John let out a frustrated grunt in the kitchen as he looked through the cabinets. In every cabinet were experiments that Sherlock filled with… but no jam. He even checked in the fridge once again just in case he didn't see it before. Nope, it wasn't there either.

"John! The game is on!" Sherlock stomped through the flat grabbing both of the men's coats and heading down the stairs. The other man sighed as he dragged his feet out of the kitchen. He felt lighter, but that was only because he hasn't eaten in the past few days. 'This must be how Sherlock feels during a case,' John thought.

"What are you crying about?" Sherlock asked allowed in the cab as John crawled inside.

"I was just looking for the jam for a quick snack, but no, there's none!" John said.

"Oh boo-hoo, John" the taller man said uninterested and stone-faced, "There's a murder taken place a couple miles out of town and you're busy worrying about feeding yourself."

"I'm sorry that I'm not like you and can't starve a few days at a time," John stammered, slowly raising his voice, "I'll try better next week."

Sherlock tried to shush John, "Shh!" but John wasn't having any of Sherlock's nonsense. He continued, "First, you spoil the milk with your experiments, and now my jam! Where the hell did it go?"

"I had to see if the milk poisoned the victim and if it didn't, he was guilty!" Sherlock tried to defend himself.

"And my jam?" John crossed his arms, his eyes grew wide.

"I… accidentally threw it out," Sherlock avoided his lovers gaze. John narrowed his eyes and stared at his boyfriend as the cab drove by plenty of buildings, soon turning into pastures and farms, and finally a small village. Not blinking. Sherlock kept staring at the floor of the cab.

"You know, you could just buy another carton of milk and jam," the cabbie said as the vehicle came to a halt at the crime scene.

John scoffed as he exited the vehicle away from Sherlock and headed towards the scene. Sherlock looked at the cabbie through his rearview mirror, "Thank you for your input," quickly smirked and left the cab as well.

Before Sherlock could ask what the situation was, John interjected, "They think it's a suicide. That this man jumped in front of a car."

"But then where's the car that hit him?" Sherlock started looking around the dirt road and only saw parked cars and the blocked off signs. He examined the body a little more and saw that the victims shirt was up on his torso. Heavy bruising was seen on his right side as the victim was laying face down, but his face was looking towards the left, "He's an American," he blurted, "It was a hit and run accident."

"What, how?" Lestrade walked towards the two men and greeted John with a handshake. He noticed that John wasn't as friendly as he normally was, avoiding Sherlock's gaze and folding his arms tightly. He came to the conclusion that they must of had a domestic before arriving.

"Bruises and quite possibly broken bones on his right side. He was crossing the street but looking towards the left side of town because Americans normally look left-right-left before crossing a street instead of the opposite. The car that hit him was speeding through town because his bones were broken, but the impact was so hard and fast, it killed the victim instantly. The driver panicked and kept driving, hoping no one saw. However, this is a small town. Small population. We may not have any witnesses, but-" Sherlock's monologue was interrupted.

"But what?" Anderson scoffed at Sherlock, "Let me guess, someone on a mountain saw the whole ordeal and now we have to scrounge around the village to find the witness."

"No," Sherlock was taken aback, "Just follow the tire marks on the road," he pointed to the ground where sure enough there were two long lines leading towards more pastures.

John tried to hide his smile of how proud he was of his love every time he got something right, but he needed to prove that he was still mad at him for the situation earlier on in the day.

The two men were sitting at a window seat to a cafe within the village the case was taken place. Sherlock was mindlessly looking out the window as John was ordering off the menu.

"Roasted chicken panini and…" he looked up to Sherlock, "You?"

Sherlock squinted his eyes as he kept looking outside, "What day is it?" his fist tucked under his chin. John dropped the menu and sighed in a frustrated manner, "Thursday."

Sherlock waved his hand, "I'm good for another couple of days." Noticing the waiters look of confusion and concern, John put a hand up towards the waiter, 'Just give me a second with this guy.' John leaned in towards his lover, "Sherlock, you need to eat. What are you having?"

After a few quiet seconds, Sherlock picked up the menu, glanced at it, and gave it to the waiter, "Nothing, I'm fine."

"He'll have the ham and cheese with chips on the side. Hot, please," John answered for Sherlock.

"I said nothing," Sherlock gritted through his teeth.

"You will have dinner with me, that's an order!" John slammed his fist on the table, then looked up to the waiter, "Our order please," he dismissed him. Sherlock tried to get the waiter to stop by reaching out and grabbing him, but the waiter was far away now.

"I won't eat it," Sherlock hissed.

"Yes you will," John demanded him. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, watching the man he loves squirm. Sherlock mimicked John by folding his arms as well and looking out the window with a look of anger on his face. However, it was no ordinary anger. John thought he looked like a little boy having a temper tantrum.

When the food came, John immediately started devouring the meal and only realized that Sherlock didn't touch his plate after half of his sandwich was gone, "Sherlock! Come on!"

Sherlock merely shook his head, a look of disinterest on his face.

"I ordered that for you, please," John kept looking at his lover, "Please, for me?" he scrunched his eyebrows together and stared intently at Sherlock, "Please?" he asked once more.

