John woke again at 8, when his alarm went off. He pulled himself reluctantly out of bed and got dressed. He brushed his teeth. He left his room.

Sherlock wasn't awake yet.

Sherlock was always awake before John. Apparently, he'd slept in today. Probably because he was up so late, John supposed. So John, silently, alone, made two cups of coffee and two plates of toast. He set them on either side of the table and ate alone, all the while waiting for Sherlock to show up.

When John had finished, Sherlock still hadn't showed up. John decided to go check on him.

He knocked on Sherlock's door. No response. After a few more knocks, with no answer, John just opened the door.

Sherlock was asleep, his coat on the floor, replaced by a purple sweater over his blue pajama shirt.

"Sherlock," John whispered, placing his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock didn't react.

"Sherlock," John repeated, louder this time. He gently shook Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock groaned and opened his eyes, looking up at John tiredly. John half-smiled.

"It's nine," he said. "We have a case to work on. Time to get up."

"Okay, okay." Sherlock sat up, yawning. "What's the case."

John pulled out his phone, looking at the texts. "Er... Three deaths in three weeks- oh, hm. Two people died, each in fires, and then a man apparently wrote a note about those deaths and burned down the apartment complex he lived in with himself inside. He wrote-"

"Boring." Sherlock flopped back onto his pillow. "John, the police can figure this one out, don't you think? Lestrade's gotten... better. At his job. Let's take a break- I want to clean up the flat. And after that, I want to do something nice. Have... fun."

"Have fun?" John said. "You do that?"

"I want a break," Sherlock admitted. "I've been pushing myself. The last case, as you know, didn't go well. It broke my streak. I need to reset."

John stopped. Hesitated for a moment. The last case, Sherlock had recklessly tried making a deal with the killer, to trick him. But the killer figured it out. He punished Sherlock. He killed three people in one night, forcing each of them to write a note directly blaming Sherlock Holmes for their deaths. "Sherlock Holmes killed me." The police were forced to ask Sherlock to leave the investigation, as he was now a suspect. He solved it three days later, at the flat, and ranted to John about how it took him so much longer than it should have because of the difficulty accessing the police files and data.

But John remembered the way Sherlock stiffened as he read the notes. The way his hand shook before he shoved the note back into Lestrade's hands and put his hands into his pockets, looking down.

John remembered the sadness. The guilt.

The anger that fueled his research. The anger that fueled his amazing work, the three day solving of a case that would have otherwise taken probably near a week. Months, if done by the police.

"Reset?" John repeated. "Right. How?"

Sherlock signaled for John to move closer. Then he patted next to him, telling John to sit. Awkwardly, John complied, sitting on the edge of the bed. Sherlock smiled.

"Tell me, John, how do you have fun? I solve crimes, find killers. I don't know what else there really is to do."

"Well, I- I usually go out somewhere. Do something nice for myself. Go for dinner or buy something nice."

"Go out for dinner? I haven't done that in, well... a bit. Would you like to do that with me, John? Go to dinner?" Sherlock grinned.

"Well- Sure, but, Sherlock, we have a case. And you're not taking it. Are you alright?"

Sherlock hesitated for a moment longer than what would be normal, but John, oh, ordinary John, didn't notice one bit.

"Of course I am."