Sherlock was known to sneak in the occasional cigarette between cases, especially if there was a large gap between them. He thought John didn't notice, but John Watson had his ways. The dwindling supply in the packet he had hidden in the skull, the fact that the packet had clearly been replaced with a new one and the faint, yet lingering smell on Sherlock's clothes were the usual giveaways.

For the last two weeks the packet hadn't once been inside the skull, John lost count of how much Sherlock had smoked and the smell was no longer faint but a constant addition to Sherlock's wardrobe.

John had only just walked in the room but already he was aware of the smell of cigarettes coming from the detective. "Sherlock, you need to slow down."

The detective was sitting in his chair with his hands steepled beneath his chin in his usual thinking pose. He was looking straight ahead, clearly lost in his own thoughts. Must be in his mind palace, John thought to himself. It was nigh on impossible to get Sherlock's attention when he was lost inside his mind, so John simply waited until Sherlock realised he had been speaking.

He went about his business; he had a shower, got dressed, made a cup of tea and caught up on some reading. Meanwhile Sherlock was still sitting, straight backed and internally focussed.

John didn't wait to ask Sherlock before he ordered food for them both. When it arrived he plated it up and took it into the living room, placing the plates on the table by the sofa.

He walked over to Sherlock and straddled his hips, sitting on the detective's lap, which finally seemed to get his attention.

"John?"

He loved this moment. When Sherlock came back to himself and the very first thought that crossed his mind was John. His face would take on such a vulnerable look that John couldn't help but stare. He kissed the detective lightly on the lips, then drew back to look at his face again. "You've been in there all afternoon," he said as he tapped Sherlock's temple lightly. "Are you back with me now?"

"I- I'm sorry, John. I just need to finish this case. It's been going on for too long."

"I know." Two weeks was definitely too long when Sherlock was on the case, and it was starting to take its toll on him. He was clearly exhausted, no matter how much he denied it. Between reviewing the evidence, conducting experiments and searching his mind palace Sherlock barely had time for anything else.

"Come on, time to eat."

"I'm not hungry," was Sherlock's automatic reply.

John narrowed his eyes at him. "Don't even try that on me. I know you're hungry and I don't care about the case right now, you are going to have dinner with me." Sherlock looked ready to keep arguing but John was having none of it. "I've missed you, Sherlock, alright? I've missed spending time with you and I understand you need to finish that case but you need a break."

"I can take a break when the case is finished," Sherlock argued.

"You can take a break now," John insisted. He got up and pulled Sherlock with him, holding him by the hands. He turned around, wrapped Sherlock's arms around his waist and the detective leaned his chin on the crook of John's neck. Interlaced, they walked towards the sofa where they both collapsed after a misstep.

They broke into laughter, Sherlock on top of John on the sofa in what should have been an uncomfortable position. John was just incredibly relieved to hear Sherlock laughing. It had been too long since he'd heard that sound.

After the laughter subsided down to mere chuckles Sherlock stood in front of John who was now on his knees on the sofa. They looked at each other for a moment before John leaned forward and rested his head on Sherlock's chest. The smell of cigarette smoke assaulted his nostrils once again and he frowned. "You really need to slow down."

Sherlock started running his hands through John's short hair. "What are you talking about?"

John lifted his head and gave him a stern look. "You know what."

Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes or snap. He understood that John was just worried about him, but the smoking was helping him cope with all the stress from the damned case. "I'll stop after the case is finished."

"Really?" John scoffed, disbelief clear in his voice.

"If you want me to, yes," Sherlock confirmed. "I promise I'll try."

John tugged at Sherlock's shirt, lightly pulling the detective down to meet his stretch. "Thank you," he said, before placing a chaste kiss on Sherlock's lips. "Shall we eat?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded, and they both sat down next to each other, eating in a comfortable silence. It felt nice to finally spend some time with Sherlock, even if he wasn't saying anything. Too many times recently John had sat on this sofa by himself, eating alone while Sherlock was with Lestrade or at Bart's on an experiment.

