Sherlock watched John pace around the kitchen. He could see that he was angry. Obviously Sherlock had done something wrong, but what?
John paused and spun around to face Sherlock, medical kit in his hand.
“How many times..? Sherlock?” he said “how many times are you going to go off on your own? Risking your life because you can’t be bothered to tell anyone where you are?”
‘Oh! Oh! So that’s what John was angry about’, Sherlock realised.
“John..” he started to say, but John held up his hand and Sherlock fell silent.
John laid out his medical kit, and turned his back on Sherlock to wash his hands. Placing a bowl of water on the counter he faced Sherlock. Sherlock remaind silent not knowing what he should say.
John began cleaning the wound on Sherlock’s cheek, wiping away the dried blood. Sherlock felt John’s breath on his face as he pulled Sherlock’s head forward so he could inspect his scalp for injury.
John sighed as he moved to Sherlock’s chest to check there were no broken ribs.
“What am I going to do with you Sherlock? I cannot keep doing this; you have to tell me where you are”. He looked at Sherlock waiting for his reply.
Sherlock replied, “John, you could always come with me, which would be better”.