Sorry it took me so long to get this up; it took me forever to decide what to write and how to write it. I hope you like it anyways: D
Disclaimer: you know, I am slowly getting used to the fact that they will never be mine... wait... nope. It breaks my heart every time I say it.
Sherlock hadn't slept that night. He had decided to stay up and wait till john gets back home. To explain.
But John didn't come home.
Sherlock had gotten used to the arguments, the shouting. But John always came back. John never got so angry that he just decided not to come back. 221b is his home. Surely Sherlock hadn't upset John that much or maybe this was the final straw, maybe Sherlock pushed it too far this time.
Sherlock climbed out of bed, not really wanting to leave but knowing that people need him and that if John decided to actually come home then he wouldn't be too happy about finding Sherlock lay in bed feeling sorry for himself.
When he entered the kitchen he felt a sudden rush of anger towards himself. 'WHY CAN'T I JUST KEEP MY FUCKING MOUTH SHUT?' Sherlock bellowed and he through his mug across the room leaving the broken pieces scattered on the floor.
'AHHHHHHG.'
Sherlock sunk into his chair his hand resting on the table next to him where the gun lay.
Sherlock heard his phone ring and instinctively picked it up and looked at the screen desperately hoping it was john.
'Caller unknown'
Sherlock answered the phone and said 'what do you want.'
'Now Sherlock, that is no way to speak to your brother is it?' Sherlock sighed 'I asked you a question Mycroft'
'I simply wanted to ask what is wrong. I saw you were sulking, it's a shame really, that was a nice mug.'
'oh don't act like you care if I'm angry. I know you only want to pry on my personal life but if you don't mind I don't think it is any of your concern. Goodbye Mycroft.'
Instead of hanging up on Mycroft Sherlock decided it was a good idea to hurl his phone at the wall in a moment of madness.
He then got up to see what the damage was. The screen was cracked beyond repair and had crashed completely.
'Fuck.' Sherlock knew this meant no phone for at least a week. How was he going to contact anyone? John. Lestrade. Molly. Fuck.
Sherlock grabbed the gun off the table and began shooting the phone repeatedly out of anger. 'You're supposed to be a genius but you can't even control your anger. Wow Sherlock, new low.'