Life was quiet at 221B.

Well, it wasn't quiet at first of course. Mrs. Hudson took one look at Sherlock and burst into tears. Lestrade took one look at Sherlock and punched him in the face. Sherlock accepted these reactions with apologies and stoic acceptance. When Lestrade shouted at him to just SAY something other than "sorry," Sherlock responded with the fact that he really had nothing to say, and now that both Moriarty and Moran were dead, nothing that extreme should happen again and wouldn't he please give him a case because this was becoming dull and tedious? At which point Lestrade punched him again.

Sherlock found himself wishing that John had reacted in this way.

But life was quiet. Sherlock would still play his violin at odd hours and run off to solve cases and do experiments in the kitchen, but he and John barely spoke. Not that Sherlock didn't try. Every day he would describe the case he was working on and invite John to join him. John would always decline. But Sherlock refused to give up.

"Fourteen people turned up on the corner of Elm and Thomas with no memory of how they got there."

"Great."

"Murder. Fairly certain it was the roommate, but worth checking out I suppose. Want to come?"

"Nope."

"The Declaration of Independence has been stolen."

"Stop quoting movies you find online."

Until finally John had enough.

It was the morning of yet another day at work. John hated every second of it. Despite his desire to help people in need, it felt so /mundane/. He itched for something more exciting. Something like... no. No, he couldn't. It still hurt too much.

John sat at the table, reading the morning paper. Sherlock came over with two cups of coffee in hand, and set one down in front of him. Uh-oh. Whenever Sherlock made John a cup of coffee, that meant-

"There's been another murder. Last night, Dover Road. I'm guessing it was the aunt, based on the victim's nails, but-"

"Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Describing your stupid cases to me. I'm not going to join you anymore. Not now, not ever. Now please leave me alone."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "I won't believe that."

"Well that's your problem, not mine."

And a funny look spread over his face. One John hadn't seen in years. Hell, he hadn't seen it since A Study in Pink. It was a look that all but said "I am so sorry, what have I done to you, I wish this didn't happen." John almost opened his mouth to apologize.

But he didn't.

Sherlock placed the second cup on the table, grabbed his coat and scarf, and walked out the door.

John stared at the front door for a minute before phoning the doctor's office, saying that he was going to take the day off.

Late in the afternoon, the doorbell rang. John stood up to answer it, but Mrs. Hudson had already beaten him to the task.

"Oh, Molly! Won't you come in dear. How've you been?"

"Hello Mrs. Hudson. I'm alright, thanks. I was wondering-"

"No, I'm afraid Sherlock's off helping Scotland Yard again, bless him."

Molly gave a nervous laugh. "Actually, I'd like to see John?"

"Oh, yes of course. Just upstairs."

John sat back down on the couch. He was still in his pajamas, but lacked any motivation to change.

"Um... hey John."

He glanced up at his visitor. "Hi Molly. How are you?"

"Oh, alright I guess," she replied with a nervous smile. "Okay. Okay. I promised Sherlock I would talk to you about this. So here we go."

"Talk about what?" John asked as Molly sat down next to him. "What's going on?"

"I should be asking the same of you," she replied. "Sherlock told me what you said to him today."

"Good for him."

"'Good for him?' Stop being like this John, can't you see what it's doing to him?"

"Then I guess he knows how it feels now."

"Excuse me?"

"He knows what it's like to be miserable. He shouldn't even be complaining, after the hell I went through for three years-"

He was cut off by a slap to the face.

"I'm sorry John, I'm so sorry, really I am, but what you're doing is scaring me, and it's scaring Sherlock too!"

John rubbed his cheek – wow, that stung – but made no other reply.

"Do you know what Sherlock was doing all this morning?"

"Solving that case he told me about. What else would he be doing?"

"Good guess. He was crying and begging me to find some sort of narcotic for him to take. Something stronger than he's used to. And he's used to some really strong stuff."

Crying?

"But no, you're still sour about him saving your life, for saving ALL of our lives, for taking down the worst criminal that London has ever seen!"

Sherlock Holmes didn't cry... wasn't that something he deleted?

"So if you're going to continue to put him through this, congratulations. You just lost yourself a brilliant friend. He deserves better." And with that Molly got up and stormed out.

"No... Molly, just wait a minute..." Memories came streaming back. Scenes of him telling Sherlock how important friendships were. How they protected people. And then... "I don't have friends. I've just got one."

Molly whirled around, hand on the doorknob. "You said that he was the most human person you've ever known. You said that you'd never think otherwise. You wanted him to live! Sherlock told me, he was there!"

"Can I... can I talk to him? Where is he?"

"Not if you're going to take more revenge on him for no reason. He's gone through enough already. Don't forget that he was alone for three years too."

Sherlock was alone for three years... "I guess I... hadn't considered that."

"No shit, Sherlock."

They were quiet for a moment before John burst out laughing. Molly managed a small smile. After catching his breath, he nodded and said softly "Just let me talk to him, okay? I won't be horrible to him. Promise. Where is he?"

"Downstairs."

AN: God I'm sorry for this. I really am. this definitely isn't one of my best fanfictions I've written. I guess I'm just not that good at making the characters suffer... anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, despite how it got kinda rushed at the end XD I'm working on some fluffy drabble right now, I PROMISE! that should be better...