"John!" Sherlock's voice boomed from the kitchen. The blonde haired blogger rushed into the kitchen with worry painted on his face. "We are out of milk." John's worried expression faded as it was replaced with one of annoyance and disbelief.

"How many times have I told you Sherlock, go get the bloody milk!" John raised his voice near the end.

"More times than I have actually gotten the milk," Sherlock smirked as John huffed and turned away, heading for his coat. Without a word he left the flat. Sherlock smiled to himself thinking about John always giving into his ridiculous requests. He made his way to his chair, flicking on the television before sitting down. He drew his knees to his chest as the program flickered on the screen. For a moment he felt guilty about making John go out, but then he remembered how much he didn't want to go himself. With an angry huff, he closed his eyes.

Sherlock hadn't had a case in weeks, and it was driving him mad with boredom. He tried to busy himself with experiments but it wasn't enough. He also worried that he had been on John's nerves more than usual. The man seemed so short with him the past few days. But Sherlock didn't give much thought to it, he had bigger problems. Like the fact that he needed a case to stimulate his constant running mind. He ran a hand through his dark curls in frustration. Something had to come up soon.

The damp London streets glistened as light danced across the pavement and the night air was thick with the scent of rain. John pushed his hands farther into his coat pockets and hurried down the sidewalk. He checked his watch, realizing it was already eight twenty three as he neared the store. He silently cursed Sherlock for making him go out this late. Then he realized Sherlock didn't really make him do this, and so he cursed him again for being a manipulative bastard.

The automatic doors slid open and he stepped inside the unusually crowded store. He kept his eyes straight ahead of him as he made his way to the refrigerated section. He wasn't in the mood to chat with anyone, he just wanted to get back to the flat. The cool air chilled his skin as he opened the refrigerator door and took two cartons of milk. His text tone erupted from his pocket as he was walking back to the check out line. He ignored the text, certain it was Sherlock in need of something else ridiculous, like the remote which was probably a few feet out of reach. He approached the counter and placed the milk down. He suddenly realized how incredibly tired he was. His phone went off again but he still didn't bother taking it out of his pocket. Sherlock could get whatever he needed himself. Or he could wait. John didn't really care.

Sherlock sat staring at his phone, eagerly awaiting John's reply. He didn't like this program. It was boring, but the remote was on the desk. It was eight fifty four and Sherlock started to wonder what was taking John so long. His phone suddenly chimed as it received a text, but to his disappointment it was only Mycroft.

Hello dear brother. Something has come up it seems. We need to have a chat. In person. -M

Sherlock started to reply but was interrupted as the door swung open, revealing a very tired looking John who went straight into the kitchen.

"John ca-"

"No," John said as he put the milk away and began to head upstairs. Sherlock sighed and stood up. He didn't even want to watch telly anymore.

"John."

"I'm going to bed Sherlock," John sighed. Sherlock wanted to stop him, but instead he seated himself at the desk and opened his laptop. Once again, his phone chimed with yet another text message and he realized he never replied.

As soon as possible. It is urgent, Sherlock. -M