Thank you for reading this :) I haven't written any fic for a while, but my obsession with Sherlock has driven me to it once again. Please let me know what you think (and be nice). Next chapter is almost finished. :)

Also, I don't own anything, just having fun.

It was well past bed time at 221B Baker Street and a despondent feeling hung in the air. John sat in his armchair with his usual before-bed cup of tea. He had been scrolling through his blog, rereading old cases and comments. Life had been pretty quiet lately, so quiet that he had picked up extra shifts at the clinic and left Sherlock home alone for long periods of time. John knew that Sherlock was growing restless and resentful at him; he made it very clear with his silences and glares. Yet John forgave Sherlock as he always seemed so pleased to see him when he returned home from work. As soon as John walked through the door, Sherlock would just start talking. He would chatter away happily for a while, walking back and forward across the living room, hands clasped behind his back and describing his latest experiment in great detail. But as the evening wore on he became more and more sullen, realising that the doctor would abandon him soon again.

John was just about to get up and start getting ready for bed when Sherlock entered the living room in a huff and threw himself on the couch.

"Lestrade said he has nothing for me. Nothing! Not even the smallest of murders! How can that be?" He stamped his feet in the end of the couch and glared at John, noticing his companion was on his laptop.

"Any emails? Any visitors? Even a bloody letter would do," he asked hopefully.

"Nope, not a thing," John answered. "Sorry."

John glanced at Sherlock as he lay quietly on the couch staring at the ceiling. He was worried about his friend. He had never gone this long without a case before. How long could he last before he cracked? Sherlock grabbed a tabloid newspaper lying on the table beside him and started flipping through the pages. He stopped on a page and became engrossed in an article. John went back to reading the first case he wrote 'A Study in Pink'. He remembered how stunned he had been when he had met the consulting detective, how completely amazed he was – and still is - of his intellect. He was certainly the most interesting person he had ever met, and John knew that the time he had spent with the perplexing man was the happiest he had ever been in his life. No two days were alike, and you never knew what the week would bring. John smiled to himself and looked fondly at his friend. He couldn't imagine his life without him.

"Ah ha!" Sherlock leapt off the couch, waving the glossy newspaper in the air like a Victorian paper boy. He held it up in front of John's face and pointed to a photo of himself beside a short story headlined 'Sherlock Holmes: the disappearing detective'.

"Look at what the media is doing to me. Listen to what they wrote. Consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, famously known for his uncanny ability to solve the most puzzling of crimes, has been out of action of late. It is believed Holmes has retired from detective work, instead choosing a reclusive life. Little is known about the detective's private life, but a source has stated that Holmes does not like human contact and is sociopathic in nature. The source stated that Holmes had terrible people skills and was intimidating to work with. A co-worker described him as a "freak" and "mentally unstable." Holmes has not issued a return statement on the comments." Sherlock threw the trashy paper on top of John's laptop.

"This is the problem. Idiots like Anderson and Donovan keep lying about me to the press, and people eat this stuff up. This is why no one brings me cases anymore."

John picked up the paper and looked at the photo. It wasn't the most flattering, he had to admit. Sherlock stood tall and proud, his hands clasped behind his back, a sneer on his face. He looked like the most unapproachable person in the world. John smiled at the photo. He had seen that look on Sherlock's face dozens of times. It was the face he had when someone was being especially stupid.

"Well, you just aren't letting the world know the real you," John said, grinning.

Sherlock glared at him.

"Maybe you need a new angle, or a new image. People just don't understand you. They haven't worked you out yet, and that scares them."

John was well aware how difficult his friend could be to work with, yet none of that seemed to matter to the army doctor. He simply enjoyed spending time with him, listening to him talk and going on crazy adventures with him. Sherlock's faults, as numerous and harsh as they were, paled in comparison to the bond that had grown between them.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock demanded.

John rolled his eyes. "You're not normal Sherlock. You know that. People can't relate to you."

Sherlock stared at John for a few seconds, his face blank.

"People relate to you."

John sighed. "Well that's because I am normal. I go outside, I have girlfriends, I go to the pub, and I'm not freakishly intelligent, tall and wear an intimidating coat everywhere."

Sherlock frowned. "But I don't want any of that though, and I shouldn't have to pretend to be something I'm not."

"Well, you will have to find something that does work for you, because this," John pointed to the article, "will only get worse."

Sherlock took the paper from John and sat back down.

"A new angle…," he muttered. A look came over Sherlock's face that John knew only too well. It meant he was disappearing into his thoughts and may not resurface for hours. John sighed and stood up to go to bed. He was curious to see how the mastermind would solve this mystery. The Case of Normalising Sherlock.