John was dumb for not getting a taxi on his way to Baker Street. His brain suddenly malfunctioned. He only thought about going after Sherlock, aplogizing and making it up to the detective, until he felt tired and realized that he'd been running like mad for thirty freaking minutes. 

Now, he was in front of the door of their flat, panting and gasping for air.

"Shit, shit, shit." He muttered and secretly wished that he won't pass out. 

When he got his breath back (it took about fifteen minutes) he wrenched the door open and hurried up the stairs.

"Shit, shit, shit. I just got my breath back and now I'm running up this bloody stairs!" 

When John reached the sitting room, he found no one. No consulting detective in sight. 

"Sherlock?" He knocked on the door frame - loud enough for Sherlock to hear - before coming in. He looked around. Peered at places where Sherlock might hide.

No one sprawled on the couch. No one sitting on the armchair. No Sherlock. Maybe in his room?

He went to Sherlock's room, but there was no one in there. He went back to the sitting room, his shoulders sagged. 

"Sherlock?"

No answer. 

Dammit.

"Sherlock, if you're here, I need you to come out. We need to talk. I need to talk to you. Where are you?"

John took off his coat and threw it on his armchair. He started looking for his flatmate, but still, Sherlock was nowhere to be found. John sighed, his eyes flicking back to Sherlock's armchair.

As stupid as it is, but John (who had lost all his hopes in finding his flatmate in a decent place in the sitting room) actually checked under the armchair and under the coffee table. 

"Sherlock?" 

"You don't find a person with your mouth, you idiot. And for goodness sake, I do not fit under that coffee table!" 

John jerked up and looked around. No Sherlock. Seriously. What the fuck. Where is he hiding? The doctor looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. No, no. Sherlock isn't Spiderman. 

John raised both his hands in the air as if defeated. "Okay, okay. I give up. Where the hell are you hiding?"

"Find me."

John sighed, "Sherlock, please. I ran from the crime scene to here and I'm really tired, so could you please just tell me where you are? Please?"

"You mean, you ran a kilometer for me?" 

There was a pause. 

"A kilometer? I did? Whoa, was that a kilometer? I didn't know it was a kilometer! Whoa." John sounded really pleased with himself, "But yes. Yes, I did. I ran. Yeah, I did." 

"Why the hell did you run instead of getting a taxi?" John couldn't see Sherlock's face but he knew his flatmate's expression would be like Oh, John, you really are the epitome of stupidity.

The doctor bit his lower lip and came up with a lame lie, "I'm broke. Now just tell me where you are!" 

"... Behind the couch." 

John did a double-take, "What?!" 

"Behind. The. Couch. Doctor. John. Hamish. Watson." 

There was a pause (again) and then, "Seriously, Sherlock?!" John said, as if he discovered a top secret hiding place.

"Yes, seriously," Sherlock replied flatly and rolled his eyes. 

Next, Sherlock heard footsteps coming towards him and a chuckle. 

"Dammit. I should have known. The couch has been moved. Why the hell haven't I noticed that?" 

Sherlock looked up at who was now sitting on the floor, "Because you're an idiot." 

"Well, I'm sorry for being an idiot. And why the hell are you sprawled - Oh, God, Sherlock. Do you -"

"Shut up."

"Do you know that we haven't cleaned this spot for months and do you know how dirty that place is?" John poked Sherlock's forehead, "Get up."

"No. I don't care."  

Silence. 

"Why are you here anyway? You should be at the crime scene." Sherlock said without looking at John. 

"I should be the one asking you that, you idiot. You left me." 

"You're the idiot and I didn't leave you. You made me leave you. You became angry at me for feeling passionate."

John sighed, "I know and I'm sorry for getting angry. It's just that -"

"Timing, I know." 

"Yeah, kind of."

Silence. 

"I'm sorry, too, John." 

John was clearly surprised. He had to thank the heavens that Sherlock wasnt looking at him or the latter would really tease him for blushing. "Ehm, huh? Sorry...? Sorry for what?" 

