There really wasn't anything Sherlock could do or say, so he just let John wobble towards the loo and shut the door. He sighed and ran a hand across his face. Well, he'd cocked that up nicely. John didn't sound too happy with what he had said, thought Sherlock wasn't sure why. He never did understand how others felt.

He was still pondering what he had said when he heard a crash in the loo. In a heartbeat, he was up and to the door in a couple of long strides. He jerked the door open- thankfully he had closed it but not locked it and found John against the wall- he had knocked over some items on the sink.

Sherlock ignored them and kneeled by John, running his hand through his hair. "John. John. What is it?" He looked like he was a million kilometers away, just staring out into blank space.