Archive of Our Own ^beta

John was furious. He had had a row with Sherlock. Not just the ordinary bickering, but a real row. And, to be honest, he couldn’t even say why or who had started it all.

Having a row with Sherlock was never pleasant for anyone with only the average human brain. Even if it wasn’t about one of his cases or experiments, but just everyday life stuff. And it usually ended with Sherlock making him feel like a complete idiot and him leaving the flat for some air.

Why couldn’t he just for once shut up before John felt like punching him in the face and slammed the door shut instead?

Suddenly, John felt a big, familiar hand on his shoulder. He turned around. It was Mike Stamford, not beaming at him as usual, but looking confused and concerned.

"Hi, John. Everything all right? Where’s Sherlock?"

So that was the reason for Mike’s concern. John sighed. Why did everyone ask him the same question whenever he turned up somewhere on his own?

"He’s…at home, in our flat."

They sounded strange, these words from his own mouth: "at home, in our flat". They meant he had a home. And a flatmate. And they had just had a completely meaningless stupid argument because he was tired after a long and unnerving day at work and Sherlock was frustrated after a long and unnerving day trying to track down some criminal without success.

Suddenly he smiled, realising he knew better than anyone why people kept asking him that same question. Being alone made him feel strange these days.

But now he knew he didn’t mind. On the contrary, it was just the logical consequence of the best thing that had ever happened to him: no longer being alone.