A-N: Sorry for the delay in updating, there were some issues with FFN that wouldn't let me access this story. I've also changed the title of this piece since I found another story with the exact same title.

-The title of this story is now called "In Whose Eyes?"-

Chapter 14

Soon all was back to normal, well, relatively speaking normal with the circumstances. Sherlock continued his work solving cases with Scotland Yard whilst John blogged about them. John hoped that time would be kind to them, especially for Sherlock's sake and not bring about the horrid reality.

Not one day passed without John or Sherlock thinking about the future. No matter how bleak or dreary it appeared to be those two managed to find a silver lining, John was the more optimistic one though, obviously. He couldn't bear to see his best mate falling into such a depressed state. Solving cases brought the best out of Sherlock, rambling deductions at lightning speed, bounding from one spot to the next adsorbing every detail.

Most importantly it made Sherlock laugh, a real and genuine heartfelt laugh. Not a sarcastic scoff or forced giggle, it was the kind of laughter that made others to join it. John felt happiest then, there were times often where he could have had almost forgotten about that dreaded day where everything would plunge down the steep slope into a void of devoid of all colour.

Sherlock fed off the energy given from chasing criminals and solving murders, how exactly one would feel such a pleasure from that type of activity was lost to John. He didn't care about it though, what mattered most was Sherlock's well-being.

It was an unexplainable relationship John and Sherlock had. It was a platonic relationship and only ever as such. Only by the ignorance of an idiot, to quote Sherlock, one would even entertain the slightest notion John and Sherlock fancied each other. John absolutely hated when others gossiped about since "it does matter what other people think" of him.

Sherlock is my best mate. He always will be. I knew absolutely nothing about him, not even his name, and there I was about to share a flat with this strangers. That night I killed a man to save his life. A man I barely knew for a day. This mutual feeling of security is something that will only grow stronger. My Mary understands, she's is far too kind. Sherlock has even praised and act in a gentlemanly manner toward her. Coming from him, that means Mary holds a great deal of value to him.

Sherlock was pacing around to room trying to crack the latest murder case with a mysterious weapon and locked doors. Nothing ever baffled Sherlock for long, but this particular one was turning his brains in circles with no understanding of how it the victims died. Even the idea of 'the victim could have done it' didn't fit the evidence. Pacing about the room from dawn to dusk refusing to eat a proper meal did little to help his body not mind, but Sherlock couldn't be persuaded to take more than just a cuppa here and there.

Sometimes John hated Sherlock for being so stubborn, it wouldn't hurt anyone to just eat a proper meal and sleep a sufficient amount at least thrice a week. Thrice a week might have seemed like an odd deal, but with Sherlock anything and everything is odd. After much 'lively discussion' and several 'storming out of the flats' later (mostly coming from only John though) the two men finally reached an agreement. Sherlock would limit himself on how many cups of tea or coffee he had, and would eat a sandwich (or something like that) at least twice during the day, every single day even if they were in the middle of a case.

By any simple deduction from anyone, it was clear as glass that malnutrition was hurting Sherlock. He kept rubbing his eyes and massaging his temples. However, John was not 'just anyone'; he knew more and those signs were not comforting to say the least. John kept strict watch on Sherlock's condition and kept a mental log of the changes.

"Stop treating me like a child, I can take care of thing by myself!" Sherlock would bellow loudly to John towering over the lanky detective sprawled out shamefully across the sofa.

John responded in a milder form of yelling , trying not to wake up Mrs. Hudson in the wee hours of the morning, "Stop shouting, and don't wake Mrs. Hudson. No! You can't! You don't even eat and sleep like a normal human being, you aren't immortal Sherlock. Just stop fighting me, I want to help you, but first you have to listen to what I say and what the doctor's say. Please, just listen and do accordingly."

"John, there is no point in me changing my behaviour now; this condition was set the moment I was conceived. If I wanted to help myself, I should have or rather, would have, done so decades ago. The latest visit to the doctor's calculated that it will only be a short time, perhaps several months at best. You were there at the visit, you heard him say it." Sherlock retorted softer than before, remembering the sun hasn't risen yet.

There is no use in changing or trying. John is wrong; nothing I do will change the future of my life. Time is running out. It's like sitting in the ocean on a board watching the wave come in. Closer and closer and closer…until finally it pulls your under.

A-N: Thanks for still reading and leaving comments! Finally after several tries, FFN was allowing me to update. I don't know how soon if I'll have the chance to again. I hope it will be fixed soon!

Theres a prequel called This Is Their World.