Hey, I don't really have much to say except.. thanks to whoever's reading! Here's Chapter Four!

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"How was the trip boys? Did you enjoy yourselves? Did you meet any interesting people? Did Sherlock solve any mysteries?"

John and Sherlock hadn't even gotten in the door of their flat completely before Mrs. Hudson began bombarding them with questions. Sherlock handed John his suitcase, then led Mrs. Hudson into the kitchen so they could sit down and talk. John decided to ignore the fact that Sherlock had basically given him the task of bringing all their stuff in, but he wasn't in any mood to chat at the moment. He still felt a bit weird from the night before. It was a bit strange; He couldn’t completely figure out just how he felt, or why he felt that way. It was quite peculiar, and he didn't know what to do to make it go away.

Sherlock, however, seemed completely fine. His hangover was now a forgotten memory to him, much like what he'd said to John in the hotel room. John however was sure those words would be haunting him for quite some time. He tried again to occupy his mind with other thoughts while he dragged the cases into the living room and went back downstairs to retrieve the other three bags. He struggled a bit to get them up the stairs, but he didn't want to make another trip.

He eventually made it up the stairs and placed the bags he was carrying on the floor. He grabbed Sherlock's two suitcases first and took them to his bedroom. He placed the cases on the floor, not wanting to make Sherlock's bed even more of a mess than it was. The pillows were on opposite corners of the mattress, and the sheets were strewn about as if there had been a fight between them. Sherlock obviously had been tossing and turning in his sleep quite a bit the night before they left for Fiji. John found this to be rather strange, as when he and Sherlock had been asleep in the hotel he hadn't moved an inch.

John returned to the living room and grabbed his own bags, not paying attention to Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson's conversation as he did so. He thought he heard his name, but he was more concerned with getting his things unpacked than he was with figuring out what those two were talking about. He stayed in his room for quite some time, trying to figure out just where to put his clothes, and the few souvenirs he had purchased on their trip.

John was trying to find a place to put his new ceramic palm tree when he heard Sherlock calling his name. He put the tree on his bedside table and made his way downstairs. Mrs. Hudson was gone and Sherlock was standing by the door tapping away on his phone.

"Yes?" he asked, hoping to get his attention.

"Lestrade called. I'm heading out for a bit."

"Really Sherlock?" John asked, exasperated. "We just got back from holiday and you're already going out to work on a case?" Sherlock just nodded his head, like what he was doing was perfectly fine. "Don't you think you should rest a bit?"

"Rest? John don't be absurd. We just got back from holiday and you're talking about resting." He rolled his eyes and sighed, which for some reason John found humorous. Sherlock watched John carefully while he put his scarf on and tucked his phone inside the pocket of his trenchcoat.

"I'm guessing you don't want to come along then," he said. John thought for a moment, and seriously considered going along, but ultimately decided against it. He could use a bit of rest, and a break from being around Sherlock might be just what he needed to get his mind off of things for a bit. He shook his head, and Sherlock's expression seemed to grow a bit sad when he did. He nodded his head curtly, then turned and was out the door.

John stood alone in front of the door for a few minutes after Sherlock left, unsure of what to do. He was still a bit upset that Sherlock had run off as soon as they'd gotten home. Yet, he wasn't surprised. Despite the fact that Sherlock had told him during the cab ride to the flat that he'd enjoyed their time in Fiji, John knew he was probably itching to get back to work. He smiled to himself, reminding himself that Sherlock was…well… Sherlock, and he, unlike so many people John knew, actually enjoyed his line of work. He didn't know why he'd thought a break from crime solving would have helped Sherlock. If anything he had become worse. He had started having extreme mood swings and he had skipped so many meals John couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sherlock eat something. He was really starting to get worried.

While he waited for Sherlock to return, John updated his blog. He wrote about their trip to Fiji, leaving out the part about the shared bed. People talked enough as it is. He wrote about the beautiful sunsets, and the landscape of the island. He added a small bit about when Sherlock got drunk at the tiki bar on their last day, leaving out a few things that occurred in the hotel room.

As he read over the entry before submitting it, John realized just how much he'd enjoyed their trip. Granted, the most exciting thing they did was go swimming in the ocean once, but it had been nice to just 'hang out' with his best friend. When they were laying out on the beach talking about nothing, Sherlock had seemed so incredibly…human. It was nice to know that there was actually a normal person hidden beneath all that craziness that is Sherlock Holmes.

John stepped away from his laptop to go make himself a cup of tea, and when he returned to the living room Sherlock was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper. John had been so surprised to see him he'd nearly dropped his cup.

"Um, hello." Sherlock simple gave a quick nod of the head, not looking up from the paper. He looked upset. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

John could tell from the tone of his voice that his statement was far from true. He sighed and sat down in his armchair. He took a sip of his tea, glancing up at Sherlock over the cup.

"You're not fine," he said, putting the cup on a nearby table. He folded his hands in his lap and stared at Sherlock. The detective looked up from his paper, and when he saw the way John was watching him a look of worry flashed across his features momentarily before being replaced with an emotionless stare.

"I'm fine," he repeated, his voice breaking slightly. As soon as he spoke Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, knowing his voice had betrayed him. John kept his eyes trained on his friend.

"Sherlock, tell me what's wrong." He said nothing. "Did something happen while you were out?" Still nothing. "Sherlock it won't do you any good to hold it in."

"How do you know?!" Sherlock shouted, startling John. The look of anger on Sherlock's face was quite frightening. Neither of them made a sound until Sherlock let out a slow breath and his face relaxed. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. John grabbed the cup from the table and took a sip. It had already gotten cold. He stood to take the cup back into the kitchen and empty it.

"I'm sorry," came a quiet voice from the other side of the room. John stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned around to face Sherlock. His face was hidden behind the newspaper that was being held a bit too high in the air. John turned back around and went into the kitchen. When he returned to the living room Sherlock was standing at the window nearest the sofa, staring at nothing it seemed. John sat down in his chair and grabbed his laptop.

"I couldn't figure it out," Sherlock said after a few moments of silence. John briefly glanced up from his laptop screen, but Sherlock was still staring out the window.

"Figure what out?"

"There was a robbery. No fingerprints or witnesses, but one of the robbers had dropped a bag of crisps while they were escaping. He must've been wearing gloves when he bought them because there weren't any prints on the bag. Lestrade called me, hoping I could help them out and I… I couldn't." Sherlock's voice was barely a whisper by the time he finished talking. John could tell just how much it hurt him to say what he had. He felt a slight pain in his chest for his friend.

"Well that's nothing to be upset about," John said, standing up. He put his laptop in his chair and took a few steps towards Sherlock. "Not every problem can be solved in one try."

"That might be true for you," Sherlock mumbled.

"And you too, today at least," John shot back. He immediately regretted it when he saw the look on Sherlock's face. "Sorry." Sherlock furrowed his brow and turned away from the window. He began pacing back and forth.

"I just don't understand," Sherlock said, running a hand through his hair. "It was such a simple case. I should've solved it in a matter of minutes but… I just couldn't…focus. I've never had this problem before."

"Don't worry about it," John said, coming over and placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, only to have Sherlock shrug him off. "Come on, let's go get dinner. Eating will take your mind off of this."

"I'm not hungry," Sherlock said, walking out of the room.

"But you haven't eaten in days!" John shouted after him. When he received no reply he grabbed his laptop and went up to his room. He stayed there for the rest of the night.