I have no explanation for any of this...

"John." Sherlock said almost terrifyingly calm. "Two hundred lamps, John… I broke them all."

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" John was deeply worried as he crossed the room to stand in front of Sherlock. His boots crunched on the broken glass. "Sherlock!" He snapped his fingers trying to get him to snap out of the trance-like state he was in.

Sherlock looked up at John unblinking. "So many lamps," He shuddered. "Why did have so many lamps, John?"

"Well," John rubbed the back of his neck and looked a bit confused. "it was a sort of experiment I was doing? I know that's usually you're thing, doing experiments, but I wanted to know what your problem is with lamps."

"So you decided to torture me?" Sherlock's eyes were like fire as he glared at John.

John was shocked. "Torture you? You're the one who said that they're just lamps."

"Lamps, John! Lamps!" He jumped out of his chair and strode past John to stand in the center of the destruction area. "I hate them, I fear them, they can't be here!"

"Sherlock, just calm down. Let's talk about this." If Sherlock wasn't so terrifyingly serious, John might have laughed. Sherlock was shaking and looking at the mess with wide eyes. "Maybe I should call Mycroft." John reached for his mobile where he'd left it on the table and brushed the bits of broken lamp off of it.

"No! You can't," Sherlock yelled and snatched the phone out of John's hands. He was surprisingly quick.

"Why not?" John said sternly, beginning to tire of the whole charade.

"He thinks I've gotten over it."

"Over what, exactly."

"My lamp phobia."

"You're- You… You have a lamp phobia?"

"Yes, and don't you dare mock me."

"Oh, I won't I'm just- really? Lamp-phobia. That's- that is just… wow, Sherlock."

"Shut up."

"Really though Sherlock, what is it about lamps?"

"It's a trauma. I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine, alright. Just let me look at your hands." Sherlock looked wearily at John. "You're bleeding and you could have glass in those cuts, let me see."

Sherlock had gone back to shaking and staring at the mess. He seemed to focus on the bigger pieces that still looked a bit like a lamp. John grabbed his arm and pulled him over to sit on the sofa.

"It's alright, no more lamps." He patted Sherlock's clenched and shaking hand. "We'll just have to get ceiling lights or something." He took Sherlock's hand and opened it gently. The cuts didn't look too deep, but they ought to be bandaged. The bleeding appeared to have stopped, but with the way he kept clenching his fists, it wouldn't stay that way long.

John went and found the supplies he needed to clean and bandage Sherlock's hands. He took care not hurt him any more than the lamps had. Sherlock sat there quietly and didn't even move. He just let John take care of him.

When John was finished, Sherlock leaned his head over on his shoulder. "So many lamps, John," He said quietly.

"I know, Sherlock. It's over now."