Sherlock was on a case. As per usual he had stopped eating.
John sighed. Recently when this happened he had tried yet again to make Sherlock eat something, anything.
Sherlock's latest remarks of "inconvenient" and "takes too long" to some of the food suggestions John had made had given John an idea.
He pulled on his coat and shoes and headed out of the flat. There was no need to tell Sherlock he was leaving, as his flat mate probably wouldn't be paying him any attention, but also because this was Sherlock. He knew exactly who was where in 221B and also could tell where Mrs Hudson was downstairs, just by, well just by being Sherlock, John had never really bothered to question that one.
Once John was out of the flat he took a left in search of the nearest supermarket that was likely to be open at 2am. He was on a mission. A mission that some would call dangerous, insane and a down right waste of time. A mission to feed Sherlock Homes.
The plan?
Snack food.
After filling two baskets with a variety of crisps, cereal bars, biscuits and several types of fruit. John bagged and paid for them whilst trying not to make eye contact with the cashier, in the hopes that he wouldn't have to explain his early morning haul.
Once home he dumped all the bags in the kitchen before quickly checking on Sherlock, who seemed to still be in his mind palace on the sofa, "exactly where I left him" smiled John.
Wondering back into the kitchen, he filled the kettle and began to unload the snacks while it boiled.
He had a bit of a hard time fitting all the food into cupboards. In the end he settled for clearing a space on the kitchen table to display a selection of the food. "This way" he thought "he might actually nibble at it if and when he has to use the bathroom". The infrequence of Sherlock's bathroom use also worried the doctor, but he quickly shook his head to get rid of the thought, "one Sherlock issue at a time".
The kettle clicked to indicate it was done boiling, and John set about making two cups of tea. Surprised at the face he could actually find two clean cups as quickly as he did.
Whilst the tea was brewing, both flatmates like their tea strong, John set about finding a clean plate to put a choice selection of the newly acquired food on. Making sure to pick what he thought were Sherlock's absolute favourite dunking biscuits and putting them in pride of place in the centre of the plate.
Of course John was never sure what Sherlock did enjoy eating, as oppose to what Sherlock ate on a regular bases. He had once caught his friend mixing half a jar of chocolate spread in with the left over peanut butter. The man had claimed it was for a case, but John had spotted him eating it out of the jar with a tablespoon the next day.
All though the medical side of John had cringed at this choice of food, it was also one of the few times he could recall Sherlock going out of his way to make himself something to eat. And then also eating it.
Once the plate of snacks was complete John took the teabag out of both cups and added milk before braving the living room, not sure how Sherlock was going to react.
After two hours Sherlock's tea was cold, John's was finished and nothing on the plate had been touched.
John, as always in this sort of situation, made a big fuss of getting out of his chair. Yawned loudly and stretched, before gathering up Sherlock's and his own cup and heading via the kitchen to bed.
He made sure to leave the plate right next to Sherlock as he lay on the sofa. He considered putting it on his chest, right under his nose. But that was maybe going a little too far. He settled for dramatically taking a biscuit instead.
The next morning came and John was pleased to see that Sherlock had removed himself from the sofa, he must have had some kind of breakthrough.
He let out a sigh of relief and made his way into the kitchen for some breakfast. Sometimes it took days to get he off the sofa, at least this time it was only hours.
The first thing that John noticed about the kitchen was the mess.
Not the usual kind of mess, of chemistry equipment and decaying parts of bodies. But wrappers. Food wrappers. Everywhere.
And in the middle of all the mess?
Sherlock.
Sitting crossed legged on the floor. In his mind palace. And was that chocolate round his mouth?
John didn't know what to do.
He wanted to scream and shout and yell at Sherlock to get off his arse and clean up the kitchen.
But he was in his mind palace and wouldn't so much as flinch. Instead he just stood there. Clenching and unclenching his fists. Breathing slowly. Trying to calm himself before cleaning up all the empty wrappers.
And that's when he realised. Empty wrappers. He had done it. He had managed to fed Sherlock Homes. During a night in his mind palace.
All of John's anger fell away as he tripped over the rubbish and hugged his friend. Only to be pushed sharply to the floor as Sherlock's instances kicked in, before emerging from his mind palace.
"What are you doing John? I could have killed you!" Sherlock demanded, more annoyed than concerned. But John didn't care, the smile already on his face just became wider as he began to giggle.
"You ate." He said by way of explanation, before confusing his friend by hugging him again.
Author's Note: I don't own Sherlock
There will be a second chapter, (once I've finished writing it!) in which it is John's turn to collect some data.