"Sherlock," John called. "Come on. Please, talk to me?" He sat on his bed, knees tucked up. He almost...no...no...he wasn't going to...he couldn't say that...he couldn't push John away. John knocked on his door.

"Sherlock? I know you're there." He didn't answer, just held himself. John tried the door. Locked.

"Sherlock." He made a noise and buried his face in his knees. John sighed and went to the kitchen, pulling out a butter knife and taking his credit card out of his wallet. He returned to the door, working at the lock. Sherlock rocked gently on the bed. He'd hoped John would see it, but, the look he gave him in the cab...he knew it wasn't possible. After working for about five minutes, the door clicked open. "Jesus..." He spotted Sherlock on the bed.

"Sherlock?" He didn't look up, just rocked. John walked over to the bed, sliding in beside Sherlock and pulling him close. "Hey now. It's okay. You're okay." He stiffened at John's touch, his eyes going wide.

"Do you want to talk about it?" John asked quietly. He made another noise.

"Okay. You don't have to." John fell silent, holding Sherlock against his chest. Thoughts and emotions swirled in Sherlock's head, scaring him. He couldn't...he couldn't control it. He started to shake.

"I've got you. You're okay," John murmured.

"L-Let go..."

"Oh. Um. Okay." John rolled away. The detective's voice was thick with emotion, and he was shaking so hard he thought he was going to shake apart.

"Sherlock," John said gently. "What's wrong?"

"Everything...my head..."

"Let it out. Talk to me." He made another sort of wailing noise.

"Sherlock. Come on. Deduce it. Use your words."

"If I could find them, I would."

"Well, are they feelings? Emotions? Thoughts?"

"Confused."

"Confused. Okay. Confused about what?"

"This."

"This what?" John encouraged.

"Why are you in here?"

"Because I was worried about you."

"Why?"

"Because you seemed upset after the taxi ride." He was silent.

"Sherlock, you can tell me," John said quietly.

"What are we?"

"I don't understand."

"What. Are. We?"

"We're...humans? I'm a doctor and blogger and you're a consulting detective..." John said, confused. He sighed.

"Can you be a bit more specific?"

"We. Us. Together. Plural."

"Oh! Erm. Us. Together. I...don't know," John said honestly.

"Don't know," he repeated.

"I...we're friends. You're my best friend. I feel very close to you." Something broke in him and he shut down.

"Sherlock," John said, slightly panicked. "Sherlock look at me. Talk to me." He remained in place, frozen. John knelt down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He didn't respond, just stared. John's hand moved from his shoulder to rest on his cheek. He brushed a thumb across Sherlock's cheekbone. Nothing. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on Sherlock's. He just stared into space, holding himself.

"Talk to me, Sherlock," John murmured. John had broken him. Really truly smashed him. He was hoping John would have been clever enough to see it. See how he cared for him. But no. Taking a deep breath, hoping to elicit some kind of response, John moved, gently kissing Sherlock. His eyes widened and he shook violently. John pulled away immediately. "I'm sorry. I'm so...so sorry."

"Don't...don't t-t..." Sherlock bolted off the bed and out the door. John slid to the floor, his face in his hands. Sherlock ran out of Baker Street into the rain, not caring where he was headed.

Sherlock, come back.-JW

His phone trilled in his pocket but he couldn't bring himself to look at it.

Sherlock, please.-JW

He stopped when he ran out of breath. He looked up, he'd run straight to St. Barts...where he'd met John. Everything in him screamed to run away, but he went inside, straight to that lab.

Sherlock...I need you.-JW

He fell to his knees inside the room and curled in a ball against the wall. Sensing something was terribly wrong, John texted Mycroft.

I can't find him. I kissed him and...he left. Didn't even take his coat.-JW

You what? -MH

Shut up. We can talk about that later. The point is /I can't fucking find him./ And I'm terrified.-JW

Dear god...-MH

Mycroft Holmes, find him now.-JW

Last time he did this...he ended up blitzed out of his mind. -MH

What do you mean? What the hell is going on?-JW

Last time he disappeared like this, before you showed up, Gregory ended up finding him in a ditch so high on drugs he couldn't walk straight. -MH

Why did he disappear?-JW

He couldn't handle his emotions. -MH

His...what?-JW

His emotions, John. Sherlock is not a robot. -MH

I know he's not. I've just never...did I set him off?-JW

He suppresses things that he doesn't understand. Or scares him. -MH

I have to find him, Mycroft. Where would he go?-JW

I...I don't know. -MH

You're the fucking British government! Use your resources!-JW

It took us three days to find him before. And that was with my resources. -MH

I know you watch him. At least look at the CCTV footage to see which direction he went when he left the flat.-JW

He headed south on Baker Street. -MH

Try the next camera.-JW

I lost him in the crowd, John. -MH

Dammit. South on Baker Street. Umm, I'll start at somewhere familiar. Headed to Bart's. I'll text when I get there.-JW

He quickly called a cab.

All right. Please find him. In this state he'll be harmful to himself. -MH