A/N: I decided to write a little something about John and Sherlock being trapped in lockdown. It didn't quite go how I expected, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. I've also taken some liberties with canon (shocking, I know) as this is set pre-John and Mary's marriage but there's no Tom. Anyways, I hope you like it :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Absurd
John had never thought that Sherlock would be the one to crack first.
Considering how much the consulting detective hated socialising and regularly protested against anything that involved leaving their flat, he had thought that the current lockdown conditions would suit him.
He'd been wrong.
The first two weeks had passed without a hitch, albeit with a noticeable rise in the number of experiments undertaken in the kitchen. The third week had presented some minor issues as Sherlock spent more and more of his time curled up on the couch with his back to the room.
By the fourth week, Sherlock barely left the couch and by the fifth week he didn't leave it at all.
John eyed the lump on the couch with concern, as Sherlock's friend and as a doctor he was starting to seriously worry about his state of mind. Fortunately, there were no drugs or cigarettes in the flat – he'd checked.
Twice.
"Is this about not having any cases or is something else going on?" he asked finally.
John rolled his eyes as Sherlock ignored him.
"Maybe Mycroft will have something for you to do?" John suggested, "Or you could ask Lestrade for some cold cases?"
More silence.
John resisted the urge to use the cushion from a nearby chair to beat him over the head, "You haven't played your violin for a long time. Maybe you could compose something new?" he said instead.
Sherlock continued to ignore him and, this time, John actually picked the cushion up; anything to get a reaction out of the other man.
"If you're preparing to resort to violence in order to get a reaction, perhaps you should call Molly," Sherlock commented, still not turning around.
John blinked, "Molly?"
Sherlock froze.
"Mary," he said firmly after a moment, "I said, you should call Mary."
John put the cushion back on the chair, "No you didn't. You said Molly."
"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock huffed, tugging the blanket he was wrapped in tighter about his shoulders.
"I'm not the one sulking on the couch," John retorted.
"I am not sulking," Sherlock insisted, shooting a dark look at him over his shoulder, "I'm thinking."
"Thinking?" John repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, thinking, you should try it," Sherlock muttered.
"Are you thinking about anything in particular?" John asked, "It must be something very important if it's kept you on the couch for a fortnight," he continued when Sherlock made no reply. "Perhaps I can help," he offered, taking a seat.
Sherlock snorted.
"You're allowed to miss her, Sherlock," John said quietly after a long moment.
Sherlock shot a particularly venomous look over his shoulder, "I do not miss anyone," he hissed, rolling over so that he was facing John, "sentiment is a weakness that I do not possess."
"I see," John conceded with a hint of sarcasm, ignoring Sherlock's glare, "so this has nothing to do with not seeing – or hearing from – Molly in over a month?"
"Molly has texted me at least once a week since this whole thing began," Sherlock informed him smugly.
"Oh."
"So I do not miss her or her terrible jokes and worse coffee or her smile or her irritatingly comforting presence," Sherlock snapped.
John raised his eyebrows as he sat back in his chair with his arms folded.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "It would be absurd."
"Of course," John agreed, unable to hide all of his amusement.
Sherlock huffed in annoyance as he turned on the couch so that he had his back to John once more, "Completely absurd," he muttered under his breath as he shifted in a comfortable position. John watched Sherlock for a long moment before deciding not to push him too far and leaving the room.
"But not entirely inaccurate," Sherlock conceded to himself once he was sure John was out of earshot, before he closed his eyes.
The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile as he slipped into his Mind Palace, heading straight to the wing (that he never conceded was any bigger than a filing cabinet) where he kept his memories of Molly.