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[notapsychopath]

 This is awful.

This is awful, horrible, stupid, frustrating, damned idiotic, and he won't stand for it. He won't be kept here when there is a warm bed with his name on it (in John's room), a flat with heating and Internet and running water and other necessities. He won't suffer the fresh air (hasn't he always hated people suggesting fresh air as a

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[drpsychosomatic]

John looks up, bemused. They've only just arrived, really- an hour at the most, which is quite long enough when you're carrying the camping equipment. It's lighter than some bits of kit he's had to carry, but that's really not the point. It was hard enough to convince Sherlock to carry his own luggage. Now Sherlock's decided none of it was necessary to bring any of it at all.

"We are, are we?"
He smiles tightly. An hour's trek back, then. Wonderful. "Found what you need?"

[notapsychopath]

"No," Sherlock growls. "I found nothing. No case- nothing worth it, anyway. We're going home." He strides on without stopping, barely sparing John a glance. It's cold, it's wet, it's muddy, his mobile has no signal and he would rather like to leave.

[drpsychosomatic]

John looks at his watch. Frowns.
"Might be a bit of a problem," he points out, scrambling after him as Sherlock stomps off moodily. He decides not to explain just yet.

[notapsychopath]

"And why is that?" Sherlock snaps, rounding on John. He's disappointed, that's all, and homesick for London, but with Sherlock, of course, that's all translated into annoyance.