw him get dragged into an alleyway, the food falling from his hands.

The detective sprinted forward, hoping he would make it before his friend got badly injured. He wasn't so confident, though, since he was almost two blocks away, but he tried anyway.

He got there just in time to see John recoil from a punch and pounced on the person who had dealt it, wrapping his long arms around the half-built frame and throwing him against the opposite wall. The kid—about 18, Sherlock noticed—didn't take well to this turn of events and rebounded, wrapping his hands tightly around Sherlock's neck.

With the distraction, John was able to sneak behind and grab him in a headlock, pulling him off the brunette, whose hand instinctively flung to his neck as he took deep breaths.

Once the teen was passed out, John let him drop to the ground and looked at Sherlock, who smiled.

"Oh, you are so dead!" John growled.

Sherlock's smiled formed into a confused frown. "What?"

"That never would have happened to me if you'd just not been selfish for once and gone out and gotten the damned food yourself!" He turned on his heel and picked up the bag, checking its contents to make sure the food was still intact. "You might want to check to see if the cash is still in your wallet. It should be on the floor there."

Sherlock grabbed his wallet, not bothering to look in it before following John. "Why are you so angry with me?"

"Because you anger me, that's why."

"John…"

"Let's just go home." He sighed and picked up his pace, wanting nothing more than to just put his feet up and watch some crap telly.