The craving was back.

John could tell.

He just could.

Maybe he'd become attuned to the slight distinction between the 'normal sulk' and the genuine, more acute melancholy that seemed to haunt the consulting detective's silences now and then.

At any other time he would have noted it but kept his distance, knowing that Sherlock would be against him meddling and likely annoyed at the invasion of his isolation.

But this time was different.

John had his permission.

Verbatim.

An unlocked door.

'Help me.'

Whether it had been a plea or a command, John had yet to decide. But maybe that didn't matter.

What did matter now was that Sherlock was languishing on the sofa in an uncomfortably loud silence, and he was thinking about it.

"Sherlock." John finished making the tea and set one steaming mug on the coffee table by Sherlock, and one by the armchair for himself.

Sherlock only groaned moodily in response, and didn't move.

"Yes, you. Do you, I don't know, want to talk?" He settled into the chair and waited for a response for a minute or so before he gave up and opened his laptop.

He wasn't completely unprepared this time around.

"You… feel like doing it, don't you?"

"Leave me alone."

John sighed. "Look, Sherlock, you asked me to help you. You said that. Maybe you weren't aware, but that does actually mean I'm going to do something. It's not just a thing to say. Alright? And now this is me, helping."

Sherlock groaned again and nestled further into the sofa cushions.

Baby steps…

The clicking of the computer keyboard sounded louder than normal in the quiet living room, and John glanced up over the screen at the detective's back, mentally crossing his fingers.

Okay, there we go…

"Hey, earth to Sherlock Holmes. I've had an idea for you."

"Oh, have you? We're all doomed, then…" Sherlock rolled over onto his back grudgingly and glared up at the ceiling.

John resisted the urge to mutter something about 'jackass…' under his breath, only because of the gravity of the current situation.

Due insults later.

More appropriate after said jackass's urge to hurt himself had passed.

"Yes, I have. It… might be a long shot, but it's the best I could come up with so far, so don't knock it until you try it. Deal?"

"…I'm listening."

That was probably as close to a positive response as he was going to get.

Green light.

"Okay then." John clicked around a bit more, aware that he was stalling. "So… you want to SI right now, yeah?"

"I what?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked over at him.

"Um, SI. That stands for 'self-injury.' It was on the website I was reading, so…"

"Hmph. Don't call it that, it makes it sound too common. And… yes."

"Right. Well. I found a list, of stuff to do instead of that. Distractions, I guess. It's better than sitting around moping and thinking about it too much."

Sherlock shot him an incredulous 'are you kidding me?' sort of look, and John glanced down and clicked around a bit more. "Don't knock it until you've tried it…"

The detective rolled back over, with his back to the room, and tucked his dressing gown up over his legs with finality.

Well…

Was that it…?

Silence fell back over them, and John was almost reluctant to break the spell it cast by touching any of the noisy keys, so he just sat there.

He watched as Sherlock's left hand slipped up underneath his sleeve, probably scratching at the old scars.

He had just begun to wonder if he really had made a mistake, when Sherlock muttered half-heartedly, "…What's number one?"

"What? Oh… er… Let me see—it's… 'Exercise.'"

That earned him a scoff and an eye-roll. "As if I don't do enough of that already. This isn't getting off to a very promising start."

"Well, how about this one… 'Being with other people.'"

"Next."

"Fine. 'Read a good book?'"

"There aren't any."

"'Stretch.'"

"Is that actually on there?" Sherlock half sat up and gave him a dubious look.

"Yeah, you're right… that one's pretty stupid…" John scrolled down some more, skimming through the list in an attempt to find any entries that didn't sound quite as… silly.

He purposely skipped over item 143, 'call up an old friend.'

That one obviously didn't apply.

"One of these suggestions says to..." John scrolled a bit. "'Count everything.' What does that even mean?"

Sherlock sighed in exasperation and rolled over on the couch. "75, 952."

"Sorry, what? Where did you get that number? Does that even relate to anything at all?"

Apparently that one was going unanswered.

"Okay, fine. 'Write yourself an "I love you because" letter.'"

Sherlock frowned up at the ceiling. "If that's what I assume it is, then no."

"How come?"

"Obviously it's ridiculous, absurd, and infantile. I can't."

Was there possibly more to that 'I can't' than just unwillingness because of how silly it seemed…?

"'Count to one hundred?'"

"Done."

John shook his head ruefully. "How about this… Do we have any rubber bands?"

Sherlock merely shrugged, raising an eyebrow.

"Hold on a second." He shifted the laptop to the side and got up, going to the kitchen to dig through the drawers until he found a few good sized bands.

He held them out to Sherlock, who regarded them suspiciously.

"Just take them already."

"What am I supposed to—"

"Put them on your wrist, and whenever you want to… you know… just snap it against your arm. It's supposed to… I don't know. Do something."

Sherlock looked up at him quietly.

"What?" John shifted his weight to his other foot uncomfortably.

"…Nothing. Just… It's interesting."

"What is?"

"How hard you're trying to help."

"Well, you are my best friend. That's what we do. Friends."