By this time, Sherlock had slumped a little in his chair. He closed his eyes and rolled them while closed so John wouldn't see and looked at his meal in front of him when he opened them again. His stomach started growling as he kept looking and thinking about his decision.

'I just finished a case, so the food and digestion won't slow me down. But it's Thursday. I have one more day left before I absolutely need food…' he thought. Before he could finish his thoughts, John pushed himself away from the table and took his wallet to the waiter. He began paying for the food and got himself two to-go containers. Sherlock looked as this all happened to the right of him. He felt his face drop and his childish anger melt away. Sherlock for once, felt bad for what he had done.

John had came back and laid the containers on the table. He took Sherlock's plate and began packing away the detective's food. Sherlock reached for the sandwich to take at least a bite. Hopefully it would calm John down, but John slapped Sherlock's hand making the food fall out of his hands. John quickly packed everything up, leaving no room for Sherlock to apologize.

"All I ask is for you to eat because you haven't in a few days, and this is how you repay me," John gritted through his teeth.

"John, I understand that you are upset-" the detective tried to calm down the doctor, starting to rub the others arm.

"Upset?" John shot up straight and tall. He spoke as low as he could muster while still packing the food, "You think I'm upset? I'm angry. I'm furious! First, you perform experiments on my food… without telling me. Now, you're not eating, and in public!" John was surely getting outraged, "I've had enough of your shit, Sherlock. All I asked was for a couple of bites, and you can't even do that. You act so childish, sulking and slipping down your chair, and that's not even the worst of my problems. You're a grown man, grow up!"

John closed both containers and quickly walked away towards outside, trying to hail a cab. Sherlock saw that some of the people in the cafe had witnessed their argument. He immediately felt even more horrible than before.

John was pacing the flat at three in the morning while Sherlock was sitting on the couch observing the doctor.

"You said that wasn't the worst problem," Sherlock stated aloud.

John stopped in his tracks and looked over at the detective, "Excuse me, what?"

"At the cafe earlier tonight," Sherlock put his hands together and placed them on his chin, "you said that out of all the things I did tonight, that wasn't the worst of your problems."

John sighed and rubbed his eyes. They were turning bloodshot from how late they were staying up, "Sherlock, I'd rather not talk about it right now. It's late. We should be sleeping."

All was silent before Sherlock piped up, "Am I a problem to you?"

John quickly stopped his pacing and looked at Sherlock, "No! Of course not!" a little disheartened that the love of his life would ever think such a thought, "You're not a problem to me."

Sherlock just simply stared at John with nothing to say. John continued, "It's just what you do sometimes is a problem, not you yourself. Understand?" Sherlock looked away and got up from the sofa, walking towards the closet to get his trench coat.

"You should go to bed," Sherlock said softly, "You look extremely tired. In fact," he looked at the doctor, "you are," he popped his collar and began heading out the door.

"And where do you think you're going?" John called after him.

"Go to sleep, John," Sherlock called from downstairs, "I'll be home soon."

"Sherlock!"

"Go to bed!"

The next morning, John woke up to mechanical noises… and the smell of warm bread. Confused, he clambered out of bed and walked down the hall to find Sherlock making concoctions on the kitchen counter.

"Sherlock?" John scratched his head and mumbled.

"Morning, John!" his love said loudly, and smiled tightly, "I made you breakfast! Part of it's in the fridge though!" Sherlock made his way around the kitchen, quickly setting a plate together of finished toast and cereal. When he put the plate and bowl on the counter and wiped his hands on his trench coat, he looked up at John and smiled again, "Go," he nodded towards the fridge, "Go look in the fridge. I have a surprise for you."

John chuckled to himself and walked over to the fridge. He heard Sherlock sniffle a couple of times and saw him wipe his nose on his coat, "You alright Sherlock? I didn't feel you get into bed at all and you're wide awake this morning. Hell, you're even smiling. Like, full on smiling."

Sherlock shrugged and rocked back and forth on his heels as he observed John opening the fridge, "Oh Sherlock, you got more milk!" John turned towards his boyfriend, and smiled at him. He shrugged and placed the carton on the counter. Sherlock shrugged once more and tightly smiled again as he observed John.

John sighed and hung his head when he saw the second part of his surprise. He brought out the jar of jam with a yellow sticky note that said, "I love you." He showed Sherlock and began chuckling, "Really now? I'm afraid my consulting detective has gone soft," he placed the jar on the counter as well and began preparing his breakfast. Then, John saw it. A little away from his breakfast, how could he have missed this, was Sherlock's dinner from last night. All was left was the crust and a few chips.

"You ate your dinner from last night too? Bloody hell, what's gotten into you?" John walked over to Sherlock and sarcastically checked his foreheads temperature.

Sherlock pointed to a basket on the coffee table in the living room as well, "Fresh fruit."

John sighed once more, "You really went the whole nine yards, didn't you?"

Sherlock wiggled his eyebrows. John has never seen Sherlock so happy and chipper… and he actually liked it. He could even forget what happened yesterday all together, in fact, he was. He was so impressed with Sherlock. John got up on his toes and kissed the detective on the cheek, "I like this Sherlock. I like him a lot. Whatever you did to get this way," he winked and smirked, "keep doing it," he headed back over to his breakfast that his love prepared for him, unknowingly giving his boyfriend the worst advice he could ever give.