Author's note: This is my first fanfic so by all means feel free to critique as much as you like but be aware that I'm totally new to this.
WARNING: This fic contains reference to weight issues and manipulation regarding that area. If you have any eating disorder or the like that could possibly be triggered by this I would recommend that you don't read it (this chapter not so much but definitely in the chapters to come)
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were between cases. In fact, they had not taken a case for almost two weeks and Sherlock was interchanging between lying on the couch in a manner that could only be described as catatonic, and racing round 221B in a manic state desperately trying to find something to do. At this point it was the former and John let out an unnoticeable sigh of relief for the peace and quiet after a hectic past 24 hours. He was sitting at the table in the living room sifting through the comments on the blog in the hopes of finding something – anything – to distract Sherlock.
Sherlock was lying on the couch in his thinking pose. He knew that John thought something had caught his mind and it was one of those moments when the good doctor was right. Something had caught Sherlock's mind. It had been 13 days since their last case. For 13 days they had not left the flat. John had gone out to grab a few basic supplies but other than that they had been sitting around waiting for the next offer of a case. Sherlock ran a critical eye along the width of John's waist. There was no noticeable change to the untrained eye but Sherlock was anything but untrained. There was a very slight stretch of the terrible jumper around John's midsection and Sherlock could imagine a similar strain on the button of his trousers. Weakness thought Sherlock. He relies on me to exercise him. Without taking his eyes off John he snaked his hand under his own dressing gown and lightly touched each of his ribs before settling on his hipbone. Can't have him getting fat now can we? he thought.
John had been awake for far too many hours. He didn't really want to think of the exact number. There was no point trying to sleep when Sherlock was manic. As soon as his head hit the pillow and he began to drift from consciousness he would hear the unmistakable sound of a tiresome experiment or, on the better nights, the tuneful – but loud – melodies from Sherlock's violin. So he stayed awake until Sherlock retreated to the couch and encapsulated himself in his mind palace. Now there was peace and quiet and, of course, he was beyond the tired feeling. He would have to wait for the next wave of sleepiness. John suddenly rose from his seat at the table and walked to the kitchen, unaware that Sherlock was still eyeing him. Sherlock's view was obstructed when John crossed the threshold of the kitchen but he could still hear the telltale sound of the fridge opening and the flick of the kettle.
"Want a cuppa?" John called.
Sherlock remained silent.
"If you don't answer me I'm going to assume it's a no"
"Assume away," said Sherlock stiffly.
John brewed his own cup of tea and fixed himself a sandwich made of some defrosted bread he found in the freezer and leftover cold meat that Mrs. Hudson had brought over for them. He also gave in to temptation and grabbed a handful of the biscuits left on the bench that seemed safe enough to eat. John returned to the living room and sat down in the armchair with his quick-fix meal. Sherlock's gaze drifted to him and then to the plate perched on his lap.
"You should really consider fibre and vitamins from vegetables over all those carbohydrates," Sherlock said snidely.
John smirked, "yep, thanks for the nutrition advice, Mr. I-Couldn't-Eat-Right-To-Save-My-Life."
"My waistline is in prime condition –"
"It's not about the bloody waistline,"
"– Which is more than I can say regarding some."
"It's to do with the –" John's thought was halted as he processed what Sherlock had said. "Hang on, what?"
"John, surely you wouldn't disagree that my physique is widely considered to be better than your own"
John rolled his eyes, "yes, Sherlock, I know that. But it ultimately comes down to different body shapes. I'm not some teenage girl that is going to fuss about stuff like this because her body isn't tall and thin like her friend's."
Sherlock sniffed.
"And I won't even go into everything you should really know already about how body shape isn't a definite indication of health and nutrition."
"Oh of course, please continue to explain, Dr. Watson," snapped Sherlock in his condescending tone often reserved for Anderson.
"I'm not going to have this conversation with you! I'm already familiar with your body's ability to function without food or sleep but I am, believe it or not, a normal human so get off my back."
"Fine. Go ahead. I won't be held responsible when you can't keep up with me around the streets of London," said Sherlock as he gracefully stood from the couch and stormed off into the bedroom.
John rolled his eyes again and took a large bite of his sandwich.
Once he had secluded himself behind his bedroom door Sherlock fell to the bed. He began wondering if John actually subconsciously relied on Sherlock to keep him in shape, to keep him healthy. He scoffed at the thought of John trying to accuse him of not understanding nutrition. Sherlock knew how to eat just enough to keep his transport going. Any more than that was unnecessary and should be avoided unless he wanted to experience that awful sluggish feeling as his body tried digesting the extra.
And now his mind drifted back to John's figure. Perhaps he should conduct an experiment to see if John really did rely on him. It would be easy enough to do. Of course they would have another case soon enough and it would be back to running around London chasing criminals, but Sherlock could easily pay a few extra visits to Angelo's. Pick out a few of the creamier pasta dishes or the slightly oilier fried food. Just to see what John would do. The experiment was laid out clearly in Sherlock's mind and he felt the excitement build in anticipation of what results were in store.
Two months had passed since Sherlock formed The Experiment. Since then he and John had solved a number of cases that had Lestrade and the rest of New Scotland Yard baffled. As always, John watched in awe as Sherlock deduced killers from the type of carpet in a bedroom and kidnappers from residue left on a dining table. Every now and then John would lend his medical opinion and give Sherlock pointers that he thought were helpful enough even though he was well aware that he could not match Sherlock's wind.
So, ultimately, nothing was new. Except there was something new. Sherlock had suddenly taken to being aware of how often a normal person needs to eat. He paused investigations to take John out to lunch and even supplied dinners on most evenings. Of course he always ate so little, keeping predominately to water and nibbling on side dishes. John's concern as a doctor was spiked at this behaviour but was soon subdued as he reminded himself that this wasn't exactly unusual for Sherlock.
After every mealtime Sherlock would catalogue results that he observed. There were multiple things that he looked out for: John's choice and whether or not he took on Sherlock's suggestion, eating speed, John's behaviour following a meal (energised, lethargic), and, obviously, how his body looked.
In the two months of The Experiment, Sherlock identified that John had gained approximately 9 pounds. His belly was very slightly distended beyond the waist of his trousers and there was a very subtle softening of the edges to him. Not enough to be deemed abnormal and not enough for people to comment on, or avoid commenting on. But enough for Sherlock to feel a quiver of horror to realise that yes, John relied on him to maintain his figure.
It was this realisation that compelled Sherlock to discard The Experiment and make a start on The Solution.
Thank you so much for reading and sticking to the end of the first chapter. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it or have any advice. It will really help in shaping future writing.
