This is my first Johnlock so if it gets good feedback then it might just inspire me enough to write another. :) I hope you enjoy it, and leave a review if you can!

Sherlock and all of its characters belong to BBC.

Sherlock was pacing the flat again.

John was sitting in one of the arm chairs, legs crossed, a book in his lap. He couldn't even remember what he'd grabbed off the shelf, since it really wasn't the book he was paying attention to. He was just absently flipping pages as he zoned in on the man crossing back and forth before him.

He listened to him rattle off what would seemingly be lists of useless information to an average mind. But the absolute last word John would use to describe Sherlock was average.

Lost in thought and staring off into space, John didn't realize the pacing had come to a sudden halt and the other man was looking at him intently. Finally, the lull in the dark-haired sociopath's nonsensical mumbling brought John's mind back into focus.

Sherlock smirked knowingly. "You haven't read a single word of that book since you've been sitting there, have you?"

John opened his mouth to protest, but the other man continued without hesitation. "No, no, of course you haven't. The page turning was impossibly irregular, not to mention you haven't even been looking at it, obviously. Can you even tell me what it is that you're reading?"

The suddenly flustered doctor had no idea what to say, and he felt his face begin to flush under the detective's unexpected scrutiny. "I...I, uh. Well—"

"Well, my dear Watson," he grabbed the book out of the seated man's lap, closing it and showing him the cover. "You just so happened to grab the dictionary."

John just wanted to be completely absorbed into his chair at that very moment, feeling very small.

"What's wrong with wanting to enhance my vocabulary? You're not the only one allowed to be obnoxiously intelligent," he muttered sarcastically.

"So," the detective continued as if he hadn't heard him. "Taking into account the sudden involuntary reddening of your face, the—" he paused for a moment, taking John's wrist in his hand. "—accelerated heart rate, and sudden intake of breath that you probably thought I wouldn't have noticed when I touched you leads me to believe that someone's gotten a bit fond of my company."

John was still frozen, his eyes wide, mouth slightly open. He lifted his face up and met the standing man's gaze. "I, erm—oh, just shut up, you irritating—"

He pulled his hand out of the other's grasp and stood. Sherlock just gave him one of those half-smiles that made him melt.

Wait. No. NO. It did not make him melt. What in the hell was wrong with him this morning? Well. To be fair it was probably only natural. Perfectly, completely normal. I mean, he had been rooming with this man for a while. This really, really attractive—

Nope. That was not normal. But, he was sure just needed a little bit of fresh air and a bit of time alone to remind himself of how completely heterosexual he was.

Snatching his jumper off the back of the chair, he walked briskly to the door.

"Dammit, Sherlock," he murmured, slamming the door behind him.

Mrs. Hudson heard John coming down the stairs well before he came into view. He wasn't exactly mumbling to himself as quietly as he probably hoped.

"...ridiculous...absolutely ridiculous...deductive reasoning my arse...who does he think he is, him and his cheekbones...those cheekbones..."

He almost collided with her as she stepped out in front of him, which only made him even more flustered. She gave him a sympathetic look. She really wished they would get on with it already. "Oh, sweetie. Did you two have a bit of a spat?"

John still looked alarmed by her sudden presence. He was probably running through the things he was just saying to himself and growing more horrified by the second at the possibility that she heard it all. Which, of course, she did.

Before thinking, he started babbling in a panic. "Oh—Mrs. Hudson! Yes—erm. That was...obviously. Uh—obviously...completely straight cheekbone appreciation. Completely."

"Oh, you've got it bad," she just shook her head with a laugh.

"I've got nothing! Nothing at all, nothing being had here. Absolutely nothing, Mrs. Hudson, I assure you," he continued slipping around her and out the door, but not before peeking back in for emphasis. "Absolutely nothing."

She crossed her arms and sighed, looking at the door that he'd just closed behind him with an expression of amusement. "Oh, yes, dear. It's obviously nothing."

She'd stood there for a few moment, then just turned around to head into her own flat, she heard a rising commotion outside. Then, a man shouted. John's shout. She rushed over to the door and flung it open, looking around frantically. He was lying on the ground unconscious not too far along the pavement.

Sherlock had already rushed downstairs and reached the door as she turned around to shout for his help. He had a look of worry, horror, and steely anger on his face all at once, which startled her even further. Mrs. Hudson rushed to phone the police as he crouched down beside his fallen friend.

Sherlock was already contemplating following John when he heard the sudden noise gathering outside. Then, a man cried out.

But it wasn't just any man. It was his John.

He didn't even care how his thoughts had just claimed the man as his, he just cared about getting downstairs as quickly as possible and assessing the situation. But, for once, it wasn't the crime that he was interested in investigating.

It was the person that was just hurt by it.

Mrs. Hudson was standing in the doorway. The way her eyes were widened as she began to turn around just made his gut clench a little more. As she moved out of the way, to alert the authorities, he was sure, he stepped out of the door and onto the pavement. His eyes locked onto John's crumpled, unconscious body. He quickly sunk to his knees and grabbed his wrist, just as he'd held it just a few moments ago. There was a pulse, of course. He figured the worst he could have was a bad concussion. But he just needed to reassure himself, maybe just needed John's touch.

Sherlock scanned the area, looking for a sign of what had happened as he heard the sirens approaching.