With every hour that passed, Sherlock's pacing grew more frequent, more frenzied. It wasn't like John to stay away this long, particularly without telling Sherlock where he was going. His mind was jumping around from one idea to the next; John couldn't be at Harry's, her drinking was in full swing again. He could be at Sarah's, but that was also unlikely since John always told him so, or at the very least that he was going 'out.' Telling Sherlock nothing implied that he was cross with him, which could only be about the events of the day before, but whichever way he looked at it, Sherlock couldn't figure out why he would be so upset as to stay away for a whole day without a word. It can't be Moriarty; he likes the chase, the game. He would have drawn attention to himself by now, called me out to play. So it must be about the- kiss. But why would he be so angry?

Footsteps on the stairs caused him to jump to his feet, the cigarette he held flying into the sink. If that's John, I'll have to get to that before sees it.

John only had to take a few steps into the apartment before smelling the smoke on the air. "Have you been smoking? Oh, never mind, I've got bigger problems with you at the moment."

Only two of Sherlock's long strides put him directly in front of John, and the detective breathed a small sigh of relief. He'd only been at Sarah's.

John looked around the flat, which was a bigger mess even than the first time he'd seen it. "I'm gone for one night," he muttered, "And it all goes to hell. Couldn't you at least have cleaned this up a bit?"

Sherlock glanced around as if only noticing the mess for the first time. "Ah yes, of course." He immediately started bustling around, picking up the place as fast as he could; looking for any way to appease his clearly annoyed flat mate.

"Take it a little slower will you, you'll break something."

Setting the books in his hands gently on the table, Sherlock halted completely. Walking back until he was again directly in front of John. "Did what happen yesterday upset you in some way?"

The genuine worry written all over his forehead took John by surprise. It never occurred to him Sherlock might not actually know that what he did had been wrong. Every furious word that had ran through his mind the previous night just emptied from his mind, as if he didn't have the strength for it anymore. He couldn't keep punishing Sherlock for something he didn't understand. But as John looked up to meet his eyes, he couldn't help a bit of anger returning to him. Anger at the confusion Sherlock had caused for him. "Yes, you know. It did." He snapped.

Sherlock instinctively leaned back. "It was all for a game, John, it was just a child's game."

"And that's what frightens me. People are just pieces in a puzzle for you, your entertainment. You'll do anything, anything, to not be bored. No matter what the cost to others." having finally said this, he glared at the detective, waiting for his response.

"So that's what you think of me."

"That's what everyone thinks of you."

Sherlock's face lost all traces of discernible emotion, as if someone had just wiped him blank. Wordlessly he turned, made his way to the couch, and collapsed onto it, face towards the pillow.

Try as hard as it might, John's anger simply couldn't overpower his guilt, and with an exasperated sigh he walked over to lay a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock, I didn't mean-"

"You clearly did."

"Alright then, I did. But I don't think that makes you a bad person, Sherlock."

"Doesn't it?" Sherlock sat up; palms on his forehead, and John took the seat beside him. "John… did you mean it? Are there really people who care about me?"

John stared at him, realizing that up until the kiss, Sherlock truly hadn't been acting. "Yes, yes, of course I meant it. Did…. You, mean it?"

"Mean, what? I meant everything."

John's heart began to race again. "Everything?" Noticing John's sudden tension, Sherlock eyed him, puzzled, clearly waiting for an explanation. "Even… Even that last bit?"

Sherlock paused, one of the longest pauses John could ever remember experiencing. "That, John, only means what you want it to."

John's eyes widened. Without stopping to think, he grabbed ahold of Sherlock's coat collar, and pulled him into a kiss. His hands slipped into Sherlock's endearing mess of dark hair, and Sherlock let a soft sound of thrill escape him, never wanting the kiss to end.

"I should have tried this game a long time ago," he whispered, with a voice like honey and rich chocolate. John smiled, and leaned in to kiss him again.