"AND DON'T CALL ME!"
The click of high heels echoes down the stairs, punctuated by the loud slam of the front door. Sherlock peers through the doorway, to where John stands on the landing. His jumper is off and his shirt is un-tucked, but he looks relatively put together aside from that.
"Date not going so well then?"
"Fantastic deduction, that. Thanks."
"What happened?" Sherlock looks genuinely curious, if not concerned.
"I..." John flushes. "She... had some ideas. I was fine with those ideas. But I may have said we needed to wait while I came down and made sure you didn't need my help with anything. Needless to say..." he cuts himself off, under Sherlock's scrutinising glare.
"She wasn't fond of that idea, was she? Well, never mind. She was dull anyway. Come, sit. Top Gear's on. You enjoy that, don't you?" Sherlock smiles awkwardly, patting the cushion next to him.
John drops onto the sofa next to Sherlock, settling into a companionable silence.
Really, though, aside from certain physical needs - which John could always find an outlet for without the need for attachment - somehow, Sherlock really did fulfill all his needs for companionship. Strangely contented with this realisation, John comes to terms with the fact that he will likely spend the rest of his life a bachelor.