John did something that Sherlock may not have seen, or possibly suspected from him. He slammed his fist hard enough against the wall to crack the plaster. He stood there staring at Sherlock.

"Are you going to sulk over a god damn twisted ankle? You'll be fine. For fuck's sake. Is this because I told you how I felt? I thought you might feel the same. But if you're going to act like you don't want me anymore. Please, just tell me."