A/N: I really struggled over this piece - rewriting it a bunch of times. It's a conversation that I felt Sherlock and John really needed to have, but I had a dickens of a time writing it.

So, I'd love feedback on how any of you think this little project is going...

Journal entry

I'm writing this private journal entry in order to record and hopefully better understand the conversation Sherlock and I had just now.

I awoke about 2:30 from a war-related nightmare. I was sweating and my heart was pounding. I knew I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep for awhile. I thought I would maybe journal about my dream, but realized that my laptop was in the sitting room.

I could hear Sherlock quietly playing his violin, so I knew he was up and I wouldn't disturb him by going to get my computer.

As I came down the stairs the violin went quiet. I came into the sitting room and Sherlock was waiting on the couch, he evidently heard me coming down.

"Did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet."

I shook my head. "No, not you. Afghanistan."

"Ah." He watched me get my computer and sit down in my chair. I figured I would log in to my email and blog and see if there were any messages of interest. Once I had my blog pulled up my heart sank.

Sherlock was still watching me and asked, "What's wrong?"

"What are you going to do about Jessica Arnold?"

"I'm going to get her father out of the clutches of that nasty blackmailer. I'm weighing a few different strategies at the moment. I'm confident that one of the bunch will work."

"No, I mean what are you going to do about Jessica?"

Sherlock only looked at me questioningly.

I sighed with frustration. "The girl is SMITTEN with you. She's leaving messages for me on my blog because apparently you aren't responding to her messages anymore."

Sherlock shrugged, "Not my problem."

"Of course it's your problem, she's your client."

"Her feelings are not my problem."

I looked at him with annoyance. "So, what am I supposed to do about her posts?"

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "I'm sure you'll think of something nice to say. You're the 'ladies man', after all. Romance is not my specialty."

I suppose I am still a bit sore over the break-up with Sarah, because that statement hurt and angered me. "Might I remind you," I said through gritted teeth, "that you're speaking with someone who just recently sacrificed a romantic attachment in favor of you."

"Well of course you did," he drawled back. "It was really the only sensible decision to make."

My mouth fell open. "You seemed a little more - grateful - a few weeks ago."

"Oh I am grateful. But really, John, was there ever the possibility of Sarah winning out over me?"

Something about the condescending smirk on his face touched off an explosion in my chest. Before I realized fully what I was doing, I had left my chair and was standing in front of Sherlock on the couch. In fact, it could probably be described as LOOMING over him as he had to tilt his head back and up to meet my furious gaze.

"Sherlock," I said quietly but with determined emphasis, "I just want to make it clear right now that although I have placed you first in my life - that could change. Insulting Sarah isn't fair and I won't tolerate it. There would have been no shame in choosing her. And I will not tolerate being treated like a simpleton, lackey, or side-kick anymore. I am not your tool, errand-boy, assistance dog, helper monkey or whatever you may be tempted to treat me as. I expect from you the same respect that I give you. I haven't always insisted on it before, but I am starting right now. You are worth sacrificing for, but not my self-respect; that I'm going to keep and you'd best remember that."

Sherlock stared at me with wide, surprised eyes, his pupils blown so wide his eyes looked black instead of his usual grey. His violin slipped from his fingers and fell from his chest to his lap with a soft plonk. I could see his rapid pulse in his neck and hear his breath coming quickly through his slightly parted lips.

Oops, I thought, I didn't think he'd scare that easily! I backed away slightly, then sat down on the coffee table.

"It's quite simple, really. Just treat me the way you want me to treat you," I said with a small smile.

There was a silence with Sherlock continuing to stare at me, looking rather like a deer in the headlights. After a minute I started to feel a little uncomfortable.

"Geez Sherlock, what did you think I was going to do to you, anyway?" I paused, but he didn't respond aside from giving a slight shrug that looked like it was supposed to be dismissive.

"OK, well, I'll be off to bed then. Er, goodnight." I felt extremely awkward for some reason. I went over and collected my laptop and headed for the door.

As I walked out of the sitting room I heard Sherlock quietly say, "Goodnight, John."

I came upstairs and began writing this, in an attempt to figure out what this means, if anything. Why did Sherlock react like that? Was I really that physically threatening? I did stand over him, but I wasn't clenching my fists or anything. Maybe it was just unsettling for him to have to look up at me for a change, rather than the other way around.

Since I've been up here typing, I heard Sherlock go to his room and shut his door. Slightly unusual for him. I didn't hear anything for a while after that, but now he's playing his violin in his bedroom. I guess he's trying to muffle the sound more in case I'm trying to sleep. I'm trying to place the piece he is playing, because it sounds very familiar. I think it's a song, maybe from an opera? I often play a little game with myself by trying to guess Sherlock's mood from the pieces he plays. It's a little difficult for me, as I don't know many classical pieces, although I'm slowly learning as I live here.

Well, it is extremely late now, more like early morning, really, so I better go to bed and get a few hours of sleep. I guess all I can say at this point is that life with Sherlock is never dull. And that's why I don't think I would ever want to leave.

A/N: so...just for fun...here's the piece Sherlock played in his bedroom, after John confronted him on the couch: the "Habanera" aria from Carmen. :-)