OK, to start with...

Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry :(

Sorry.

It has been an exact month since the last, unrelated chapter. Sorry.

Yes, I have been having writers block. That is my excuse. Serious writers block. It should be certified as a terminal illness.

Anyhoo it stopped writing completely for all of my fanfics, coupled with my busy life of school and work :|

But now, finally, INSPIRATION!

And so, the final chapter of What Friends Are For. Some slash, towards the end, I guess, if you live in SlashWorld, which many of us do. But other than that it's what I believe is called an 'Appropriate Ending' :)

oOo

Sherlock was bored. No, no wait, that wasn't it. It was something else. He was...He was...Ah, yes, that was it. He was pissed off.

It had been 8 hours and 43 minutes since he'd discovered John's amazing technical and stealth skills, and his mood was not improving.

John had eventually returned very, very carefully. He had obviously been expecting some kind of revenge, like a head jumping out at him or a bucket of acid over the door – these had all crossed Sherlock's mind – but there hadn't been of course, because Sherlock was saving that for perhaps another day, when the doctor least expected it.

There had been a muttered apology, and something about no longer going to dates, and then the video was gone, and Sherlock had let it slide, for now.

But now he was faced with a dilemma. Lestrade had texted him, less than an hour ago. He had a new case. Normally this was enough to excite him, and there was some small part in his head that was shoving him to his feet. But most of Sherlock was frowning. Lestrade had seen the video, he knew that much. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad. Maybe Lestrade wouldn't say more than a chuckle. Sherlock could live with that, because he could easily block out one person.

But if Donovan or Anderson had seen it...

No, there was no mention of them on the blog. They couldn't have, they wouldn't have.

Satisfied, he grabbed his coat and called upstairs, "John! We've got a case"

As he opened the door John came stepping cautiously down the stairs, "A case? Uh, are you sure you want me to...?"

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock nodded violently, "Yes, yes, now hurry up. We're already late"

oOo

He didn't show it, but Sherlock was whirling anxiously through his thoughts as they walked into Scotland Yard.

They haven't seen it. Stop panicking. They haven't seen it.

They entered the office side by side, and everyone looked up at them, including Anderson and Donovan, who were standing on either side of Lestrade.

Sherlock looked at them briefly before dropping his head into his hands

They'd seen it.

oOo

Stomp, Stomp, Stomp. SLAM.

The door to 221b nearly flew off its hinges as it was flung with monumental force into John's face, just missing his nose by a millimetre. Pausing and gathering all his breath, he then cautiously opened it again and peered into the flat.

Sherlock was pacing the room furiously, but his expression remained surprisingly placid. Still, John was not foolish enough to go walking in yet. Right now, the front door was his only shield against Sherlock Holmes. The same Sherlock Holmes who knew how to kill a man as painfully as possible and leave no evidence what-so-ever.

Sherlock was still pacing. He whistled his breath through his teeth for more self-control, and one hand was constantly flying through his hair as he tried to think, tried to calm himself. But it wasn't working.

From behind the door, John spoke quietly, "Sherlo - ?".

He never got time to finish, because the detective had suddenly focused all of his strength and anger on the sound of the doctors voice, and was throwing everything he had at him, "SHUT UP JOHN! Don't speak! Apologies never do anything, words never do anything! Not when the damage is done! So just shut your idiotic mouth before your tiny little brain explodes and go and do the only thing your good for and make some tea! Or better yet, go out and find that bubbling, brainless on-off girlfriend of yours and chat about nonsensical drabble!".

Ending his fit of screaming Sherlock fell backwards onto the couch, drew his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them and buried his head into his jacket.

Completely and utterly shocked, John had let go of the door, which swung open by itself quietly, and just stared uncontrollably at the spot where Sherlock had just been. He had been expecting some kind of tantrum, some kind of blame. But never had he thought it would feel that bad. All because he recorded one stupid video. Sherlock's social limits were always very touch-and-go, but this small thing was clearly past the limit. And John felt guilty right through to his bones.

Unfreezing slowly, he stepped inside the flat, shut the door behind him and moved soundlessly through to the kitchen, where he clicked on the kettle and, out of habit, subconsciously took out two mugs. Twenty minutes passed, in which John slowly prepared the two cups of tea, his thoughts miles away from the task at hand.

The reaction that had just been slammed in his face was due to the incident this morning. Another case had appeared, and Sherlock, being Sherlock, had been unable to resist. Of course John had still felt dubious about Sherlock's recovery from the blog incident, but never-the-less he had been invited along too. Just another day.

And then, they had made it to the police station, quite safely, quite normally, when John suddenly remembered something very, very bad. Something which was realised approximately two minutes later, when they had entered Lestrade's office.

There had been silence. Complete, utter, awkward silence. And then, unable to control it any longer, both Anderson and Donovan had burst into unstoppable fits of laughter. Lestrade couldn't help but join in after a few minutes, and soon the three had been rolling on the floor with tears in their eyes.

And this had been when John had decided it was not going to be a good day for him. Sherlock, who had been seemingly been suspicious of it happening, had still been taken aback at the actual situation, and because of this John had been given the silent, huffy, obnoxiously sulking, treatment the entire cab ride home.

OK, so it was justified, because the video was embarrassing and had been seen by everyone that Sherlock and himself knew. And any other person would be pissed of and try in some way to exact a righteous revenge. But normal people knew the line. Normal people would get their revenge, and then forget the whole matter, treating it as something to laugh about in the future. Normal people would not throw a temper tantrum, and shun their only friend out of their life for something as trivial as this. And then, Sherlock wasn't normal, so he did, and would do this.

John frowned sadly. He hadn't meant for it to go this far. He wasn't sure he could survive life without Sherlock. It would be far too...boring.

Sighing, he looked inconspicuously back through to the living room, and nearly fell over when he saw Sherlock was gazing at the ceiling, a brim of tears in his eyes. The guilt in his heart doubling at this sight, John poured boiled water into each of the mugs and then carefully made his way through.

As he did Sherlock's head snapped back to to hide in his coat, but John saw him shudder and took a step closer. "Sherlock?...Sherlock I'm - I'm sorry, really. I know you don't think much of apologies, but I really am sorry. I didn't mean to do this to you. I didn't think it would affect you this ba - Well, I didn't think at all actually".

Slowly, John placed Sherlock's tea on the coffee table and sat gradually on the arm of the couch, staring at the door. "Look, if - If you want me to leave I will, OK? I never meant to hurt you, I never would". His voice strangled on the last few words, but he managed to get them out.

At this, Sherlock lifted his head slowly, his eyes glancing between the mug of tea on the table and John's oblivious, lost figure.

Then, with every ounce of his strength, Sherlock let go of the perfect opportunity to sulk and stomp and manipulate guilt - and picked up the mug of tea, taking a sip. Then, in a single swift movement, he reached over and dragged John off of the armchair and pulled him into a warm, satisfying hug.

Now of course, whilst this action may have been completely appropriate for Sherlock, for John, getting hugged by a sociopath who missed out on social lessons, it was a little unnerving. Not daring to move, John lay motionless for the few, long - and undeniably comfortable - minutes, before coughing slightly.

"Uh, Sherlock?". Instantly Sherlock released his grip, dropping John onto the couch completely, and shuffled to the other end before standing.

"Apology accepted. And don't even think about going anywhere", he smirked, before walking upstairs. John, still lying where he had fallen, smiled.

Life with Sherlock Holmes was never what you would call, dull.

oOo

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