John made his way upstairs to find that Sherlock was still in his room, probably watching Television all day, minus the bathroom breaks. He walked up the stairs to his room to find Sherlock sitting down on the edge of his bed, eating chocolate ice cream out of the carton with a spoon. John wanted to be mad at Sherlock, but when he saw the detective in that position on his bed, he tried his best to look serious and not laugh at him. He crossed his arms and straightened his face while still standing in the doorway.

"Sherlock."

The grey eyes now had a tint of green at the sight of John. John always loved Sherlock's eyes, he had heterochromia, and he had blue, green, and gold coloring in his eyes. Though they acted like a mood ring at most times.

"John!"

His mouth was full of ice cream, so it sounded muffled. Something inside of John fluttered when Sherlock said his name like that. He was happy to see him. But John had to tell him to be more discreet. He closed the door behind him and sat down on the bed. Sherlock didn't seem to sense that John wasn't happy.

"I'm sorry about the ice cream. I got hungry, and I couldn't find the biscuits."

John put his arm up to stop him.

"It's alright, Sherlock."

Sherlock stopped talking and then placed the spoon in the carton. He finally got a clue that John wasn't happy.

"What's wrong, have I upset you?"

John shrugged.

'The problem is that I might be in love with you.'

"So Mrs. Hudson and I had a talk."

"Okay."

"She told me that she saw the back of your head today while she was up here."

"She saw me?"

John nodded.

"But lucky for you she just had her herbal soother, so she dismissed you as one of her hallucinations."

Sherlock looked at the TV and then back at John.

"Come here, there's something I want to show you."

"On the telly?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Yes, now hurry before it goes away!"

John sat down on the bed and watched as Sherlock was about to fall off because he was so anxious to show John whatever it was that he saw. The news anchor was talking about a recent murder and the screen cut to show the police cars and ambulances and then it showed Lestrade talking to Sally while the anchor was talking.

'Oh God.'

Sherlock pointed to the screen, right on top of Lestrade's face. He looked back at John and steadied himself so that he wouldn't break his other arm falling off of the bed.

"See, look, that's what I wanted to show you."

John swallowed hard. He didn't want Sherlock to see his unease at him mentioning Greg. Sherlock didn't seem to notice either because he was too wrapped up in his own world, as usual.

"What about him?"

"Who is that?"

"That's Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Why?"

"Can I meet him? I feel like I've seen him before."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Sherlock?"

The younger man's face fell.

"Why not?"

"Because he's on a case right now, and it wouldn't be polite if we just followed him around trying to talk to him. We'd be distracting him."

Sherlock started fidgeting with his hands again.

"But I could help him with the case. "

John wanted to tell him that he wasn't going either way, and that was final. But didn't he also want Sherlock to remember his friends? To remember what happened before his "death"? Didn't Mycroft send him here so John could do just that? John pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to get his shit together, Sherlock needs him. John is the only face that Sherlock might be comfortable around, or that he might actually partially remember. But he's not ready to unveil his friend to the world yet.

"What makes you think that?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"Every time I look at him, I feel like that's something I could do. Solve the crime."

'You can solve the crime, Sherlock. You just don't know it yet.'

"I'm sorry Sherlock. But you can't meet him."

"Why, do I know him?"

John didn't answer.

"Do…you know him?"

Another moment of silence passed before Sherlock said something else. John would just wish that Sherlock would leave it alone and wait until John was ready to explain but that was in his nature. Sherlock Holmes hates not knowing anything and being kept in the dark must be maddening to him. He just wants to understand why John was being so hush-hush about everything. From the moment he woke up in the hospital, Sherlock has been tossed around by Mycroft and John without a clue why.

"I have to go take a shower, Sherlock. I haven't been able to this morning because I was running late."

Sherlock knew that John purposefully changed the subject. He gave a resigned nod.

"Okay John."

John felt bad but he just didn't know how to handle this the right way, if there was even a right way. He gathered his clothes and then glanced at Sherlock, who was watching a detective show now, before heading downstairs.

'God give me strength…'

A Few Days Later
~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was getting on John's last nerve. He's been pestering John nonstop and asking question after question after question. He would purposefully make loud noises whenever John was trying to relax so he could get his attention and ask more questions. John wanted to answer them, he really did, but then Sherlock wouldn't be able to comprehend it all. Sherlock's not stupid, he's far from it. He knows Sherlock doesn't mean to do it; it's just that John is more frustrated with himself more than he is his flatmate. Though John was trying his hardest to not tell Sherlock to shut the hell up, he was damn near close to it.

He decided that it was the perfect time to hang out with Molly, get away from it all. Get away from Sherlock, from his denial with feelings, and everything else. A pint with a friend sounded heavenly to him. He whipped out his phone and went to Molly on his contact.

"Hey Molly, I have some free time, still up for that pint?"

He only had to wait a few seconds when his phone vibrated.

"Yeah, a pint does sound rather good at the moment. It gives me a chance to unwind. I'll meet you at our usual pub within the next hour.

-Molly xx"

John tucked his phone back into his pocket and smiled to himself. It was nice to look forward to something that wasn't his job or….

'Stop that. None of this is Sherlock's fault. He barely even knows who he is.'

John sighed loudly. Sherlock, who was sitting on the couch, looked over at John.

"What's the matter?"

John shook his head.

"Nothing, I'm just going out with a friend."

"A friend?"

John nodded.

"Yes Sherlock, a friend."

Sherlock let that sink in for a minute. John didn't sound happy, once again. Sherlock wanted to know what he did now. John seemed to be mad at him a lot for some reason, surely there was a reason for it. Hopefully John will tell him.

"…Will you be gone for long?"

"Not for too long, maybe for an hour or so."

Sherlock hated it when John left. He doesn't know why, but he just does. There's something about John…

John got his coat and then walked over to the door.

"You know what to do, right?"

"Yes John. I am to stay upstairs until you come back."

"Good."

John had to leave. The air in the room was just oppressive. He wanted to take Sherlock out, who knows what being in the house for days on end could do to you, but he couldn't. Because Sherlock Holmes isn't supposed to be there, he's supposed to be dead. He was supposed to commit suicide, but he didn't. And for now, this is all John can do.

'You're doing this to help him. It's for his own good.'

John had to keep reminding himself. It was the only way to cope.