Author's note: Hello everybody! I wrote you all a little demon!John fic. It wasn't easy either; I was afflicted with severe writers block at first (that's why I haven't written anything in forever for those of you who care). It started out with no demons at all; Sherlock just lost his temper at John. I tried different endings for that: John goes for a walk and meets Moriarty, John goes for a walk and gets kidnapped by Moriarty, John goes for a walk and meets Mycroft, John goes for a walk then forgives Sherlock and comes back, John doesn't go for a walk at all, I even considered making this a five times fic. Eventually I deleted it out of frustration, but, of course, that very same day I came up with this idea and I had to retrieve it. So you better appreciate this one, I worked on it very hard and it took a considerable amount of willpower to not punch a hole in my computer. Thanks for reading it though, I hope you enjoy it! (Giveth me reviews…)

Sherlock was in a foul mood, he had no cases, no cigarettes, and no gun with which to shoot holes in the walls. He was bored out of his mind and John wasn't helping, he was just sitting there, reading the newspaper, being boring. Sherlock glanced over at him from his laying position on the couch and grimaced.

"John, I'm bored." Sherlock said petulantly.

"I'm aware, what do you propose I do about it?" John said without looking up from the paper.

"You could give me my cigarettes." Sherlock suggested and John chuckled. He shook his head and Sherlock sighed in exasperation.

"Why not?" He asked and John gave him a look that clearly stated that Sherlock knew why. Sherlock did know why, but the reasoning was idiotic. Sherlock flung himself from the couch and began to rifle through the drawers in search of the cigarettes.

"Come on Sherlock, you have your nicotine patches. You don't need a cigarette." John said, finally setting down the newspaper. Sherlock continued to search the flat not even looking at John. He began to become increasingly irritated as his search proved less and less hopeful.

"Tell me where they are." Sherlock demanded and John replied with a firm 'no'. Sherlock glared at him, anger rising.

"Tell me where they are or I'll resort to something stronger." Sherlock looked John in the eyes and was pleased to see the horror in them at those words.

"Don't even think about it." John growled as he got to his feet.

"Too late." Sherlock said with another glare. Sherlock moved towards the kitchen but John moved himself to block the path.

"Sherlock as your friend-" John began.

"You are not my friend; I do not bother myself with such frivolous social connections." Sherlock said trying to push past John who continued to bar his way.

"As your doctor I am begging you not to do this." John had dropped the commanding tone of voice he had used before and now sounded more kind. He was trying to reason with Sherlock, but Sherlock was having none of it.

"Please John, don't flatter yourself. You are neither my friend nor my doctor." Sherlock tried to slip around John but he stubbornly blocked his path. Sherlock was losing patience quickly, John was being difficult and that caused Sherlock's anger to rise to dangerous levels.

"Sherlock-" John didn't get a chance to finish because was cut off by Sherlock yet again.

"Stop trying to control me John! You are nothing but a cripple with pathetic psychological issues and the mental aptitude of a four year old. There is no place for someone as miserably inadequate as you in my life!" Sherlock dug his fingernail into John's sensitive scar tissue and shoved him violently to the ground. John hit the floor with a painful thud and looked up at Sherlock. The moment Sherlock looked into John's eyes the anger dissipated, and Sherlock realized what he had just done. Sherlock felt a cold, hard weight in the pit of his stomach and moved towards John; to try and apologize, to try and reverse the damage he had inevitably done. Much to Sherlock's horror, John cringed from Sherlock's touch and jumped to his feet. He didn't even look Sherlock in the eye; he just brought his hand up and began to gently massage the damaged shoulder Sherlock had just attacked.

"You know what Sherlock? Fine, if it really means that much to you, go for it. Actually, I'll do you one better. Don't expect me to get in your way ever again." John said bitterly and marched past Sherlock. Sherlock felt as though he had just been slapped in the face and opened his mouth to speak but John didn't give him the chance.

