Welcome to my new fic! Expect plenty of drama and when the time comes; romance. I hope you will like it. I would enjoy some reviews, too...

Chap. 1 The fight

They were fighting.

It had begun with bitter comments when John came home late to 221B Baker Street after work only to find out via the cellphone that Sherlock had refused to take a paycheck from Lestrade after the latest solved case.

John had been tired, hungry and annoyed, which quickly had made the whole situation worse, whereas Sherlock apparently couldn't understand why it infuriated John that he had declined the offer from the Detective Inspector. And so, the bicker evolved into a real fight.

"Sherlock, is it above you to accept money for your work? Because if so, are you aware that I slave all day just so we can pay the rent and eat and afford your experiments?" John growled as he tore off his jumper when he felt himself grow warm from the conflict.

Sherlock leaned against the kitchen table with his arms crossed over his chest and frowned at John's words.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. You know that when we need money, I get money. And by the way, we haven't spent a penny on most of the components to my experiments; I'm able to get them for free."

John scowled and paced back and forth in the room. Truth to be told, he knew that Sherlock always paid his share of the rent and the costs for his cases. But somewhere, deep within lay a jealousy which now showed its ugly face. John was jealous of Sherlock's carefree lifestyle, and how unbound he was every day. Sherlock didn't have to meet people he didn't want to see and he could spend his days doing whatever he liked, or what he did like; solving crimes.

And even though John now and then became a part of the thrilling cases, he was still chained to the everyday life; the one when he had to go shopping food alone, clean the apartment and work for long hours. Therefore, John didn't always have the energy to race after Sherlock and do what he too found interesting. And that made him frustrated.

"Don't you call me ridiculous when I'm not the one who constantly demands that I cross London to do something insignificant like sending an e-mail for you! It's getting tiresome of being interrupted by your texts when I'm right in the middle of an examination," John spat and that was when Sherlock stood up straight and fixed his ice blue eyes on him.

"I understand. I apologize for the inconvenience I've caused you and I will not do it again," he said sternly before he added, "I hope the hypochondriacs are fascinating enough for you."

"Do you think I work because it's entertaining? I'll have you know that we need a steady income to get by, especially when you're not taking checks!" John roared and marched to the wall to use it as an outlet for his rage. The punch bruised his knuckles and as he winced, Sherlock's indifferent voice pointed out behind his back, "That isn't working. You'll end up with aching hands and remain angry. People usually believe a pristine action can reduce their own feelings but they are wrong."

John swirled around and lashed out, "Stop deducing me! You are such a pain in the arse at times."

John had a feeling a line had just been crossed. Hurt flashed in Sherlock's eyes before he stalked towards him and ended up looming over John. There was no return now.

The fight grew dirty as both of them threw insults dripping with venom at each other. They uttered mean, cruel things to each other, irrelevant of the initial topic with Lestrade's check. That had simply been the catalyst and had driven them to the point where they revealed every bothersome thing that made them resent each other.

"I thought you understood what it would mean to share a flat with me. If you've found out just now, after two years, that you hate it, you are denser than I thought!" Sherlock retorted with a humorless grin and before he caught up with what he was doing, John grabbed Sherlock by the jacket, turned them around, and thrusted Sherlock into the wall. A dull thud and a surprised exhalation upon impact with the wall were heard in the now very quiet room. John released the suit but didn't back off as he hissed to the taller man, "Never fucking call me dense, Sherlock."

Sherlock stared at him, clearly astonished by his unexpected move. A red colour had crept up the detective's pale cheeks as the fight progressed and now he only took shallow, quick breaths as his eyes practically scanned John. And by habit, John let Sherlock deduce him without interrupting. He patiently waited for Sherlock to decide what reaction he would have.

"I see you've reached the point when you've emptied your vocabulary and take to use violence instead. Very impressive. Or was that the soldier showing?" Sherlock asked in a hushed tone and lifted one eyebrow.

"Leave me alone," John said and retreated one step.

"Fine!" Sherlock snapped and pushed himself from the wall. Without looking at John, he stalked to the door and disappeared through it. John could hear the angry, heavy steps on the stairs as Sherlock went downstairs and at last past the front door. When the door slammed shut, John released a breath he unknowingly had held and rubbed his forehead.

"Oh, Christ."

Immediately he regretted the things he had said but was aware that Sherlock could hold a grudge for a long time. Had the detective been too wounded by John's insults this time to forgive him? But then again, John had managed to get along with Sherlock for over two years and although they occasionally got vexed with each other they somehow overcome every clash.

John's eyes swept over the messy room and his shoulder slumped miserably. One thing was sure, though. Wherever Sherlock had gone to sulk, he was surely not going to tell John in the next few hours, or perhaps even days. John had to wait for him to come back.

Without Sherlock in the flat to distract him from the real life, John suddenly remembered that he was supposed to work the next day and it was late. The problem was that John by experience knew he would have trouble falling asleep when he was upset and his mind brimmed with thoughts. And he really didn't fancy drowsing off in his office again.

With a tired sigh, he walked to the bathroom and began to brush his teeth when in a flash of genius he came up with a solution. In the open cabinet before his eyes stood a white bottle with the sleeping pills he had been recommended for his traumatic dreams of Afghanistan. Along with the cane, he had not used the pills after his first day with Sherlock. The bottle gave a rattle as John wrapped his hand around it.

"It won't hurt to take two and get some sleep," the doctor mumbled to himself and went to his bedroom.

If you thought this was terrible for John and Sherlock, wait until you read the next chapter. That's when action kicks in! And please send me reviews to encourage me to continue.