He hated the Light.

He saw two people meet, talking and laughing with each other, and after a few months their chests glowed with happiness and content. The lights coming from their chests slowly reaching out to touch the others and then shone brightly as they kissed.

He despised it.

Sherlock saw it happen far too many times for his liking. The couples were all so giddy and giggly, it was terrible. At school it had been awful. There had been gossip about who had signs of the Light and who had never glowed.

People described it as a burning heat inside their chests, so hot they couldn't breathe, but they also said it was comforting. How could it be comforting, knowing this person was your destiny that you would end up with them for the rest of your life?

No, he would never glow, the Light would never shine for him, he was sure. He would leave it that way, he didn't need anyone. Why should he let himself be attached to someone? Ridiculous. He would never shine.

"Catherine-"

"No, John, I've had enough! You've already cancelled this date twice; I even came to your flat, for God's sake! And still you did it!"

"Please, just listen-"

"Goodbye John, I hope you have fun with your boyfriend."

John heard the door slam shut and sat down. There went another potential girlfriend. At this rate he would never find anyone and it was all Sherlock's fault.

The doctor whipped his head around and looked at Sherlock standing near the kitchen looking awfully smug. He would take care of this.

"Why, Sherlock? You knew I had a date!"

The detective shrugged and went to the sofa. He spread himself over the entire length of the piece of furniture and finally glanced at John.

"We had a case and she was boring."

John laughed without any drop of humour. This was just typical.

"You had a case, I had a date which would have gone well-,"

Sherlock grimaced.

"Don't start, it would have gone perfectly fine, but of course you had to call and ruin it!" Why was his flatmate so keen on sabotaging his dates? He hadn't had sex in weeks, dammit! A man has needs.

Sherlock sat up and raised an eyebrow.

"But isn't it interesting that you didn't deny her to be boring?"

John was stunned and wanted to disclaim his friend's argument, but quickly shut his mouth. It was kind of true. Ok, maybe he was kind of hoping he would have sex with her and maybe he was going to leave her then. Maybe. Alright, probably.

He sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. Why was Sherlock always right?

"Fine, you have a point, but that doesn't matter. It was still a bloody date and you ruined it. Again."

The genius smirked and put his hands together. Twat.

"I didn't call you, I sent you a text. You had the choice to come follow me and solve an exciting case or stay with your boring lady friend and have unsatisfying sex with her. It wasn't my fault, it was entirely yours. You made a decision," he leaned back after he had made yet another point.

He would wipe the grin off his face.

But yet again he was right and this annoyed John to no end.

"Why is everything always my fault?!"

"Maybe you should stop trying to look for a girlfriend. I really don't see the point in them. They do what, feed you and have sex with you? Two things you can do by yourself," Sherlock reasoned.

"You don't understand," John told him and stood up. Tea would make everything better.

"And maybe I don't want to understand."

The blond put the kettle on and grabbed a cup. He turned his attention towards Sherlock again and raised his eyebrows.

"So, you never felt…attracted to anyone? Never felt a spark? Saw a faint light coming from your chest?"

Sherlock snorted and looked offended.

"Don't be ridiculous, everyone is an idiot. I saw all these poor souls full with hormones glowing like fireflies in the dark. That hardly meant anything at all."

The kettle whistled and John finished his cuppa. He went back to the living room and took place in his armchair.

"Still, when there is a light in your chest it's…amazing. You feel warm all over and…I can't describe it. Of course the light is only strong when you really love someone. I hope I'll experience that some day."

"Don't be all sentimental, John. It doesn't suit you. You should be happy you don't depend on anyone. You're free."

"Not everyone wants to feel that way," John explained and took a sip from his tea.

"Then they are idiots."

"So I'm an idiot?"

Sherlock frowned and stared at John.

"No, you're not."

John was so surprised by his answer he nearly spilled his precious tea.

"Wow, was that a compliment from the great Sherlock Holmes?" he replied with a hint of sarcasm. He regretted his reply as he saw Sherlock quickly look away and stand up.

"Well John, maybe you are an idiot after all," he murmured and went to his room.

The doctor was left alone in the living room and finished his cuppa quietly, wondering what Sherlock could've possibly meant.

"What are you doing?" John yawned as he walked down the stairs. The consulting detective was dressed in his blue dressing gown and was pacing around the flat, searching for something.

"If you are looking for the cigarettes, I took care of them long ago, so don't even try to find them."

Sherlock faced the older man and huffed.

"To your surprise I'm not even searching for them. Did you see the glass of jam I put on the table yesterday? I was sure I left it-, John, don't tell me you…"

John looked at him wide-eyed and glanced at the dirty plate next to the tab. Oh God no.

"Why did you even put it there?! And yes, Sherlock, I ate the rest of it. How was I supposed to know it was another one of your experiments? You didn't mark it!"

"Yes I did. I wrote it on the bottom of the glass."

"Why? Did you really think I would check the bottom? Who in their right mind would-, you know what? Forget it, just tell me I won't die."

The dark haired man blinked at him confused and annoyed.

"You would've already died by now if it was poisonous. It was harmless, I was in the beginning phase. A shame I can't finish it now," the detective looked crushed and sat down.

Yes, what a shame. John can't remember the exact number of near death experiences he had had at 221B, but they were definitely nearing fifteen. Maybe even more. Those damn experiments.

The blond rubbed his eyes and thought about his life choices. Well, if he ever had kids he sure would have a lot of stories to tell. The emphasis on if. He was losing hope.

"I'm bored," he heard Sherlock whisper. The detective was reaching for his violin just as his phone beeped. He looked at the message and John quickly looked over his shoulder. So what, he was curious.

From: Mycroft Holmes

Why are you ignoring my texts?

Sherlock glanced at John and glared.

"Privacy? Ever heard of it?"

"Funny that you say that, I always ask you the same thing," John replied and looked innocently at the sky. Beautiful weather. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his flatmate type a response. That was new.

"Yes, John, I'm replying, could you please stop watching over me like a concerned mother?" Sherlock stood up and walked towards his room, his dressing gown flying behind him.

"What are you doing?" John called.

"Should I explain to you the process of changing clothes? I'm going to purchase something at the supermarket."

"What? You? Who are you and what did you do to my friend?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and came out of his bedroom again, dressed in his black trousers and blue button-down shirt.

"Are you going to buy milk?" John asked full of hope.

"Most likely," he answered and proceeded to put on his coat. Wasn't it a little warm for that? Had John ever seen him dressed in anything else? Did he even own a jacket? He would need to find out.

While he was thinking, Sherlock ran down the stairs in his usual hurry. Hm, Sherlock was going to do the shopping. That was a bit peculiar. Now that he thought about it more, he saw the detective's wallet lying next to the skull.

Lying bastard.