"No, Sherlock, just… no." John looked Sherlock in the eye for a brief moment, and to Sherlock that was just as bad as a swift kick to the stomach. It hurt just as bad, and when John broke the eye contact Sherlock wanted nothing more than to apologize, and Sherlock never apologized. John grabbed his coat and dashed out of the flat as fast as he could. Sherlock stood there, completely paralyzed, what had he done? Sherlock's stomach was tying itself in knots and Sherlock's mind was in an even sorrier state. How could Sherlock apologize for what he had just said and done? Would he even get the chance? What if John didn't come back? Sherlock didn't have answers for these questions and the internal battle to understand the unprecedented influx of emotions into Sherlock's mind wasn't helping. He didn't know what to do, but he needed to do something, because although he would never admit it, he needed John.

John wasn't going to go back, no sir. John was not going to go back to 221B Baker Street no matter what anyone said. Sherlock had gone too far this time, John had given him more than enough second chances in the past and this was the last straw. John was not going to go back, and he was most certainly not going to cry. Because John didn't cry, at least not anymore, not since he had moved in with Sherlock and the nightmares had disappeared. John was just going to sit down on an uncomfortably cold park bench, put his head in his hands, close his eyes, and massage his temples until all the jumbled thoughts inside his head were reorganized. He never got the chance, because after a few moments John heard something. His head snapped up and he looked around in confusion, he could've sworn he'd heard voices. Yet he couldn't see anyone around, in fact he couldn't see anyone at all. It was early afternoon, so where was everybody? The park John was sitting wasn't usually crowded but there were always people there, especially at this time of day. Yet there wasn't a soul in the park, it was deathly quiet except for the sound of John's breathing. John stood quickly and began to look around, it was far too quiet. John's heart was starting to beat a little faster in his chest as the silence reminded him painfully of another time in Afghanistan when him and his group were ambushed. It had been quiet like this then too, like the calm before the storm. John was about to walk out of the park at a very brisk pace when he heard the sound again. It was like a harsh wind contained in a small space mixed with small whispering voices and it was coming from right above John's head. John looked up and his heart stopped in his chest, looming directly above him was a cloud of dark, menacing smoke, and it was headed straight for him.

Sherlock was pacing, had been pacing since John had left nearly two hours ago. Sherlock was in the process of putting on his coat and taking it off again for the eleventh time when he heard the door open. He froze in place, simultaneously terrified and hopeful that it might be John. Sherlock held his breath as the door swung open and just as Sherlock was preparing himself for disappointment, John walked through. Everything that Sherlock had been keeping bottled up inside spilled out into one, jumbled apology.

"JohnI'msosorrypleasetryandunderstandIwasn'tmyself Idon'tknowwhatIwasthinkingitwasstupidofmetodothaty ouaremyfriendmyonlyfriendandIamanidiotforsayingoth erwiseIknowyouwerejusttryingtohelpmeandyoudidn'tde serveanyofthosethingsIsaidpleaseforgivemeI-"

"Relax Sherlock, it's quite alright. You're completely forgiven; let's just forget it ever happened." John said and Sherlock froze once again. He stared at John for a moment with his mouth agape and then nodded slowly in utter confusion.

"Brilliant, I'm going to make some tea, want some?" Sherlock nodded again in the same fashion and John flashed him a grin before walking off to the kitchen. Sherlock was still trying to process what John had just said, it didn't make any sense. John had remained angry at Sherlock for longer than this with much less incentive, but for some reason he had just forgiven Sherlock for something any sound-minded person would've considered unforgivable. That wasn't the only thing either, John had smiled, but it wasn't John's smile. Sherlock had seen and catalogued every last one of John's smiles (for scientific purposes only, of course) and the smile John had just given Sherlock was not one of them. It didn't belong on John's face; it had looked strange and foreign as it graced his lips. It had sent unpleasant shivers down Sherlock's spine because although it wasn't a smile he had ever seen on John's face, he had seen it more times than he would care to count on the face of Jim Moriarty.