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The taxi pulled up two doors down from 221 Baker Street full of angry silence. John left first, slamming the door behind him and storming over to the house, not looking back at Sherlock in an effort to keep any semblance of calm he had left. He strode up the stairs, and tried to set the kettle boiling without banging around, as he was wont to when angry. He vaguely noticed the lack of body parts in the fridge, along with the presence of in-date milk. However his temper wouldn’t allow full acknowledgement of a sign that Sherlock was trying. He ignored the opening of the flat door, the tentative speed making it creak loudly. He ignored the trying-to-be-quiet footsteps that, in reality were so much louder due to the creaking floorboards. John rested his elbows on the worktop, cradling his head in his hands as he took deep breaths in an attempt to calm down faster. He could feel Sherlock hovering at the doorway.
The kettle clicked off, and he poured the water into the two mugs, poking the teabags until the drinks were an acceptable colour. John had always found tea calming, the short time you have to wait and the routine of making it seemed to drain tension while the tea itself calmed the rage in his chest. He removed the bags, added milk, and took a large sip of his scalding tea. Feeling calmer, he turned to Sherlock and put Sherlock’s mug on the table between them.
Sherlock stopped hovering at the door and picked up his mug. He had the look on his face that meant he knew he’d done something wrong by John’s standards, but didn’t understand what or why. The silence in the cab had probably clued Sherlock in that something was wrong. John took another drink of his tea before speaking. “What the bloody hell possessed you to run in front of that bus?” John asked quietly, voice tight with anger.
“We would have lost the Golem for the second time.” Sherlock grunted, seeming to understand why John was angry.
“We did lose the Golem a second time!” John growled. “Why in god’s name didn’t you just wait for it to go past?!”
“It was obviously turning in to the bus stop just up the road.” Sherlock huffed. “And I wasn’t hurt.”
“If it was stopping at the bus stop, then why did it smack into you at 30?” John asked, making an effort to be calm.
“The bus driver was an idiot.” Sherlock sniffed. “And it had slowed before it hit me, I’m barely bruised!”
“You were damn lucky!” John snarled. “If that bus had been going any faster or the driver hadn’t noticed you so quickly then you-!” John couldn’t complete his sentence; the anger had completely left him. He put his hands on the table, leaning on them and facing the table. “I can’t lose you again Sherlock, I bloody can’t.” John said quietly, throat thick with emotion. He didn’t notice Sherlock had moved until he felt Sherlock fold over him, smothering him in a hug.
“I’m sorry, John.” Sherlock whispered beside John’s ear. “I didn’t intend to worry you.”
John huffed a laugh, allowing himself to be manhandled into a proper hug. They stood a while; John taking deep breaths of Sherlock through his nose while Sherlock gently nuzzled his scalp. Finally John broke the comfortable silence. “Just try to be more careful.”
He felt Sherlock sigh exasperatedly. “I’ll try.”
John smiled, leaning up and kissing Sherlock gently. “Lets watch some telly, I think there’s some House re-runs on tonight.”
Sherlock followed John to the sofa without complaint, cuddling up with John as he switched on the TV.