Sherlock ran to John - who was slumped on the floor - and shook him roughly.
"John!" he shouted "John wake up!" There was an unfamiliar tone in his voice. Fear? What am I afraid of?
John moaned in pain and attempted to push his body off the floor unsuccessfully. His arms gave way and his chest fell against the rough carpet. Sherlock reached for John's waist to lift him and felt a surge of electricity when his finger tips brushed John's hot skin. Wow. What was that?
"You're burning up John. You need medication. Let me help you onto the bed then I'll let Mrs. Hudson know you need medical attention."
John grunted and pushed himself up again - this time more successfully. "No Sherlock. I need to.. I mean I... you..."
The intricacies of Human emotion were ridiculous to Sherlock. Why wouldn't John say what he meant instead of expecting Sherlock to understand. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and Sherlock grew increasingly frustrated as well as weary.
"John I know my intellectual levels are higher than yours, but you cannot expect me to understand what you're thinking."
"God Sherlock... you're such a wanker."
Sherlock furrowed his brow in anger at the insult.
"Well if you don't want my help I have cases to look over."
John felt his heart threatening to rip out of his chest. He didn't want Sherlock to leave. He needed help. This wasn't what he wanted from their relationship... or maybe it was. He wanted happiness, but as of late he has been miserable. Sherlock has been out on cases without him since the accident, and John spends his time in his armchair staring at the bullet holes in the wall. Maybe he was just missing his best friend - not pining after him him.
"Sherlock..."
"Listen John, I know things have been difficult for you since you fell down the stairs-"
"I was pushed Sherlock."
"No matter. I'll try to be more sensitive to your emotions."
John Wanted to scream. His emotions were like waves. Ebbing and flowing between anger, and longing. Before his accident he noticed things about Sherlock like he did anyone else. But now... Now every detail was ingrained in his brain. The way Sherlock ruffled his hair while thinking - layers of dark brown ripples curling around his slender fingers. How he always took in the scent of his tea before sipping - allowing the steam to roll along the lines of his face. During his fall John truly saw Sherlock's face. Saw the beauty and strength in his features. Saw...
Stop it John. Sherlock isn't... he Doesn't... Just stop.
Sherlock spun on his heels and left, leaving John panting on the floor.