Sherlock Holmes rarely had a hard time understanding, well anything. He could deduce where you had been in the last 12 hours by examining your shoes and how well your marriage was by the state of your wedding ring. That was just how it worked. He could not however read peoples minds. Contrary to belief. Yes, he can tell when someone is feeling anxious or scared. That's only because the person's physical reactions betray them, though. It frustrated him to no end when he couldn't figure out things right off the bat. At this moment he couldn't comprehend his only friends' actions.

John had been avoiding him. For three days.

The detective wanted to know why. His last resort would be to ask John what was going on. He wanted to figure this mystery out. Besides, he couldn't even ask him if he wanted to. John was avoiding him that much. Countless times Sherlock had mulled over the events of the past few days, before said doctor decided to hide away. Amazingly, he hadn't shot the wall out of boredom (again), or played his 'screeching violin' as John liked to call it, at three am. There was always the chance that the detective had said something less than nice to John. It would explain the lack of John's presence around him. Highly unlikely though because the good doctor knew how inept he was with words. Especially when it came to dealing with others feelings or his own. So the possibility of his words causing John distress was very slim. The doctor always forgave him when his words took a hurtful undertone. He simply was not aware of how they sounded and John understood this. John understood him. No longer able to contain the frustration inside his mind, the detective got up off the couch to look for his gun.

John Watson was dealing with emotional turmoil at the moment. He couldn't think straight. It was like an annoying song you couldn't get out of your head, no matter how hard you tried. The only way you could get rid of it was if you ignored it. Blocked it out. This was different from a song, but he couldn't find any other way to deal with the situation.

Yes. John Watson, army doctor had fallen for Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world.

He would only admit it to himself. At first he had found it ridiculous that he had a crush on his flatmate. The doctor had shrugged it off, labeling it as an infatuation with Sherlock's brilliant mind, not the man himself. But oh how he was proven wrong. Soon everything about Sherlock was attractive. His ice-blue eyes, the wild curly ebony locks, those damn cheekbones. He distanced himself from Sherlock because he was afraid of his own feelings, and the fact that Sherlock did not harbor the same feelings toward him. He was positive that the detective did not see him as anything more than his one and only friend. John was perfectly fine with this. Almost.

He knew avoiding the taller man without giving good reason would frustrate him. He just couldn't handle being so close to Sherlock right now. Honestly, he was amazed the man hadn't noticed being noticed by his flatmate. Steadily he walked up the stairs to their flat. John opened and closed the door as quietly as possible. Not that Sherlock wouldn't notice. He expected the calling of his name after the click of the door shutting resonated through the flat. Shockingly, he heard….nothing.

The past few days Sherlock would call his name for something. He would then proceed to make an excuse to leave Sherlock's presence and make a bee-line for his room.

Walking into the sitting room, he found said detective on the couch with four nicotine patches on his arm, with four new bullet holes in the wall to match. This was a bit not good. When Sherlock used nicotine patches, it was because he was having trouble with a case. If he shot at the wall he was extremely bored. So if you found both at the same time, that meant his friend was very frustrated or worked up about something. Maybe he had avoided the genius a little too much.

"Why have you been avoiding me, John?" Sherlock didn't move from the couch or even open his eyes as he spoke. He moved his eyes down toward the figure on the couch.

"I haven't been avoiding you. I've been busy."

"Don't lie to me. The only things consuming your time are your practice, which has been slow the past few days and finding ways to avoid me."

"I…" He couldn't get the words to come out right. He couldn't just tell him. Okay, he could. But he wouldn't. The detective would figure it out anyway, whether he told him or not. "I can't tell you."

Finally Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at him. "Why not?" The taller man got off the couch and stepped over the coffee table to him, where he was standing next to his chair. Those icy-blue eyes bore into his as he waited for a reply. "I just can't. You should be able to figure it out."

A/N: So what do you guys think? This is my first Sherlock fanfics so I hope I've kept them in character at least somewhat. I've been obsessed with this show and I just couldn't resist writing something with this pairing. They're just so freakin' adorable. This'll be a multi-chap fic but no more than 5 probably. Review and let me know what you guys think! Expect updates for my other stories soon. ~Edmy