"I'm flattered, Sherlock, but you know I'm not gay, right? You're my best friend, can't deny that, but I don't think I'd ever see you in any other way."

Sherlock sat on his bed, shaking. It was shameful, seeing what a simple sentence had done to him. He was shivering, salty drops dripping down his face. For the first time in twenty-seven years, Sherlock Holmes was crying. How...pedestrian. Infuriating. He would have to conduct an experiment on possible emotional triggers later.

"Sherlock"

John's gentle voice shook him out of his reverie. It was unlike his usual tone, and Sherlock could almost taste the pity on his tongue. Really now, this was disgusting. Sherlock stood suddenly, a bout of dizziness flooding his head as the blood rushed through his brain. Walking to the door, he paused. He could hear John's measured breathing, could feel him reproving himself. Trust John to blame himself for Sherlock's moment of weakness. Sherlock inhaled slowly, and pushed open the door, making a mental note to delete this memory from his mind palace as soon as possible. 

____________

It had been two days since 'The Event'. Sherlock hadn't slept since then. That's alright, he told himself. I hardly sleep when I'm on a case.

He hadn't had a case in almost a week.

John had been shuffling awkwardly around the flat since. He kept shooting little, furtive glances towards Sherlock, and it was beginning to get on his nerves. John had also been drinking an unusual amount of tea, and had started to take to remaining out of the flat for long stretches of time during the day, and shutting himself in his room after sunset. Sherlock had, at one point, been tempted to record the various changes to John's schedule, but for some reason had been unable to approach him to question him. Foolish, he knew. Mycroft would scoff. 

It had been two days since 'The Event'. He hadn't deleted it yet.