John found Sherlock in the alley behind the house. The young man was steadying himself with one hand while he was bent over the dustbins, retching helplessly. The smell of the place told John that he had already thrown up considerably.
"You're alright?" the doctor asked and received a dirty look for an answer.
"You haven't had breakfast," John stated, "So this is last night's."
"Are you analysing the contents of my stomach?" Sherlock glared when, wiping his mouth, he split his lip again. John watched him curiously and pouted, "Yes, Sherlock, because this is serious. You've never had a reaction like this to a crime scene," he hesitated, "have you?"
Sherlock shook his head and sighed 'no' before he staggered back to the main street.
"What's wrong then?"
Sherlock turned and stared at John. Then he chose not to answer and faced away, ignoring the lingering question.