I told myself I wasn't smart enough to write a Sherlock fic, so my muse did this in revenge. This is my first fic in this fandom and I really tried to get them mostly in character.
"Sherlock?" John Watson pushed open the door to their shared flat and set his suitcase down, along with a single shopping bag from the grocery store. He glanced around the shrouded room, not seeing his friend. The place was a mess as usual. Papers and books were scattered everywhere. Sherlock's skull was on the mantle. He peered into the kitchen. There was a pile of dishes in the sink…in fact, it was the same pile he had left three days ago. Worry gripped John's chest. Mrs. Hudson was away this weekend as well, visiting her sister. John had been a little reluctant to leave his friend knowing that neither he nor their landlady—not their housekeeper—were going to be around. He'd dismissed his reluctance as soon as it had entered his head. Sherlock was an adult. He was very capable of taking care of himself…unless something had happened while John was away at the medical conference. If Lestrade had called him in for a consultation on a case and if had gone wrong…John wondered if Sherlock would pick up the phone to call for help if it was needed, or if that were the case, if Sherlock was able to pick up the phone.
John ignored the mental image of his friend bound and locked in a trunk somewhere and turned back to the living room.
"Sherlock?" He called again. "Sher—" John stopped and sighed. There, in the milky light of the window, sat Sherlock Holmes, staring out into the street.
"There you are—why didn't you answer me?" John asked.
Sherlock didn't respond. John waited a moment.
"The conference was fine, thanks for asking."
John blinked at Sherlock's lack of a response, wondering if he was okay. Actually, now that John noticed it, Sherlock was in this exact same position by the window when he had left on his trip three days ago.
"Is everything alrig—"
"Quiet!" Sherlock snapped. "I'm thinking."
John rolled his eyes and grabbed his suitcase. He brought it to his bedroom, satisfied that Sherlock was fine and just being his usual self.
"Did you leave the flat at all this weekend?" John asked, descending back in the living area. He paused in the doorway, staring at an unmoving Sherlock. "Did you eat anything?" John asked.
"Eating is boring." Sherlock snipped.
"You can't just not eat, Sherlock." John scolded. "Let me fix you something."
"Not hungry." Sherlock insisted.
John ignored him and went back to the door, grabbing the grocery bag. He set the bag down on the kitchen table and picked the kettle out of the pile in the sink. He rinsed it out, added water, then set it on the stove to boil.
He opened the fridge and made a face at the smell of rotting food wafting out at him. A serious cleaning out was in order. Luckily, he'd had the foresight to stop and grab a few things en route home from the airport. He pushed aside a jar of tongues without batting an eye and grabbed the carton of milk. He sniffed it. Still good. He mixed and chopped a few items from the bag, and he soon had eggs mixed with mushrooms cooking, along with breakfast sausage and the frozen potato patties that John didn't care for but Sherlock loved.
John smiled to himself when Sherlock got up from his place by the window and came into the room, obviously lured by the savory scents of the breakfast food.
"It's eight o'clock in the evening." Sherlock said.
"Yes, and?" John spooned some of each food item onto a plate and held it towards his flatmate. "If you don't want it," John began, "my feelings won't be hurt—"
Sherlock snagged the plate and frowned at the food until John pointedly handed him a fork. Sherlock took a bite, almost grudgingly. He chewed and swallowed without comment, then scooped another huge forkful and stuffed that in his mouth. John held a cup of tea out to him. Sherlock put the fork down on the plate and gulped the tea even before he finished chewing. John couldn't help but smile at the surprised look of pleasure that appeared on Sherlock's face as he tasted his favorite tea prepared the way he liked it.
"Don't look so surprised, I do live here." John commented. Sherlock set the tea down and continued shoveling the food in. "Sit down." John said softly, nodding at the table.
"Don't want to." Sherlock mumbled through a mouthful.
"Did you really not move for three days?" John asked, baffled.
"I was thinking." Sherlock said defensively. He took another bite.
"You can think and eat." John told him, fixing a plate for himself. "Or think and drink. You really should take better care of yourself." John admonished softly, sitting at the table. "Try not to get lost in that palace." John said with a small smile. "Fascinating place though it must be."
Sherlock looked at John for a moment, then dropped his eyes with a tiny grin. "How, how was the conference?" He asked. It came out a little awkwardly, as Sherlock was simply unused to asking about the doings of other people. John ignored the awkwardness and began talking about his weekend, glad to be home.
Reviews, please!