A/N: Hello! It's been a little bit, but I'm back with a new oneshot, and a sneak peak at my promised longer story. I will be getting the first chapter up soon, and I'm very excited about it.

This oneshot was inspired by another of KCS's sentences (they're so good, I can't help it!) listed below. Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine. Rated K+, no warnings that I can think of, and Never Slash! Enjoy!

And Thou Wert Left Alone*

#49 – Hunger

Mrs. Hudson fussed and scolded, but her pleading fell upon apathetic ears; evidently with the Doctor's departure for a well-deserved holiday had also gone Mr. Holmes's already-sporadic appetite.

I breathed in relief as the familiar door of 221B Baker Street appeared, the flat I had only recently reoccupied. It was wonderful to be home.

I had been down recently, that I admit. The rain caused my wounds to ache, and closing my practice proved to be a hassle. Holmes had received a flood of cases following his return to life, so I had seen little of him. When a letter from Mary's brother (with whom I had struck up a friendship of sorts) came to offer a week in the country, I could not refuse.

I felt much better. I was actually grinning while I unlocked the door.

I stepped into the sitting room, brushing rainwater off my sleeves, and was surprised to see the silhouette of my friend slumped in the armchair. It was afternoon, and I had expected him to be on another case. Was he sick?

I moved to check his temperature, when my coat caught on the back of the chair. This tipped it forwards, and knock into the dining table, rattling coffee cups, and settling back to the ground with a thump.

Holmes started violently, and jumped to his feet, staring wildly around. I felt a jolt of fear when his face went white; he swayed and sank gracefully to the floor.

I jumped forwards, my leg protesting, and managed to catch his shoulders just before his head hit the floor. I laid him gently down, and was in the process of opening his collar when his thin hand swatted mine away. I sat back on my heels as he came awake fully. He blinked bemusedly at me, but I could see an undercurrent of guilt in his face, as if he knew exactly why he had just fainted, and he did not want to tell me.

"What's the matter, Holmes?" I asked seriously.

"Nothing." He muttered, avoiding my eyes. I raised an eyebrow, and helped him to sit up, settling him on the couch. I frowned.

"Oh, really?" I said dryly. "And collapsing the moment one gets out of the chair in not indicative of a problem?"

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, old chap." He said, as he pulled himself shakily to a sitting position. I was saved from answering by Mrs. Hudson entering.

"Welcome home Doctor," She said from behind her massive tray of what I assumed was lunch, but looked to be enough to feed the entire army of Irregulars, and that was saying something. She set it down, and turned to us, not missing the pale face of my companion, and my protective stance over him as he reclined on the couch.

"Did he finally go and faint on you? I told him he would, what with having naught to eat but coffee, toast and tobacco since you left." He had been spluttering his protests to Mrs. Hudson, but fell silent when I gave him a worried look.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," I said, and turned back to Holmes.

"Make sure he eats something," She ordered as she left.

"Welcome back, dear boy. How was the country?" He smiled rather winningly at me. I shook my head.

"Oh no, you do not get to change the subject so easily." I leaned in. "Holmes, you truly did not eat while I was gone?"

"Of course I did"

"Then not enough to sustain yourself. It probably was only what Mrs. Hudson shoved down your throat." His silence showed I was right. I was getting aggravated.

"Holmes, why in heaven did you starve yourself to the extent that you would pass out? That's foolishness, even for you and your disregard for your own health." My voice was rising. "What is the meaning of this, Holmes? Do you honestly not care? Why?"

As I fell silent, I realized I had been speaking rather louder than I meant to. I slumped into my armchair, and put a hand to my head. I was angrier then I had imagined, feeling my fingers shaking against my brow. I did not look up as Holmes raised himself from the reclining position, until he was sitting up on the edge of the couch. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I peeked up at him; his brow was furrowed, looking worriedly at me. I spoke first, in a much calmer voice.

"What do you have to say for yourself, old boy?"

He shrugged.

"I honestly cannot say." I sighed, and rubbed the back of my neck.

"I only just got you back, my friend." I said quietly. "I don't want to lose you again." He swallowed, and seemed to be trying to say something, before I smiled, and stood.

"Now, we had better eat this before Mrs. Hudson comes back." Holmes rose also, a trifle unsteady, but under his own power.

"No doubt she will bear reinforcements, and refills." He said, and I laughed.

"The latter I certainly could condone." It looked as though he had lost weight even in just the week I was gone. "I want to see at least a full meal into you."

We both sat, and Holmes began eating, to my joy. The foolish man!

Why had he refused food in my absence? After all, it was not as if I was going to danger and darkness. He could not use worry for me as an excuse. I was on a holiday!

However, I mused as I observed Holmes, his cheekbones jutting out slightly further than normal, chewing on a roll, I suspected that it was related to his three years of absence. During that time I had lost my dearest friend, and grieved strongly. But I had lived through it. Holmes never had, and having just returned everything to normal (or as normal as it could possibly be around this place) he did not want things to change. My time away had drawn his attention to the fact that I could leave. And again, he would be alone, though this time not of his own doing. I suspected that he did not feel forgiven yet for the pain he had put me through. He may even think he deserved for me to leave him.

My brow furrowed, and I gazed at the drooping head of my most intelligent, foolish friend.

"Holmes," I said softly, and his head jerked up, coming out of his light doze. He looked at me questioningly, while stuffing bread into his mouth, trying to pretend that he had not narrowly escaped having a coating of soup in his hair.

"I will be here. Why don't you go to bed?"

He swallowed. "You insisted that I eat—" I cut him off.

"I will be here." I reiterated.

His eyes widened, and he stared at me for a moment. Then he smiled softly at me, and looked down. If I hadn't have known better, I would have sworn that I saw a glaze cover Holmes' bright eyes.

"Thank you, Watson. " He murmured, and rose.

I smiled as well.

"You are welcome. But don't think that you will not consume every crumb on this table when you wake up." I said, and laughed at his dismayed face.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed that! I was a little nervous about it being in character. I also was a little distracted because I was supposed to be reveiwing a psych article...yeah, completely ignored that. Tell me what you think!

*This was taken from a poem by Emily Bronte called "No coward soul is mine"

And here is the sneak preview...

Finally the woman left the flat, dressed all in black. She was headed to the funeral, he's been told. It was the perfect opportunity to get the items needed. He waited till she alighted a cab before stepping across the street to the front door. He expertly unlocked the door, using his various picks and tools, then gently placing them back into the case he carried them in. His skill with these little slivers of metal were his life and livelihood. And the only reason he was kept around.

That was why he had to follow his orders to the letter, no matter how unused he was to them coming from a different quarter than usual. Colonel Moran excepted results, and that was all that mattered.