The microorganisms would react differently if he added an additional control and changed the variable of-

"Sherlock, c'mon. We just finished a case," said John. Sherlock could practically feel the other hovering behind him. "I just ordered takeaway. We're watching crap telly, and you're going to stop whatever absurd experiment you're working on."

With a little sigh, he stood. "It's an interesting experiment, thank you." Sherlock gave John a small smile. "And, takeaway and crap telly sounds like a good enough plan, so long as we're not watching one of your absurd Bond films."

John's voice whispered to him, I hate you.

But John was here, and asking him to do something, and it wasn't true. Sherlock walked to the sofa and tried to settle on a channel that was showing something that was dramatic enough to make fun of, but not too stupid to watch.

Takeaway arrived, and Sherlock nibbled at it at John's insistence. The gunshots in the film made Sherlock grimace, and John turned the channel. The evening was going quite well until Sherlock heard a knock at the door. The way someone knocked made Sherlock think it was someone for a case.

"I'll get it." John stood, setting his carton of food aside.

"No, I can get it," said Sherlock, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "Not that I'm not enjoying the film, but I just..."

You're afraid you're going to fail. You will. He could hear the unkind smile in Moriarty's voice.

John watched Sherlock ball his hands into fists, crescent moons on his palms from his fingernails. "Listen, Sherlock, are you okay?"

Sherlock gave a small nod, though he was terrified of actually explaining matters to John. "Can I talk to you about it after this person?"

"After this person."

Thankful for John's agreement, Sherlock walked downstairs. He looked outside before opening the door just a bit. A man in his mid-to-late twenties stood outside; he worked as a cook of sorts, thought Sherlock, able to see a dusting of flour on his jeans, an apron poking out of the backpack he wore. Sherlock looked the man over immediately, not seeing any weapons on him. "Yes?" asked Sherlock.

"You're Sherlock Holmes, right? I need your help with something. My cousin died recently, and everyone's saying it was an accident, but I don't think it was."

"Give me your contact information and I'll speak with you later," said Sherlock. "What's your name?"

"Andrew." The man had paused before giving his name, coughing. Sherlock wondered if he was lying. "Give me a mo, I have a business card in my wallet."

Sherlock waited, looking up at the flat every few seconds. He tapped his foot, and when he looked over at Andrew, the man was grabbing his wallet. A glint of silver made Sherlock's heart drop, and he moved forward. Before he could think of what he was doing, he'd yanked the man's wallet away and pinned him back against the outside window of Speedy's.

"Oi, what the hell! Let go of me!" snapped Andrew.

"What were you reaching for in your wallet? A knife?" Sherlock stared at the man.

"My card! There was a bloody key in there for my flat, look for yourself."

Sherlock kept where he was, but looked at the ground. He could just make out the outline of a key. After a few moments of silence, Sherlock withdrew. Andrew spit on his shoes, storming off, and Sherlock kept where he was for a few seconds before heading upstairs. He locked the door and walked into the room.

One look at Sherlock, and John knew something was off. "What happened?"

"It wasn't a legitimate case." He shrugged. "It's fine. It doesn't matter."

John shook his head and crossed his arms. "Sherlock, I think we should talk. I know you're obviously not in the mood, but we need to talk. As a doctor and as your friend, I think something's wrong."

The detective looked at John. He'd caught sight of his reflection in the windows of Speedy's, tense, eyes wild, nostrils flaring. Monster. Machine. Sherlock couldn't tell if the thoughts had been his own. "I don't know what you want me to say."

John sat on the sofa. His expression said 'we're doing this now,' and John gestured for John to sit beside him. "I just want you to tell me what's going on in your head." He paused before continuing, "Your brother's talked to me. He phoned the other day and said he was worried about you. You've just been jumpy, and you zone out at random times, and you've had a lot of nightmares recently. I just want to help.

His nose wrinkled in disdain. Sherlock crossed his arms. "So you're doing this all because of Mycroft?"

"Christ, Sherlock, no. I'm doing this because I care."

Freak.

John's voice made Sherlock jump. "What?"

"I said I'm doing this because I care."

"You..." Sherlock shook his head. Things were fine. He didn't want to burden John. "I'm just a little stressed." He gave John a small smile. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to alarm either of you."

John frowned. "Why're you stressed?"

"Because I'm just a little jumpy after being gone for so long." That much was true, at least. "I'm working on it."

Their mobiles both buzzed, and Sherlock looked at the text, rolling his eyes while John grumbled under his breath. John trudged to the doorway along with Sherlock, wo was reluctant to leave the flat, especially considering the feeling he had about what was going to happen.

I need to speak to you both. It isn't optional. A car is on its way. -MH