"I didn't wake you did I?" John asked as he set the table, not bothering to look at him.

"No, I was already awake," Sherlock lied as he put the tea on the table and took a seat across from where John would sit. He didn't mind that John's noisy breakfast preparations woke him, he enjoyed the sound of domesticity

Nodding, John turned his attention back to the food, careful not to let anything burn as Sherlock comfortably watched him cook.

John sat down after placing the food on the table, scrambled eggs, toast and fruit. He looked across at Sherlock who was making a conscious effort not to make eye contact. John opened his mouth as if to speak but quickly shut it again when he realized what he was about to do.

He came very close to apologizing to the man across the table. But what was there to say?

"Sorry I didn't come home last night," or, "it was too late to make the trip back?" Why should he feel the need to explain himself? He was a grown man who could come and go as he pleased.

Then why did he feel so guilty?

"Lestrade called for you, earlier while you were asleep," John said in between bites.

Sill not meeting his eyes, Sherlock nodded "I'll call him back."

Was that all? This was not how things were supposed to be going. Sherlock had assumed normalcy would return between them upon arrival back at 221B, but both men had erected shields around their hearts in the time they spent apart. John was trying hard not to let the consulting detective back in and it was not in Sherlock's nature to express his emotions so easily, no matter how strong.

John's patience was wearing thin, he wanted to Sherlock and force him to look him in the eye for once. Was that asking for too much? Perhaps it was.

Sherlock, on the other hand, could see the potential for rebuilding their relationship falling away right in front of him and he didn't know how to stop it. Why was he so unable to say the right thing for the sake of keeping John?

"So where did you and…Matthew was it, eat last night?"

Sherlock winced internally, out of all the conversation topics to be picked he chose the one that made him sound like a jealous ex? Self- destruction at its finest.

John was caught off guard at the direction the conversation had taken, but he answered Sherlock's inquiry in a seemingly unbothered tone, "Just to that Italian place nearby."

Sherlock did not answer for his heart was too filled with anger. It was the restaurant he had taken John on their first case together, sentiment.

He clenched his jaw as he grinded out his next words, "Did Angelo treat you well?"

"Mhmm," John hummed his agreement. The food was finished at this point and both had moved on to the tea.

"Well, that's good I suppose," the unhappiness in Sherlock's voice was obvious.

John gave him a hard look, allowing the silence between them stretch on until he asked, "Do you not like the fact that we ate there?"

"What?" He didn't. He hated the idea of John bringing that ridiculous man to their place. But it was not something Sherlock could admit so easily.

"If you don't like it just tell me and we won't go back there."

"You can go back just not -" Sherlock stopped himself, he was getting dangerously close to revealing his jealousy.

John stared in disbelief, was Sherlock really this childish? Shaking his head, John abruptly pushed his chair back and began leaving the table. It was a reaction that Sherlock had not been expecting and that John himself did not understand. Perhaps it was Sherlock's apparent indifference that got to him, but John wanted him to care when he did not make it home after dates.

Sherlock followed close behind and grabbed his arm, spinning him around so they could speak face each other, finally. He could not allow yet another conversation to end in anger, it had to stop.

The sudden close contact did things to their hearts they missed, the nervous flutter and rapid pace both had always tried desperately to ignore.

So Sherlock kissed him. It was quick and awkward and uncoordinated and Sherlock loved the way it felt. It was a wonderful mistake that Sherlock immediately regretted, when he saw the look on John's face, of shock and confusion.

With that, Sherlock took a quick step back, "I-I'm sorry John, I don't-."

"What the fuck was that?" However John did not sound angry, in fact they were spoken with a strange softness to them, he licked his lips, a movement Sherlock followed with his eyes. Did that just happen?

"I don't know what came over me."

Sherlock had his hands clasped, almost as if he were pleading. John stared, he had made a promise to himself never to give in to the daily temptation that was Sherlock Holmes. But Sherlock had just gone and broken that promise, so no one could blame him for what happened next.

"Why'd you stop?"

And with a step forward, John closed the space and once again found himself pressed against his flatmate.

They stayed like that for a while, neither could say for how long they spent entwined sharing kisses in the kitchen.

The world was suffocating in the years he spent away from John, now Sherlock could breathe easily again.