It had been a week. John, in all honesty, was astounded Sherlock had managed as long.
"Just give me them!"
John groaned inwardly. There was likely something to be said for making the great Sherlock Holmes beg – it had certainly brought a bit of a grin to his face the first time – but it had already become redundant.
"I told you, Sherlock," he sighed, "there are no cigarettes here. Mrs. Hudson tossed them."
He regretted it as soon as he said it. Leaning forward on the couch, he gave Sherlock a stern look.
"No, no… You can do this."
Really, he felt a bit silly encouraging a grown man as if he were a five year old. Then again, Sherlock certainly resembled a child at times, though John tended to keep that thought to himself.
"John, I think you fail to see the gravity of the situation. We haven't had a case in over a week and I'm going positively mad. The last thing you want is Mrs. Hudson complaining about another few bullets through the living room wall."
"Oh, for God's sake. Isn't there something else you can do to keep yourself from being bored?"
"Like what exactly?" Sherlock laughed sarcastically, shooting a glance at the smiley face painted on the wall. "Normal people fill their time with useless inanities. They're all fools."
"We're so lucky you're above that, moping about the flat as if Mycroft stole your favourite riding crop. Just find something to do, alright? Go hug some other some other brilliant sociopath if it'll make you feel better."
"Actually…" Sherlock turned back to John, with a grin that made John eye him cautiously. He knew Sherlock had probably just come up with some insane plan that would drag them back and forth across London for the rest of the night. As much as he loved that life, he knew he would regret it in the morning when getting up for work.
"Maybe you're right," Sherlock said, suddenly much brighter than he'd been moments before. "Perhaps a hug is in order."
Now John was worried. Maybe the cigarette withdrawal had finally driven Sherlock mad. He laughed a little, realizing it must have been Sherlock's idea of a joke, stopping when he realized it wasn't. It was only when Sherlock had made his way over to where John sat that it hit him.
"John, I need a hug."
He didn't even think to remind Sherlock that he was not, in fact, "another brilliant sociopath" as he had suggested.
"I'm not hugging you Sherlock."
"Yes, you are."
"You don't even like hugs."
"Actually, I rather enjoy them."
It was rarely that John found himself speechless, though Sherlock always seemed to be the exception to everything.
"What if I said I don't believe that?"
"Then you," he paused, "are an idiot."
Before John could protest, Sherlock had sat beside him, resting his head on John's shoulder. Had Sherlock been the type of man to constantly need this kind of attention, John might have been more inclined to push him off straight away.
Needless to say, Sherlock Holmes was an odd man. But John liked him that way.
And to be honest, John rather liked hugs too.