A/N - Thank you to my ever present and unofficial beta,
Thank you to TheDoctorsMistress for the fave.
To orsheeblue, Cyberbutterfly, and ladykerosene for the alerts
To doctorcoffeegirl and orsheeblue for the comments
Thanks all for your patience, I know this chapter has been a long time coming!
Sherlock was laying on the sofa, fully clothed, staring blankly at the ceiling when John got up the next day, "Morning" he called, to no response. Shrugging he turned away, almost certain that Sherlock had been wearing those same clothes the night before.
John wondered about exactly what it was that had happened the night before. It confused and fascinated him; Sherlock was like a blackhole – he absorbed everything and nothing escaped him... in any sense. He noticed everything of others, yet guardedly said nothing of himself.. which made John think that if he knew something, it was only because Sherlock Holmes had wanted him to.
By itself, this seemed to be a solidly logical conclusion, yet... Sherlock's sudden impulsive escape from the room suggested something entirely different. 'Maybe he hadn't meant to say anything...' thought John, "though it's far more likely he was just toying with me." he muttered with a half-laugh; he wouldn't put it past Sherlock to do such a thing.
Sighing, John decided not to say anything, though he briefly wondered Sherlock's admission last night was induced by anything. He had assumed that Sherlock wanted tea, having not been bothered to ask and as a result placed the mug none too softly on the table in front of the sofa which Sherlock wholly occupied; then deciding to settle in a adjacent armchair.
Sherlock was mildly irritated at the thud of ceramic hitting wood, in much the same fashion as a migraine sufferer would be and decided to shoot John a dirty look; earning himself a small "Sorry" for his troubles.
Sherlock went back to staring at the ceiling and John decided to ignore him instead reaching for the morning paper. A silence followed which was only perforated by the consistent crinkling of the news paper as John turned the pages of the London Times. Sherlock did not move.
Eventually John sat back, clasping his hands neatly in front of him and looked towards Sherlock in a way which could only be described as one of disbelieving incomprehension despite disproving resignation. This look usually followed a request to clarify an action or statement made by Sherlock (the intention of which was usually obvious) and proceeded some illogical comment about how "spectacularly ignorant" the genius could be.
Except, this time the intention of his actions hadn't been obvious, not even to Sherlock and that agitated him.
John decided to speak up, however before he could formulate the words, Sherlock stood, making his way to the door as he pulled on his coat and scarf. "Sherlock? Where are you going?" asked John. "Out" Sherlock sharply called, leaving the door wide open behind him.