"I hate food," Sherlock groaned rolling over to his side and pushing his body against the back of the couch. "This is why I don't eat, John!"
"No, you don't eat because somehow in that huge brain of yours you manage to forget how important nutrition is for you," John sighed, continuing to type away on his laptop.
A rumble coursed it's way through Sherlock's stomach and he rolled over just in time to vomit into the bin next to the couch.
When he was done, he let out an exaggerated groan and rolled back over.
"You ok?" John questioned, looking up from his laptop.
"I'm dying."
"Your not dying, Sherlock. You just ate some bad food. You'll feel better when you wake up."
"I'm not tired. I'm dying."
"Shut up, Sherlock."