Sherlock laid in bed, listening to John get ready for work. 'three...two...one' thought Sherlock, just as the kettle began to screech. He counted Johns footsteps (eight), and deduced that the good doctor had been on the sofa, putting his shoes on when his water came to a boil. Sherlock listened to John pour his tea into his thermos, and swear because he was running late for his volunteer work at the hospital. Sherlock smiled in spite of himself as he recalled with great clarity the day John came come and told him he was only working on a volunteer basis from that moment on:

Sherlock had been lying on the sofa, his blue dressing gown hanging open as he unabashedly stared at the ceiling. He was bored. It has been forty-six hours since the last case he'd solved (honestly, how did Lestrade not notice the ring on the man's little finger?) and now Sherlock was itching for something to occupy his ever busy mind. He could hear John coming up the stairs, two at a time...'he must be anxious to sit down', Sherlock thought as he concentrated on the sound of John unlocking the door to the flat they shared at 221B Baker St. He made no effort to move as John walked over to his chair and practically threw himself onto it.

"Well" John started, "That was one hell of an afternoon!"

John stared at Sherlock, unsure if the detective was even aware of his presence. He had learned that the easiest way to get Sherlock's attention, was to leave a sentence hanging midair. The detective would eventually frustrated by the lack of explanation and inquire. So John waited.

… thirty seconds.

… forty-five seconds.

… one minute.

… two minutes.

… two minutes and eighteen seconds had passed before John heard an annoyed Sherlock sigh and ask "Well? What was so awful about today as opposed to the others you spend with the rest of the human population?"

John couldn't help but smile and poke fun at Sherlock "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware you were waiting for me to elaborate."

"John, please don't be so obtuse. I'm well aware of the fact that you expected me to ask you about your, how did you phrase it? Ah yes 'one hell of an afternoon'. If flailing into your arm chair wasn't hint enough, the increased rate of your breathing gave you away after a mere one minute and thirty-nine seconds of silence. Since it's apparently important to you that I partake in this conversation, I am doing so. Now please, continue."

John smirked and stared again "I met with the chief and the board of directors today to turn in my resignation." He waited for any indication from Sherlock that he had actually heard him. He was rewarded with a small tilt of the head - probably unnoticeable to anybody else, but John was tuned to Sherlock's body language. You don't share a flat with a bloke for two years and not pick up on his mannerisms.

"I decided that, what with the blog taking off and us getting more cases as a result, I couldn't keep trying to give one hundred percent of myself to both jobs."

John paused and glanced up at Sherlock, who was now watching him intently. John took a deep breath and dove back into his explanation with a vigor he didn't have before.

'Approval' noted Sherlock. 'He's waiting for me to give some indication of my approval or displeasure at this rather unexpected news.'

"I would still be working there, just on a volunteer basis, you know, whenever the case load is low or..." John trails off as he searches Sherlock's face for any sign as to what the tall, curly haired man was thinking.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmm"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Mmm"

"That I quit my job?"

"Mmm"

"Can you say anything else?"

"Mmm"

"Sherlock?!"

"Yes, John?"

"If you would rather I didn't, I can always call Doctor Meca back and explain that the situation has changed. I'm sure he would be more than happy to ignore what we discussed this afternoon."

John continued to search Sherlock's face, only able to see his profile, as he had returned to his previous position of staring at the ceiling. He slid his eyes over the angles and lines, his high cheekbones, his heart shaped lips, his long neck, back up to the mess of curls that sat on top of the man's head, looking for any outward sign of displeasure at his decision.

"I mean, I would understand if you didn't… want me around, that is…"

"Why wouldn't I want you around, John?"

John sat back in his chair, and Sherlock could practically feel the tension leaving the man's body. His whole posture changed, he was more relaxed and gradually his respiratory rate slowed to a normal level. 'Interesting' Sherlock thought. John was clearly nervous about having this discussion. 'Very interesting indeed'.

"So… you're alright with this, me being around more than usual, helping more with cases?"

Sherlock felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.

"Yes, John, I don't see any reason why that should be a problem."