John looks out of the taxi's window onto the hustle and bustle of the people outside on the streets of London. Why was Sherlock so, well, distant? Sherlock was an odd character yes but his actions and manners had changed, he seemed like he was trying to distance himself.
The taxi slows down and stops outside 211B. John turns around to look at Sherlock hoping that maybe for once Sherlock would pay for the taxi, especially since this taxi driver hadn't tried to kill them but alas he had already left, his coat sweeping behind him.
Sherlock paces up and down in the flat. His face concerned and bewildered. There was something troubling his mind, something he couldn't bear to face. John's heavy footsteps can be heard as he walks up the stairs. Thoughts rush through Sherlock's mind. He knew that John had just announced he was now in the room and that he had to pay for the taxi again but all Sherlock could think was why? Why now?
"Sherlock? What's wrong? You look ill or something. I'm here for you, know that. I wasn't going to say anything but you seem distant. You look, oh I don't know….well actually you look angry and scared. You never look scared. I'm concerned about you. Now you can either tell me what's wrong or ignore me either way I'll still be here."
Sherlock stops dead in his tracks. He turns to John to reveal a pursed smile.
"John, you are a complete and utter idiot. I have never met such a pathetic, emotionally controlled, deplorable human being but for some strange, peculiar, execrable reason…..I can't get you out of my mind."
John looks to the ground and rubs his eyes.
"I don't understand. Of course I'm going to be on your mind you live with me for chrissakes but that doesn't mean you have to be such a moody git. Stop throwing all your anger and aggression at me I'm just trying to help you."
Before John can even look back up to face Sherlock he finds he is pinned up against the wall. Sherlock's hand firmly grips around John's neck. His eyes gleam. All he could feel was the power, the control, the feeling, oh god the feeling. John's useless attempts to take in air, his feeble screams lost under Sherlock's fingertips.