For once John was not woken by Sherlock's incessant violin playing at God knows what hour in the morning. Instead he was woken up by a rather loud thud and a faint moan. Blearily Kohn forced himself out of bed, made his way over to his flat mate's bedroom door and knocked.
"Sherlock are you okay in there?" John asked.
"Fine." came the grunted reply.
John was not convinced.
"Are you sure? I heard banging – "
"I was bored."
That was Sherlock's excuse every time John complained.
"Well could you keep it down please?"
John returned to his bed.
When he woke up at a more reasonable time he got dressed and headed towards the kitchen to make their breakfast. Sherlock didn't cook. Or eat. So it was left to John to ensure that he took care of the man when it came down to basic living requirements. John was a little surprised that the detective wasn't up yet considering that he was normally playing his violin by the crack of dawn.
By ten o'clock John had almost finished his toast and was slightly worried about the absence of his flatmate. He considered calling him but the sound of shuffling footsteps made him stop. Finally Sherlock's face poked around the corner of the wall.
"Good morning."
"You look terrible." It was true. Sherlock's face was pale white and his movement looked – for lack of a better word – irregular. John frowned. "Sherlock are you limping?"
"No." he replied; a little too quickly for John's liking.
Sherlock sank into the chair beside the table and started to pick at the meal John had prepared.
"You should eat that if you want your ankle to heal." said John. Sherlock stared at him, eyes widened slightly. John rolled his eyes. "I may not be the world's only consulting detective but I am a doctor Sherlock." His flatmate stubbornly analysed the floor. John sighed. It was like he was dealing with a child. "How did you do it?" Sherlock's lips moved but nothing seemed to come out of them. "Pardon?" said John, leaning forwards across the table.
"I tripped over my bow."
John didn't bother to ask why it'd been on the floor. He focussed on holding back a smile.
"It looks painful." he said, noting Sherlock's expression. "Have you taken an painkillers?"
Sherlock shook his head. John stood.
"I'm perfectly capable of getting them myself!" the detective snapped.
"Okay then. Be my guest."
John sat back down and watched as his friend attempted to stand.
After the first wobbly step taken towards the cupboard John took pity on him and fetched the tablets. He handed them over to Sherlock.
"I could've done that."
"Sure."
Sherlock's ego was so large sometimes it was just better to agree with it. This was one of those times.