Again?

    The man's hands were steepled under his chin and his brow was creased. His mouth was moving, and yet there was no sound. Half of his face was hidden in shadow, causing a very mysterious air about him. Although it was in this shadowy state, you could still tell how pale and creamy white his face was. This man was perfect in all ways. And the person sitting across from him knew this, and he greatly appreciated this Godly creation. The man with his eyes closed is Sherlock Holmes. The one appreciating him in all of his glory is John Watson. Sherlock's eyes started to open, and John quickly looked away. He stood and walked towards the kitchen. Sherlock's eyes were wide open and he had a small smile on his face as he stared at John's back. He had just been reliving some of his favorite moments with John in his mind palace.

     "Tea?" John asked after clearing his throat. He had just been wondering if Sherlock's stomach was defined and firm or not.

    "Tea would be lovely, John. Thank you," Sherlock replied. The faint smile was still on his face. But suddenly, John stopped and Sherlock's smile vanished. He had left a needle on the counter. The first needle since he met John, mind you, but a needle nonetheless.

    "Sherlock. Holmes. What the HELL is this!" John yelled at the top of his voice. Mrs. Hudson hurried up the stairs.

    "Sherlock, dear? Is everything alright?" She asked.

    "NOT NOW, MRS. HUDSON!!" John shouted. Mrs. Hudson walked away mumbling.

    "John, it's not what you think," Sherlock said as he quickly stood.

    "Really? And what is it that I think, Sherlock? Why don't you tell me, since you are such a GREAT mind reader? John yelled. Silence. John spoke again, in a forced calm, which hurt Sherlock more than when he was yelling. "How dare you. How DARE you do this to your friends. To Mrs. Hudson. You don't get it, do you? Dear God, Sherlock! You may be a genius but you sure are thick! They love you. I love you," John's voice cracked and he had tears in his eyes. Sherlock looked at him with disbelief etched on his face. Had John really just said that? He had. Sherlock couldn't move. He could barely breath. If he could think clearly at that moment, I suppose he'd be blushing.

    "John, I-" Sherlock began. John cut him off.

    "No, Sherlock. This isn't okay! You can NOT do this again. I won't LET you do this again. This will KILL you , Sherlock! Understand? You will die! And I wouldn't survive if you died," At this point, silent tears were streaming down John's face. He looked away from Sherlock. When he turned back, his face was unreadable. Concrete.

    "I can't do this, Sherlock. I love you, and you don't give a damn. You waltz around like no one would care if you died. I care, Sherlock. I don't want you to die. Call me when you figure that out." John turned away again, walking towards the door of 221B. Just before he opened the door, he looked back at Sherlock. "I'm sorry, Sherlock." The door opened. And then it closed. John was gone, and Sherlock was numb.

A/N Hey guys, it's me. I was wondering if I wrote a sequel how many of you would read it? If any? Leave comments and let me know, and then I'll get started on writing one. Stay alive |-/