Sherlock had missed spending time with John as well. And now that he really thought about it he had missed food too. He couldn't even remember the last time he had eaten a proper meal- something he was sure John was keeping track of.

"How close are you to solving the case then?" John asked. He had started the case with Sherlock, but as the days went on he'd had to take a step back so that he could actually go to work so he wasn't as up to date as he would have liked to be.

Sherlock considered the answer, and two mouthfuls later finally answered. "Hopefully it'll be finished by tomorrow, if Lestrade did what I told him to."

"He's been working hard as well, Sherlock. He wants this to be over as much as we do."

"I can guarantee you that he does not want this to be over as much as I do." If there was one thing in this world- other than John Watson- that he loved it was working peculiar cases, but this particular case had gone from peculiar to downright frustrating, and he'd had enough. He just wanted it to be over. "I just want to spend the next three days in bed with you."

Sherlock put his empty plate down on the table and dropped his head onto John's shoulder. The doctor turned his head around and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's head while he finished his own food. "That sounds wonderful"

When John finished eating his dinner he picked up the plates and took them into the kitchen, not bothering to wash them up just yet. By the time he came back Sherlock was sprawled out on the sofa asleep. Not wanting to disturb him, but knowing from personal experience that the sofa wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep in, he went to the bedroom and grabbed a pillow and a blanket.

He gently lifted Sherlock's head and placed the pillow underneath it. He then spread the blanket over the detective's sleeping form and tucked it under his chin.

He kept reminding himself that, if all went well, the case would be over by tomorrow. He'd gotten so used to having Sherlock by his side and feeling the warmth of another body next to his that he now hated sleeping alone.

Tonight, however, he would have to endure the emptiness of the bed in favour of knowing that Sherlock was at least getting some rest. He had a feeling that if he had woken him up to get him to bed he would just stay up the rest of the night.

John gave Sherlock a quick kiss before going back to their room for some rest as well.

Sherlock woke up the next morning feeling very confused. The last thing he remembered was dinner with John and now here he was, lying on the sofa with a pillow under his head a blanket over him. His brain, although still working at half speed, quickly came to the conclusion that he must have fallen asleep and John was responsible for the appearance of said pillow and blanket

He got up, turning on the kettle on his way their room, and went to check on John. He opened the door slowly, trying to avoid any creaking sounds that might wake John up, and peaked in. The doctor was laying on the bed with the blankets drawn up to his chest and his right arm stretched across Sherlock's side of the bed.

He felt an overwhelming urge to climb into bed with John at that very moment, feeling guilty for having spent another night away from him. But he pushed the urge down and concentrated on the fact that he had to finish the case.

He closed the door again and went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He noticed that they were almost out of milk, as usual, and made a mental note to buy some on his way back. After getting dressed he downed his tea and left a brief note so that John wouldn't wonder where he'd gone. One too many kidnappings had left them both wary of unannounced absences from the flat.

Gone to Scotland Yard, should be back before lunch. SH

After grabbing his coat and scarf he made his way downstairs and quickly managed to find a cab. He was on his way to Scotland Yard when he received a text from Lestrade.

Suspect just confessed. The case is finally closed.

Sherlock huffed in annoyance. If he had known this a few minutes ago he would have crawled into bed with John and slept for the rest of the day. Instead he was sitting in a cab wadding through London traffic and feeling exceedingly irritated.

Going back now would be pointless though, seeing as he was closer to Scotland Yard than to Baker Street. He arrived, feeling more than a little annoyed at Lestrade, and made his way to his office.

"I realise your brain can only hold so much information at any given time, but could you not possibly have informed me about this sooner?" he snapped as soon as he walked in.

Lestrade, sitting at his desk reading a case file, was more than a little surprised when he looked up to see Sherlock standing there, absolutely fuming. Sherlock was, of course, always generally annoyed at people's inability to use their brains, as he so kindly put it, but this was more than that.

"Informed you about what exactly?"

"The suspect!" Sherlock snapped.

