I don't even know...

Let me in. SH

I'm cold. SH

Are you at home? SH

Why aren't you answering? SH

Are you okay? SH

I ignore all his texts; knowing that he's only asking so I'll let him in. I've been curled up for so long that my legs are stiff and my head is aching; but I've stopped crying.

Okay, I've got work until 5 so maybe we can have dinner? X JW

I well up again but resist the tears. I walk slowly to the bathroom, stretching the stiffness out of my legs and splash cold water on my face. Rubbing my eyes I sigh and drink the cool water from my hands. I walk through to my room and climb into my pyjamas; a vest and sweatpants. Moving back into the kitchen I pour wine into the first container I can find; a mug. My phone rings but I ignore it, opting instead to keep drinking steadily. Seconds after the last ring I hear thudding from downstairs and then shouting. My phone rings again and the shouting becomes more frantic.

"IVY!" Sherlock's scream wakens me and I trudge downstairs to begrudgingly let him in. I get to the door just as he is about to break it down and unlock it for him.

"What!?" I snap at him and immediately turn and head back up the stairs.

"I thought you'd been hurt."

"Well I haven't."

"You're in your pyjamas." He says it as a question rather than a statement but I ignore his intonation.

"You walk around in your pyjamas all the time Sherlock. You went to Buckingham Palace in a sheet."

"But you don't usually. Are you upset?"

"No shit Sherlock. Well done, brilliant deduction there." I realise I'm angry with him because of John but I don't change my attitude. I have to put up with his random moods almost constantly these days.

"Do you want to…" He steps into the kitchen and puts the kettle on as pauses. "Talk about it?"

"Yeah I do Sherlock. Why the fuck did you steal all my food?"

"That's why you're angry?" He sounds astounded at my reason.

"Yeah, that. I had to give John lasagne for breakfast."

"I got bored at Molly's. I wanted to do an experiment."

"And you couldn't buy new food?"

"The shops were shut."

"John could have seen you! What would have happened if he got up in the middle of the night? It would have shocked him to death. That's what!"

"Did you have a fight?"

"What?" I spin to look at him and march right up to him. "Why would you say that?" I'm tempted to push him but resist the urge.

"Well I can't imagine you'd be this annoyed about food." The way he says food gets at me; as if it's a trivial and unnecessary thing which I just have as a fashion statement.

"Just because you don't fucking eat!" I storm into my room and slam the door behind me, hearing the frames on the wall shake. I collapse back onto my bed and fight against the tears welling up in my eyes. I climb under the covers, pull them over my head like a child and roll onto my stomach.

A few minutes pass and I sense the door of my room opening and Sherlock cautiously stepping in. His weight on the edge of the bed means I tilt slightly towards him and I feel the warmth of his hand on the small of my back.

"Do you want to talk about it? I'll just listen if you want."

Thank you for reading. I feel as though these chapters are getting worse and worse in quality. Sorry.