Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock or any of its precious characters or actors.

1.

John has known Sherlock for over two years now, and he has learned quite a lot about her in those years. John had observed that she has a multi-faceted personality that can shift at the drop of a hat. One minute, she's quietly entranced with whatever the hell she has under her microscope, and the next, she's flung out on the couch scratching horribly at her violin. Sometimes she and John will be having decent conversation for once, and then BAM!, she's ensconced in her bloody mind palace! Then there is the fact that she has no qualms about leaving the flat a mess, not to mention the disaster of a bedroom, but her closet is the cleanest room I the whole building; bursting with clothes, but ordered to perfection.

John has been able to adjust to these quicksilver mood changes, surprisingly. However, there is one thing about Sherlock that John has not been able to get used to, and he doesn't think he ever would. That one aspect of Sherlock that constantly baffled John was Sherlock's utter lack of tact concerning herself. It belies the superior persona she oozes. It seemingly contradicts her perfectly tailored suits and consummate curls. Just thinking about it tends to make John's head a bit.

One moment that sticks out in John's mind of Sherlock's modesty-impaired behavior, and it was as he was returning home from work.

Closing the downstairs door behind him, John hesitated at. The threshold of the flat. Upstairs, he could hear stomping around and slamming doors.

John wondered what it was this time that got Sherlock into such an angry state. Cursing his curiosity and need to pacify the irate detective, John bravely went upstairs and silently let himself into the flat- no need to alarm her of his sudden appearance, he'd just slip up to his room to let the worst of her anger work itself out of her system.

John had just hung up his coat and was in the process of toe-ing off his shoes when Whirlwind Sherlock rounded the corner and, fury alight in her bright blue-green eyes and making her hair appear to stand on end, vibrating with electricity. "Where have you been?" she seethed.

John froze, one foot still behind the other, prepped to take off his remaining shoe. "I-uh-what? I was at work. What's wrong?"

Sherlock continued her diatribe, choosing to not answer John directly, "You mean you didn't stop at the store?"

John stared at her, only slightly confused. This has happened before, Sherlock wanting something from the store while John was out and still proceed to request her desires to the empty flat, but never had she been outrageously and unreasonably mad about it. He shook his head in answer,

"Well why not?! I bloody well asked you to."

That's what he thought. Still, he felt the need to argue this point yet again. "I've been gone since this morning, Sherlock. I can't get what you want if you don't let me know ahead of time. Speaking it out loud doesn't automatically mean that it will make its way to my ears." Sherlock's anger was starting to rile John up a bit. He was already tired from having to deal with senile old men thinking they needed another flu shot because the one they got a month ago 'Must have worn off by now', he can't start a full-blown argument with Sherlock about inane things now when all he wanted was to take a hot shower. He had to keep a calm head because if he rose to her level of upset and didn't complete the argument, Sherlock would begin a late night concerto of atrocious proportions.

"You should have known that I'd need you to go to the store by now! Do you have no idea what today is? Or any week it is for that matter?"

John sighed, deciding to acquiesce instead of reminding the sodding genius that everyone wasn't a mind-reader. "What do you need?" John asked as he slipped his shoe back on and reached for his coat.

"Nooo... It's too much of an inconvenience now isn't it? There's no way any sane person could ask you to go out after you just got back." The sarcasm dripping from her every syllable was practically visible.

"My god, Sherlock's! What is your problem? I just told you I'd go out. What do you need? Just tell me." John's patience slipping away very quickly.

"My problem? You want to know what my problem is? My damn uterus is

falling out of my vagina, and it feels as though it's tearing up every muscle in my lower back on its way out! My back hurts, my vagina hurts, I'm bleeding gallons, and frankly, I don't like your attitudes!" She hurled at him, barely taking pause to breathe between gruesome sentences.

The graphic detail to which John's mind was just assaulted with made all the blood drain from his face. That was way too much information than was necessary. He should have guessed this would happen sooner or later though. Usually, Sherlock was so in command of her body. She never let her biology get the better of her. It seems that this month is when she loses it, when she succumbs 'womanly nature'.

Once John's surprise was over, it was quickly replaced with a righteous anger of his own. "Dammit Sherlock! Just because because you're on your damn period, it doesn't give you the right to talk to me like I'm garbage! You don't get to use your biology as an excuse to treat me however the hell you wish and expect me to be sympathetic about it and accept your excuses! Sometimes I can't help but feel that if it weren't for that fact that we both need help renting this place, I'd find one on my own." John finished, slightly winded, trying to calm himself down in case he needed the energy to continue if this turned into a domestic of epic proportions.

What he was not expecting, however, was for Sherlock's eyes to suddenly well with tears and her lip to start trembling.

Just as fast as John's anger appeared, it vanished. He hesitantly stepped forward, wondering if Sherlock needed, or even wanted, physical comforting. She decided that for him when she stepped forward and pressed her face to John's shoulder. He automatically brought his arms up to rub her back soothingly.

Although he knew that his outburst was justified, he felt the overwhelming need to apologize. "I'm sorry. What's wrong?"

"I don't like it when you yell at me. Please don't move out," she snuffled, passing the back her her hand across her eyes, and a couple tears fell.

"Oh. Well... I'm sorry. And no, of course I won't move out," he soothed. Needless to say, he went out to Tesco's, bought her feminine products, and some over-the-counter pain reliever. Without even thinking about it, he snagged a box of Sherlock's favorite biscuits and some hot chocolate on the way out.

Maybe Sherlock won't be so violent and disturbingly informative about this next month if John was extremely understanding this month.

So this is my first story. So any reviews will be appreciated. This is going to be a four-part story. Beta'd by the wonderful RavenclawWhovian. Thanks a million(: