Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, nor any of the characters from that TV series or books mentioned.
John's face split into a smile. "Sherlock, I haven't seen you in forever. How've you been?" He crossed the room to sit next to the dark haired man. Sherlock, on the other hand, was at a loss for words. John shifted awkwardly as the silence drew on. "Sherlock?"
"You've grown a beard."
"I have, yes. Thought it might make people stop staring at me in the street." John chuckled, "How have you been, though? Last I saw, you were lying on a hospital bed."
"Where you left me, if my memory serves." Sherlock retorted, his tone hard. John withdrew a little, hurt. He'd thought Sherlock would be as excited to see him as he was to see Sherlock. Evidently he was wrong.
"We aren't doing this here." John stated quietly.
Sherlock threw his hands in the air, nearly knocking his noodles off the side table next to him. "Why not here? If we don't do it now, are you going to just pretend it didn't happen like you do with all of your issues? My flatmate overdosed? Guess I better move away!" Sherlock's voice rose and he stood up, attracting glances from across the lounge. "And now you wonder why I'm not pleased to see you! You, John Watson, are afraid of everything. You are just a scared little boy!"
John sat in silence as Sherlock shouted. Each word took a physical toll on him, his shoulders dropping, and his face growing somber. "Are you d-"
"No, John, I am not done! You were too frightened to even face your own past!" Sherlock knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was crossing a line with this, but he was too caught up in his anger to care. "You didn't face what happened to you until you nearly passed out at a crime scene! At some point, Captain, you will have to accept that you were tortured for nearly half a year and you did not come out of that untouched!" Sherlock spat his rank at him like a verbal javelin.
Captain John Watson rose to his feet as if fired from a gun and tackled Sherlock to the ground, pinning him down and gripping his arms behind him. "You have no idea what you are talking about. This is one topic where you don't get to be the expert. I am dealing with what happened the way that I deal with things, so don't you dare. It happened to me; you are not the one who suffered that injury so you need to go now." John said it smoothly and didn't shout, but there was a rich fury behind his words.
Sherlock trembled from his position on the ground, real fear spreading through his veins. John let him go and stood up, letting Sherlock do the same. As soon as Sherlock was on his feet again, he looked at John and said, "You are wro-"
He never got the chance to finish his sentence because the gentle doctor punched him in the face and stole his noodles. John stormed out of the room, grabbing Sherlock's noodles on the way just because he was angry. The man simply didn't understand and he didn't want to either. John was in no mood to fight with someone as stubborn and ridiculous as Sherlock Holmes.
One of the doctors there went over to Sherlock to make sure he was okay. "My name is Dr. Doment. You've just been punched in the face by a staff member with around 14 witnesses. However, we will not be willing to testify in a court of law because you deserved it. That being said, do you need any medical attention? I think you're in the right place for that." His weak attempt at a joke made Sherlock even angrier and he shoved the doctor off of him.
"Your wife is cheating on you." Sherlock didn't really know if that was true, he hadn't cared to deduce, but it made the doctors leave him alone to let him lay on the floor, his nose dripping blood onto the beige floor below him. He regretted his actions, but didn't know how to make it up to John. Maybe Molly would.
She worked in a different section and Sherlock wasn't sure his guest card would let him into the morgue. He called her instead. "Molly, it's Sherlock." She tried to reply, but he talked over her. "Meet me in the doctor's lounge. It's urgent." He hung up without waiting for a response. Whether or not she came was of no importance to him, he could always go to her apartment. But, as it turned out, she did come, wearing an exasperated expression when she entered the room.
He was now sitting in one of the chairs, holding a napkin to his still bleeding nose. The lounge was clear of people, the fight having scared most of them away and the fact that a lot of people's lunch breaks were over was also a large contributing factor. Molly rushed over, worried. Sherlock waved her off with a hand, "I'm fine," though the words came out slightly nasal.
"Sherlock, what on earth happened?" Molly asked him, taking a seat beside him. "Did somebody beat you up?"
"Well, I think that last part was fairly obvious. John hit me." Sherlock said, not without a bit of peevishness. He sighed, and continued, "I was being rude, I suppose."
"I bet you were." Molly replied, matter-of-factly. Sherlock looked bewildered and surprised. "Well, if John hit you, you really must have messed up. I've never even seen him angry at you, let alone make your nose bleed. What'd you do?"
"I simply informed him that the way he coped with things was not reasonable and that he should find another mechanism to help deal. I may have also brought up traumatic events from his past to prove my point which was, in retrospect, a bad decision." Sherlock groaned. "It was just something I said because I was irate."
Molly nodded. "John is your best friend; you need to apologize to him." Sherlock got to his feet as if to go find John, but Molly pulled him back down. "Not right now, you brilliant fool. Later, when he's had time to cool off. Otherwise you're just going to get punched in the face again. So call him in a couple days and invite him round to Speedy's to talk." Molly rose from her chair. "Now, I'm going back to work, since I have a real job. Go to Scotland Yard and find yourself a case."
The petite brunette exited the lounge to return to the morgue, leaving the detective sitting with a small pile of bloody tissues. Sherlock sighed and left as well, not giving back the guest ID, just in case he needed it again. Mostly, he just wanted to know that he could get back to talk to John in case he refused the offer of Speedy's. Sherlock headed down to Scotland Yard, as it seemed like everyone he knew wanted him to go there.
When he arrived, a frazzled Detective Inspector greeted him. "Hello. Got a case for me, Grant?"
"It's Greg," Lestrade replied, "and as it so happens, I do. Not a very big one, none of those serial killers you like, but someone's been robbing people living in London. It's the same person, but no one has managed to get a description. And it's not just simple bag snatching; this thief is going into houses and stealing jewelry and cars, big ticket items. Anyway, we want you to examine a crime scene and see if you can find anything to hint as to the robber's identity."
"Who have the victims been? Is there any connection between them?" Sherlock asked, surprised that Greg hadn't given him that information to begin with.
"They are all rich, they all live in the same general area. In fact, Sherlock, they all live within a 5 mile radius from Regent's Park. You'll have to ask them the details yourself, there are around six or seven people who've been stolen from. We've got a crime scene for you to examine, then you can go ask them."
Sherlock grinned, excited to be back. He turned to say something to John, but couldn't find him. It took the detective a moment to remember that John wasn't there anymore. After a brief flash of sadness, Sherlock turned to Lestrade and faked a smile. He clapped him on the back. "The game is on, Griswold." Greg let that one go.