A/N: This is my first actual fanfic, I apologise for any crappiness that might occur.
R/R So I know if you'd like to see more; I'll take Ideas and constructive criticism.

Shut Up, John.

By Lily Brown / Remembertoforgetme

Sherlock sat silently in 221B Baker Street, pondering over the case him and John had just solved. John had missed the point completely—just like he'd missed so many other things. 'John is so clueless sometimes. What was it said?' Sherlock thought, scrambling to find the word. "Empathy," He said aloud, his eye at the microscope he kept on his desk. Across the room, he heard John's typing stop. "Hm?" John said, and Sherlock looked over at him, his light eyes resting on John's. 'I don't need empathy. I can't understand what it's like to be dull, besides. I've never been dull,' He thought, looking back to his experiment. A few moments later, he could still feel John's eyes on him. "I know you're baffled, John, nothing new there," He paused, letting his harsh words sink in, "But could you please stop staring, one might think you're daydreaming about me."
John glared at Sherlock. Smug, genius Sherlock. He knew by now not to argue with the detective, but he was already having a bad day, so why not get it off his chest? "Not everyone can be a genius Sherlock. We'd all be irritating pricks." He remarked calmly, going back to his blog. He tried not to let Sherlock's piercing glare bother him. 'This is what my life has been reduced to—me and the cold detective having a row at each other twice a week, and solving cases on the side,' John thought, looking up at Sherlock. "I hate you sometimes, John."
John was appalled. "The feeling's mutual," he remarked. Is it? John thought, or was he just saying that to piss Sherlock off?
Sherlock chuckled from across the room, and John could see the exacerbating smirk on his face. "No, it's not." He quipped. John glared at him. "This is why no one puts up with you. You read human beings like books, and it's just not fucking okay, Sherlock."
John's honesty felt like a knife on Sherlock's skin. His smirk disappeared, replaced with a look of contempt. The detective stood abruptly and left the flat, grabbing his coat and scarf on his way.
John wanted to say something, but no words came out. He set his laptop down and pulled out his phone.

I'm sorry, Sherlock. Please come home so we can sort this out.-JW

Sherlock sat angrily in Lestrade's office, fuming at John. "I told him I hate him," He said to Lestrade, who was nodding slowly, taking it all in. "Maybe you should apologize to him, set it all straight," Greg said, "John's a reasonable man. I'm sure he'll understand."
Sherlock shook his head furiously. 'I don't do apologies.' He muttered. Lestrade smirked, 'Maybe you should. If you want to have a relationship with John, you're going to have to stop making him take the fall for everything.'
Sherlock opened his mouth to argue when Donovan entered the room. 'Sleeping with Anderson again, Sally?' Sherlock asked, but instead of waiting for an answer, he strode out of the room. Lestrade and Donovan stared after him, Donovan smirking and Lestrade stifling a laugh.