After finishing his meal, Jayden flopped onto the futon and was asleep almost immediately. Sherlock was still seated at the table.
"Here," Lestrade said, as he tossed a bag of crackers over to Sherlock, who caught them.
"What are these for?" Sherlock asked, looking at the pack in disinterest.
"For you to eat." Lestrade answered, "You're obviously not going to eat the 'tex-mex' as Jayden calls it, so I figured those would be a bit better on your stomach."
Sherlock glanced up at Lestrade with surprise and confusion.
"How-"
Lestrade rolled his eyes.
"It doesn't take a genius to deduce the reason you don't eat much."
Sherlock blinked, staring at Lestrade, who then sighed.
"Listen, you've got a high stress job, fast paced life, your mind works at an almost super human speed and practically eats itself when it has nothing to do, you don't get enough sleep, and going off of what I've picked up on over the years, probably a very... tense family situation." Lestrade explained. "But rarely do you seem to worry about any of it. Everyone feels stress, no one is exempt from it, which means the stress must be affecting you in some other way. You don't eat when you're on a case, but you don't eat when you go too long without a case either. Thus, the only logical conclusion is that stress messes with your digestive system. It makes you sick to your stomach."
Lestrade paused to take a breath, expecting himself to speak again soon after, but found he needed to take a few more.
"Gosh," Lestrade said breathlessly, "How do you do that all in one breath?"
Ignoring the joke, Sherlock just stared at him.
"See, I'm not an idiot." Lestrade said, after regaining his normal rate of breathing.
Sherlock just watched Lestrade, with a sort of fascination that while not all that unusual, was unusual when it was directed at a human being.
"I do observe things sometimes." Lestrade added. "The things that matter most to me." Lestrade shoveled another bite of macaroni and cheese into his mouth.
"Now eat your crackers."
Sherlock's gaze shifted to the packet of crackers sitting on the table. He slowly took one from the box and held it for a moment, trying to convince himself to eat it. His stomach clenched just smelling it.
In relation to blood, gore, and cadavers, Sherlock had a very strong stomach. He could handle just about anything that was thrown at him. That had never been a problem. Only when he thought of food, did he flinch. For some strange reason, his mind seemed to have associated food with pain. He never had figured it out, but when he ate, it felt almost as though there was a bolt of lightening shooting through him. His entire body chilled, and a stinging pain appeared on his cheek. That was when things were normal, when there was no reason for him not to eat.
When he was under stress, when he had a case demanding his attention, or when his mind was tearing itself apart, his stomach always clenched at even the thought of food. There was already too much that he was processing. The only sense that he didn't have in use was taste, and for that reason, it was taste that kept him sane. The sense of taste had always bothered him, and for that reason he preferred bland foods. He despised anything too sweet or too sour. Salty, while still not pleasurable, wasn't quite as bad.
I need this. Sherlock thought, still looking at the cracker that he twirled between his fingers. My transport is weak. This will help my transport. I need my transport to find Jo- the victim. I can't use my transport much until I replenish its energy. First step to solving the case then, is eating the cracker.
Sherlock steeled his mind for the assault on his taste buds, then closed his eyes to help diminished the things that required mental processing. He pushed the cracker into his mouth.
Focus- focus on the ingredients. Uh- flour. Not wheat flour, rice flour maybe? Hint of tapioca starch? Yes. Alright, go on... Water. Salt. Lots of salt. Come on, next thing. Umm... Butter. Just a hint of sugar, almost not there. Baking powder.
"Sherlock-"
The panicked voice came out of nowhere, and Sherlock immediately jumped out of his chair.
"What's wrong?" Lestrade asked, having been startled by Sherlock's sudden movement. Sherlock raised a finger in front of his mouth, air rushing out of his mouth to make a gentle "Shhh..." sound.
"Did you hear that?" Sherlock whispered.
Lestrade shook his head, "What was it?"
"Someone is calling my name." Sherlock said. "Their voice is shaking. They're scared."
"Sherlock, I don't hear anything." Lestrade said. "Are you sure your not just making it up?"
"Do I seem the sort to make things up to you?!" Sherlock said, his irritation obvious even as he whispered. Then his face softened, fear leaking into his eyes.
"Jayden."
Sherlock took off towards the living room, his feet making almost no sound on the floor. Lestrade quickly followed him, albeit not quite as quietly. They peaked around the corner to see Jayden sleeping deeply on the futon, not a person in sight.
Once the rest of the flat had been checked out thoroughly, Sherlock glanced at the door.
"Outside! They must be outside!" Sherlock threw open the door running towards the street.
"I don't hear anyt- Sherlock!" Lestrade jumped forwards and grabbed Sherlock's arm, pulling him out of the way of a moving car.
"Will you be careful!?" Lestrade said. "I've already had one heart attack, and I don't fancy another!"
"But Lestrade, he's right there!" Sherlock pointed a distance down the street. "Can't you seem him? Can't you see his silhouette?! He's right there!"
Sherlock continued, pointing, looking back and forth between Lestrade's face, and the empty space on the road.
"Sherlock, Sherlock, calm down." Lestrade slowly, lightly set his hands on Sherlock's upper arms, just below the shoulder. He gradually increased pressure until he was holding Sherlock firmly in place.
"But Lestrade-"
"Look at me." Lestrade ordered. Sherlock's eyes reluctantly met his.
"There's no one there, Sherlock." Lestrade said. "There's no one calling your name, there's no one standing in the street. You're exhausted, you're malnourished, you're stressed, you've got a fever, your mind is just making it up, alright? Now let's go back inside. You need to get some rest, alright?"
"But-" Sherlock still stared out to the spot where he so clearly saw the outline of a boy.
"It's all in your head, Sherlock." Lestrade repeated. "Trust me."
After looking between them a few more times, Sherlock nodded hesitantly.
Lestrade tried to hide his sigh of relief.
A/N: Woah! So what's the deal there? Sherlock was... what? Hallucinating? Having a flash back of some sort? Dreaming? What's the deal?
I've got summer camp starting tomorrow, so I'll be gone for two weeks! I'm really looking forward to it, but the down side is that I won't have access to internet. I'll give you a chapter as soon as possible when I get back though, alright? Cheers.
