The next few days were sort of a blur for John. He and Sherlock had been avoiding each other like the plague, and whenever they did happen to be in the same room all they did was exchange glares. Over time though, the glares softened into sorrowful glances and apologetic looks. Neither of them knew why they were fighting, but neither man was willing to make the first move towards reconciliation, so they remained on shaky ground for far much longer than they should've.

For those days when he and Sherlock weren't speaking, John's existence was a sad one. John suffered in silence while he sat in his room, or sat alone in a pub, sipping a glass of water and watching whatever football game was on.

One day the weather was nice enough for John to consider having a nice stroll through the park. He'd grabbed his phone and keys from his bedside table and went on his way. Sherlock hadn't been in the living room when he'd passed through. But then again, he hardly ever was when John was home.

When John's feet hit the pavement he looked up at the bright sky, squinting his eyes against the sun. He turned and looked up at the window he knew looked into their flat, and thought he saw a figure standing there. He didn't look long, but turned around and began walking away. His hands swung stiffly by his sides as he walked, and his gaze stayed forwards and intense. He turned a few corners and came across a small park. He looked around for a bench to sit on and relax, and his eyes caught sight of a familiar face.

"Ollie?" he called out, taking a few steps closer to the man sitting down on a bench a few feet away. "Oliver Wood?" The man had dark brown hair, still shaggy like it had been in his college days. In fact, he looked like he hadn't changed at all since the last time John had seen him. He made a mental note to ask him if he'd found the fountain of youth or something.

He was looking around, most likely for the person who had called his name. When his eyes landed on John a wide grin spread across his face and he stood up.

"John! Get your arse over here!" He said, waving him over. John laughed and walked towards him. They exchanged a handshake, and Oliver offered for John to sit down on the bench beside him.

"How have you been mate?" he asked. John made a face and shrugged.

"I've been alright I suppose. You?"

"I've been pretty good myself." He placed his arm on the back of the bench and let out a breath. He glanced over at Johns' direction before focusing on something in front of him. "What are you doing back here? I thought you joined the army or something. I know you're not old enough to be retired." John sighed and nodded his head.

"Yeah, I was over in Afghanistan not too long ago."He reached up and placed a hand on his left shoulder. "But I...erm, I got shot so they sent me back home."

"Oh, that's too bad."

"Not terribly so. I've been enjoying myself here. I've actually got a nice flatshare over on Baker Street." He chuckled to himself. "It's a lot more cozy than the barracks were." They laughed together, before Oliver spoke.

"Flatshare you say?" John nodded. "Who with?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh I've heard of him. He's some kind of detective right?" John nodded his head again. "Yeah, my sister was telling me about how he cracked some murder case not too long ago." He ran a hand through his messy hair. "She says he's quite the eccentric fellow. Is that true?"

"Very." John said after making a noise that sounded inhuman. His jaw clenched and he felt himself tense up. Oliver must've noticed it too, as the next thing he did was place a hand on John's shoulder and give him a concerned look.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. John said nothing for a moment, then sighed and hung his head.

"Sort of. It's nothing serious. We just...we had a bit of a row a couple days ago." Oliver nodded his head in understanding. His hand fell away from Johns shoulder and rested on his knee.

"I'm sure it'll all turn out fine," he said. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm...I'm not, worried." John stammered. Oliver raised an eyebrow at him and gave him another grin.

"Sure you aren't." John turned his head and squinted at Oliver.

"I'm not." Oliver just gave him a strange look coupled with a smirk of a smile, then stood up.

"I'm a bit peckish. You want to go grab a bite to eat or something?" John patted his pockets to make sure his wallet was there, then stood up.

"Sure."

____

About a half hour later John found himself sitting inside a small fish and chips shop about a block away from the park, reminiscing with Oliver while nibbling on a serving of chips. They talked about their old shenanigans from college, then moved on to discussing what they had done after college up until this point in their lives. Oliver had left for Ireland after graduating to work for some research program, and had just moved back home a few months ago. John told him about his time in the military, and about his adventures with Sherlock. They'd only been living together for a few months though, so there wasn't much to tell.

After about an hour Oliver got a call from his sister and had to leave. John figured it was time for him to be getting back to the flat as well. not that he had any reason to rush, but he'd grown a bit tired of the outside world when he was by himself. Loneliness never made anything fun. Oliver gave John his phone number and made him promise to keep in touch. John then gave Oliver his before they parted ways. Oliver was the first to leave the shop, and climbed into the first cab he saw. John watched as the vehicle drove away and disappeared into the traffic, then turned and went on his way. There weren't an cabs nearby, and the walking would do him good.

John had only been walking for a few minutes when out of nowhere it started raining. And this wasn't just a slight drizzle; It was as if they sky had been opened up and all the water from any outside galaxies was now pouring down on London. John had become drenched in less than a minute. He looked around for a cab, and only found one. He called out but the driver went right by him. He probably didn't want John getting the seat wet. He cursed under his breath and picked up his walking speed.

He made it back to the flat in record time, and when he turned around to close the door behind him he saw that the rain had slacked off a bit. He rolled his eyes and groaned at his misfortune, then turned and climbed the stairs.

When he opened the door Sherlock was laying on the couch. John closed the door and took a few steps closer, so he could see Sherlock's face. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slow. He must've been asleep. John stepped back and turned to go to his room when he heard movement behind him.

"John?" He froze in place, shutting his eyes tightly and hoping that he could turn invisible. "John, what happened to you?" He sighed and turned around to face Sherlock, who was now sitting up straight on the sofa, eyes trained on John.

"Oh, I went swimming. What do you think happened Sherlock? It's a bloody downpour out there." Sherlock frowned and curled up on the couch again.

"There's no need to be rude," he mumbled. John rolled his eyes.

"Really Sherlock? I'm the rude one?"

"Right now, yes." John stared at Sherlock with his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Sherlock turned around a bit to look at him, then turned back around. "Close your mouth John. You wouldn't want any bugs to fly in." He paused. "Or should I say raindrops?"

"That's not funny."

"I thought it was at least a little bit humorous." John groaned.

"There you go again with the egocentric thing."

"I'm not being egocentric John I just-"

"Oh shut up Sherlock!"

Sherlock got up from the couch and came to stand in front of John. It was then that John noticed his messy hair and the bags underneath his eyes. John looked everywhere but into Sherlock's eyes, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He heard Sherlock sigh.

"Look John," he began, "I don't want us to fight." John turned to look at him, and his stomach began twisting itself when he saw Sherlock staring down at him. He managed to put a serious look on his face and stare back at him.

"Yeah, well, you should've thought of that before all," he started waving his hands in the air. "This."

"What is this?" Sherlock asked, waving his hands the same way John had been, his eyebrows raised. John just stared back at him, slowly shaking his head. Eventually he took a step back, and jutted his chin out towards Sherlock in an effort to seem tough.

"You know what. I'm not having this right now. I'm not having any of it."

"Any of what?" Sherlock asked, squinting his eyes and leaning in towards him. John took another step back, and looked away from the hurt look on Sherlock's face. He didn't say anything, and neither did Sherlock. They maintained eye contact as John slowly backed away, then he sighed and looked down before turning and going into his room.

___________________________

Quick little note: Yeah, Oliver Wood is a Harry Potter character. No, this Oliver isn't the same guy. They just have the same name. To try and do away with any confusion, he's referred to as 'Ollie' in later chapters.