John, I need you at Baker St. -SH
I'll be there in an hour.
I don't have an hour. -SH
Half an hour, then.
I need you here now, John. -SH
Are you hurt?
I need you to get here. -SH
Fine. I'm on my way.
John walks into the flat to find Sherlock sitting at his desk, perfectly fine. "There you are, John," he says, not turning around. "Could you pass me that pencil and paper?"
"I… You want me to what?" John asks.
"I said could you pass me that pencil and paper," Sherlock says, impatient.
"You called me all the way over here to get you a pencil?" John says indignantly.
"I was on a date," John says. It took a lot of effort, but Jeanette finally agreed to give him a second chance and go to lunch with him.
"I know," sherlock says. "Could you pass me that pencil now?"
"I thought you were hurt, Sherlock!"
"And someone could be if I don't finish this case." Sherlock's voice is steady, with just a hint of impatience. "Now hand me that pencil, please."
"No, Sherlock." John is angry. He is lucky Jeannette decided to give him a second chance, and now Sherlock had to go and ruin it. He turns to leave.
"Why not?" Sherlock asks, turning his head to face John for the first time since John entered the room. He should say something else, but he hasn't got any idea what.
"I'm tired of this, Sherlock," John says, anger boiling over. "You go about, treating me like your slave. I'm tired of it, and my date is ruined, and I'm not going to let you do this any more!" He starts towards the door.
Sherlock grabs his arm and stands up, holding him in place. "John," he says.
"Let go of me, Sherlock!" John tries to wrench his arm away, but Sherlock is strong, and he can't get free.
"Please don't go," Sherlock says. He doesn't know why he's asking, or why he cares. But he is, and he does.
"Are you kidding? You treat me like crap and I have a date! Why the hell wouldn't I go?"
Sherlock stares at the man for a moment, trying to find the answer. "Because you're John," he says at last.
"And, what? Does that give you the right to make me your personal servant or something?" asks John.
"No!" John doesn't understand what Sherlock means. Hell, Sherlock doesn't even understand what he means, and that's frightening enough in itself. But surely if he just keeps talking, John will eventually understand. He always has before. "John, I didn't think-"
"No," says John. "You didn't. You never do. You never think about what other people are doing, or that we might have lives outside of indulging your every whim, do you?"
Sherlock can only stare in shock. "John," he says again.
John pulls his arm free of Sherlock's grip. "Well, I'm sick of it," he says and starts toward the door again.
It suddenly becomes very important that John doesn't reach the doorway. If he's being honest, he doesn't know why this is so important, but this would only add to his consternation, so he's not being completely honest right now. He throws his arm in front of the door, then manages to step in front of it. "Don't go," he says. "Please."
And now John is fighting the urge to yell at Sherlock, because Sherlock is so stupid and self-centered and because Sherlock interrupted his date and because Jeannette will never forgive him now and because what the hell did she mean by that comment at New Year's Eve anyway? Letting out an exasperated noise, he ducks under Sherlock's arm and stormed off to find Jeannette.
Sherlock doesn't turn around, but he hears John's footsteps in the hall, and finally the door slamming. Without warning, he begins to shake. He isn't crying, because he is Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlock Holmes doesn't cry. But he barely manages to make it to the couch before his knees give out.
He will sit there for several hours, struggling to understand what happened.