"For not thinking about the situation. For feeling passionate in the wrong time and the wrong place. Well, I'm not really sorry for feeling passionate. I'm just sorry for not considering the right time and the right place for being passionate. I shouldn't have jumped for joy in front of a hostage-taking... whatever. Sorry for being a cocky little bastard. For not waiting for the right time. For being a little bit insensitive. Sorry." 

John was biting his lower lip the whole time Sherlock was talking. Damn it, he sure hoped that the smile on his face won't show. He doesn't want to be seen that way. Like a crazy love sick school girl receiving a confession from her crush. Goddamn it, why did he describe it like that?

The doctor suddenly felt warm and nice all over. 

Damn you, Sherlock. You should have warned me about this. Your cute - wait, fuck. He'll kill me if I use that word.

"John?" 

John snapped back to reality, "Yep?"

"Did you hear me?" Sherlock looked up, "What the-? You were spacing out!?" Sherlock sat up abruptly, almost hitting John's chin with his forehead. 

"Whoa, there!" John held his chin. 

Sherlock glared, "Here I was, apologizing with all my heart and you just... you just stare out of nowhere and space out?! Do you know how hard it is for me to- umpff!" 

The rest of the detective's words were cut off when John covered Sherlock's mouth with his hand. 

"Okay, okay, okay. Sherlock, shush. Shut up, okay? I wasn't spacing out. I was listening to you, okay?" 

"Umpfff-hmff-umpff!?" 

John took his hand off Sherlock's mouth, "Sorry, what?" 

"If you were listening, then what did I say?" Sherlock challenged. 

John only smiled, "You really don't believe that I listened to you..." 

Sherlock stared. 

John shook his head and chuckled in amusement, "That you were sorry for being an idiot and for not feeling passionate. See? I was listening, you idiot!"

Sherlock pursed his lips, "Good."

 "Apology accepted then?" 

"Okay, your apology is accepted, too, John. We're friends again."

John beamed and stood up. He reached his hand out to Sherlock. "Now, get the hell out of here so we can have some tea."

Sherlock reached for his hand and stood up, "You do the tea. I'm tired."

"Sure." 

They both smiled and walked to the kitchen room side by side. They both stood at the counter and waited for the water to boil. 

"Go get the mugs for me, please?" John requested and Sherlock obliged. 

Minutes later, the two of them were already sipping hot, delicious tea.

"This is good." Sherlock remarked. 

John shrugged and tipped his head up with overflowing confidence, "Of course, I made it." 

Sherlock sniggered, "Cocky little bastard."

"Idiot." 

There was silence as they sipped their tea again. 

"I should refrain from doing that," Sherlock started.

"Doing what?" 

"What I did earlier. You know, getting excited at the wrong place and at the wrong time." 

John shrugged, "It's really up to you. I'm just here to support your decision." 

"You are contradicting your reactions earlier, John, do you know that?" 

"Yes, I know that. But really, Sherlock, it's fine if you get excited... that is if it's just the two of us and nobody else is looking at you in a way that really pisses me off."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Silence.  

John started, "Or you could, you know, do something else when you feel that passionate." 

"Like what?" 

John shrugged again, "Kiss someone, maybe?" 

The doctor laughed aloud and looked at Sherlock. It was just... a joke, okay? It was obviously a joke but judging by the look on his flatmate's face, John knew that he took it seriously. 

"Hm." Sherlock hummed in approval. 

John groaned, his face buried in his hands. Damit, he shouldn't have given him such a ridiculous idea. 

"Sherlock, you do know that I was joking, right?" 

Sherlock smirked. 

"Oh, damn it. Just... just don't go kissing randm strangers, okay? And Anderson, okay? Sherlock?"

Sherlock made a face, "You think I would kiss Anderson?"

"No, no. It's just that when you feel passionate you tend to not-" 

"Don't worry. My lips will never, ever touch Anderson's even when it is necessary. I would rather kiss a month old corpse than that idiot." Sherlock said firmly. 

"Yes, sure. Yes." John nodded. "You can kiss Lestrade and Sally though." 

Sherlock gave John a sideways glance and smirked, "I only have one person in my mind, John."

"Hm, oh. Huh? Who could that be...?"