"I told you as soon as I could, Sherlock. Why are you here?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down. He'd been wound up for about a week now and it was all crashing down around him, and while he knew Lestrade wasn't to blame, it was as though he couldn't control the words coming out of his mouth. "Because I was already on my way here when your appallingly timed text arrived. Because I wanted to get here as soon as possible and end up doing your job for you so that I could get back to my life!"

He was visibly shaking by the time he'd finished shouting. His lips were set in a thin line and he seemed to be scrambling for something in his pocket. Lestrade was about to ask him what was wrong- having never seen Sherlock like this before- when the detective stalked out of his office without a backward glance.

Worried, Lestrade followed him as quickly as he could. Sherlock's exceptionally long stride left him far behind and he only managed to catch up to him once they were outside. Sherlock was standing by the curb, tension clear in the set of his shoulders and the tapping of his leg, smoking a cigarette.

Lestrade approached slowly, not wanting to startle him, but surely Sherlock must have realised he would come after him.

Sherlock turned towards the detective inspector. "What is it now, Lestrade?" he asked, irritation clear in his tone.

"I could ask you the same thing," Lestrade replied. "I've seen you work on cases for longer than this without getting this worked up. What's the matter?"

Sherlock seemed oddly calm when he replied. "All these years we've known each other; do you know how many times you've asked me that?"

"Three," Lestrade replied without hesitation. "When you showed up at my house at 3am high as a kite, when John wouldn't talk to you after you faked your suicide and came to see me, and now."

Sherlock chuckled. "Remarkable memory."

"You don't often give me enough reason to ask." When Sherlock didn't say anything he decided to ask again. "So, what is it?"

"It's nothing," he dismissed casually, "I'm just tired."

But Lestrade could see that he was holding back, as always, but he was too worried to let this go. "Sherlock, talk to me."

It wasn't that he didn't trust Lestrade, because he did- he trusted the man with his life. But now that he thought about why he had snapped at him and why he had been so stressed lately he realised that now that the case was over he could finally relax. "I just miss John," he finally admitted.

"What do you mean? Has something happened between you two?" From the very beginning Lestrade could tell how much John meant to Sherlock and he'd been worried that John would break his heart. Even though Sherlock was a fully-grown man, mostly capable of looking after himself, Lestrade still felt oddly protective over him.

Sherlock shook his head. "It's not like that, we're fine," he clarified. "But every time there's a case I go running. I leave John to chase behind me and it shouldn't be that way. He should be my first priority- he is my first priority; I just need to stop letting things get in the way."

Lestrade understood exactly what Sherlock meant. He'd been in a similar situation himself while his marriage was still alive. Working long hours and always bringing the work home wasn't good for a relationship. Lestrade had tried to keep things going for a while and spend as much time at home as he could but it was difficult. And in the end it had just been too much for both of them. He didn't want the same thing to happen to Sherlock and John.

"Go home, Sherlock." He put his hand on the detective's shoulder. "The case is solved, there's nothing for you to do here and John is waiting for you. Go show him he's your first priority."

Sherlock stubbed out the cigarette on the pavement and nodded to Lestrade before signalling down a cab and returning to Baker Street.

His visit to Scotland Yard hadn't taken long but when he returned John was already awake. As soon as he walked in the flat he could hear the shower running. He took off his shoes, coat and scarf, leaving them scattered in the living room, and walked into the bathroom.

"Sherlock, is that you?" John called out.

He quickly disposed of the rest of his clothes and got in the shower behind John. "Were you expecting someone else?" He wrapped his arms tightly around John's waist, bringing them both close together. He heard John's breath hitch slightly as they made contact and brought his hand down over Sherlock's.

"Definitely not," he replied. He turned his head around slightly to meet Sherlock's lips in a short, wet kiss. "How did it go with Lestrade?"

"The case is closed, I'm all yours," Sherlock whispered just behind his ear. He felt a shiver running up John's spine in anticipation.

The doctor turned around and cupped Sherlock's face in his hands. "Finally!"