John’s mind feels heavy, a tangled web of exhaustion, frustration, and a lingering ache from the day’s cases. His thoughts keep circling the unsolved puzzles and the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. Every moment with Sherlock had been intense, sharp, relentless, and demanding. The adrenaline that once fueled him now feels like it’s run dry, replaced by a dull ache behind his eyes and a restless tension in his chest.

He’s tried to shake off the worry, but it clings stubbornly. Doubts about his own usefulness gnaw at the edges of his confidence. He feels torn between loyalty to Sherlock and the yearning for some quiet normalcy—a chance to just breathe without the constant storm of crime and chaos.

As he steps into the apartment, the familiar sight of you waiting offers a fragile thread of peace. The chaos inside his head begins to settle, if only a little, when your presence reminds him there’s something steadier than the whirlwind of his work.

Despite the exhaustion, there’s a small, stubborn hope that flickers when he sees you. It’s like a lifeline thrown into the storm.

“Hello, love,” John says with a sigh, taking off his coat without much conviction. "I think I need… comfort."