"This pill bottle. Sherlock, what does it mean?" He slammed it on the table.
"It's prescription, John." Sherlock spat back, not liking the taste of John thinking him a druggie.
"You need it? For what, are you sad? It's an SSRI." John pointed at the half full bottle.
"Yes, for anxiety, depression, attention problems, aggression..." He droned on.
John stood a moment, questioning his next move. "Are- Are, Sherlock, are you sad?"
The genius rolled his eyes. His expression went mono, then to a disgusted face, "Just stop guessing and leave me be."
Doctor Watson, found arguing with him was helpless, and forwarded his mind to the bottle. It's an SSRI, for multiple cases, but expicitly labeled so for- "God, Sherlock."
He never thought it a possibility. Sherlock shook his head as he dabbled with beakers.
"You're autistic?" John asked.
Sherlock set the glass down and waited a moment. He nods.
"Aspergers Syndrome."
It does fit him in a way, with his social incapabilities. "I'm sorry, I'll stop. Forgive-"
"No, John. Please just don't apologize, it's not you who should be asking forgiveness."
John frowned, looking off, then back again with vigor. "You've been taking crap from the police force, not to mention the media! You deserve an apology!"
Sherlock shakily breathes.