John was sitting on his bed, rubbing at the ache in his bad leg and wishing he understood anything about what had just happened between him and his roommate when the bathroom door opened and Sherlock stepped out, fully dressed and toweling his hair.

"Sherlock are you ok?" John was up and off his bed and standing in front of his roommate. The towel dropped from his head slowly until it was sitting in front of Sherlock's chest. His face was almost blank, but John could see something there - disdain? Hatred? Something else? John stepped back slightly. "Sherlock?"

"I'm fine, John." His voice came out colder than John had ever heard it. "As I said, a headache. A quick stop at the clinic for paracetamol and a nice hot shower and I'm feeling right as rain." He stepped forward, giving John a pointed look until John finally backed up, hands up.

"OK. Good." John watched Sherlock as he wrapped the towel over his shoulders, standing in front of the windows and looking out at the grounds they had been walking along an hour ago. "So... I mean... " Sherlock turned back at looked at him, one eyebrow quirking.

"If there's something you wish to say, John, simply say it and be done."

John frowned. This is was not the Sherlock he'd met a week ago, the Sherlock that had just been telling him he always got tired of people but hadn't gotten tired of John. "What's wrong?"

"I told you." Sherlock pushed past him, tossing the towel into the hamper they had for linens. "Headache. Next question."

"I didn't ask how you felt, I asked what's wrong? There's a difference, Sherlock."

"And what would you have me say?" Sherlock's back was towards him, hands in his pants pockets, but John could still see the contempt plastered over that perfect face.

"How about the truth? One minute we're talking and joking, and now you're treating me like some idiot who isn't worth your time." Sherlock was silent, and John took a deep breath. "So, what, you're tired of me now? Just like that? Blink, and things are different? Finally reached your limit, have you?"

"If I said yes, what then?"

John's mouth gaped open in what he believed must have been a perfect imitation of his heart right then. "I wouldn't believe you." His voice was small, and soft, and quavered more than he wanted it to.

"That would be your problem."

"Then say it to my face, Sherlock."

Sherlock turned, frowning. "What?"

"If you're over this, if you've grown tired of me, just say it right here, right now. Look me in the eyes and tell me." Sherlock's head and shoulders jerked back, almost like he's been slapped, but John stood his ground. "You can't, can you?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He stepped closer to John, closer, closer, until they were almost touching. He stared into John's eyes, and John hoped he saw that spark, that realization in Sherlock's eyes that said he knew what he was doing and what he would say and it wouldn't be that Sherlock had grown tired of John.

But then Sherlock opened his mouth. "Withdrawal has made me unaware of just how I've grown weary of your useless chatter and inane thoughts, but I'm seeing it clearer now. Your utter banality is taxing, and I wish you to leave me alone."

John stumbled back from the raw anger and disgust burning in Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock kept eye contact until John finally looked away, grabbing his mobile from where it had sat on his bed and storming out of the room. He walked until he found himself outside again, near one of the gardens. He played with the phone for a few moments, catching his breath, and swearing to himself that he was not about to burst into tears. After several more long, calming breaths, he dialed Harry.

"John?"

"You know what? Every good thing I said about my roommate yesterday - I take it all back."

"John, what are-"

"He's an arrogant sod and he can't be bothered to even try being human, it seems."

"Wait, what-"

"And I can't believe I thought he was a decent bloke. God, I really am an idiot, aren't I, Harry?"

"This isn't-"

"And the worst part, Harry, the worst part of this whole thing is that I really thought he might be. I thought maybe, after hearing him talk about his life a little, I thought maybe I was his friend. Thought maybe he just needed a friend." Harry was quiet for a moment, and John closed his eyes.

"So what happened, then?" Her voice was softer than John could remember it ever being, and he felt it when the sob ripped itself from his tight control.

"Can I just... can I just leave it at what I said, for now?" John pressed the fingers and thumb of his free hand against his eyes, because he was not crying, dammit. "Please, Harry, I just... I just feel so stupid and I needed a shoulder..."

"Of course, John. And, hey, maybe it's just a mood. Maybe... he'll come 'round later. Withdrawal isn't easy to manage. He may just need some time."

John sniffled. "The world should be so lucky."

They were both quiet for a moment more. "I'd come right now if I could. You know that."

John smiled. "I know, Harry. Right now... this, the phone call... it's enough. Thank you."

"Anytime. I love you, John."

"Love you too, Harry. See you Sunday?"

"Schedule's just come out, and I'm free. I'll be there." John could hear the smile in her voice, and he smiled in return.

"Bye."

He hung up without waiting for her to say anything else. Then he sat down on the small stone bench he'd been standing in front of, put his face in his hands, and continued not crying.