JWP #25:

Food, Glorious Food: Have food (or its absence) figure in some way today.

"Holmes, when was the last time you ate?"

He never looked up from his pacing, lost in thought and ignoring the question as he stared at a piece of paper in his hand, and I tried again.

"Holmes, you need to eat."

He halted midstride, reading something from the paper before rushing across the room.

"Holmes!"

"No time, Watson. I need to see Lestrade. He arrested the wrong man!"

He was out the door before I could argue, and I turned back to the supper in front of me with a sigh.

Holmes had been on this most recent case for days, and he had not asked for my assistance. I knew very little of the details, and I was too busy with my own schedule to pay more than the barest attention to his without a reason, but while I had been in and out with my patients nearly as much as he with his case, I was almost always here for meals. I had not seen him eat in two days, three if I disregarded the bite he had stolen from my plate the first time I tried to get him to eat. He needed food, yet he seemed to think that logical brain of his could rationalize his body out of needing fuel. It would catch up with him soon.

"Doctor?"

Mrs. Hudson's voice came from the doorway as I finished, and I looked up.

"He refused to eat again," I answered her unspoken question.

"He is going to make himself ill," she fretted as she cleaned up the untouched food.

"That is probably the only thing that would make him slow down. How many Irregulars has he had in and out of here today? Five? Ten?"

"Fifteen knocks on the door," she answered, "mostly Wiggins, but a few others as well. They said they were helping him track three different men across the city."

I shook my head. I would have to try to keep an eye on them too. It had been a lean year for the poorer sections of the city, and those boys—and girl—would never complain.

"Offer some of this to them as payment," I suggested.

She nodded, catching my meaning immediately. "They don't eat enough," she agreed, lifting the tray. "I'm sure they will appreciate this spread."

"I certainly did." I got the door for her, voicing a "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," as she walked out. She scowled at me, and I chuckled. That would never get old.

I moved slowly around the room, cleaning, clearing the floor, and picking up the many books Holmes had left scattered everywhere. I chose a book from the shelf when I finished and settled into my chair, losing myself in its pages.

Commotion below me drew my attention from the story, and I looked up as the door slammed and footsteps bounded up the stairs.

"I am guessing Lestrade listened to you?" I asked with a faint smile as he threw open the door.

"Of course, he did—" he scowled, "once I explained my reasoning. Lestrade is the best of a bad lot, but he at least listens."

I chuckled at the muttered, "unlike Gregson," but said nothing as he exchanged his jacket for his dressing gown and moved to his chemistry set. Focused on whatever experiment he started, he ignored my attempts at conversation, and I returned to my book.

Or, rather, I tried to return to my book. A crash sounded downstairs, and Mrs. Hudson's voice carried to the sitting room.

"Doctor!"

I was out of my chair in a moment, racing for the door at the urgency in that call and grabbing my bag on the way.

"What happened?" I asked as I hurried into the kitchen.

Mrs. Hudson knelt on the floor, holding one of our youngest Irregulars, Jacob, and she looked up at my voice.

"He was telling me about the work Mr. Holmes has them doing when he stopped and paled, then collapsed."

Jacob roused as I awkwardly knelt, and I quickly put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from rising.

"Easy, Jacob. Stay there." I took his pulse, checking him over as he colored at the realization that he was on the floor. "What happened?"

"Sorry, Doctor. I just got fuzzy-headed. I'm alright."

Something about that sounded familiar, and I caught his gaze. "When was the last time you ate?"

He frowned, breaking eye contact to stare at the floor as he mumbled an answer.

"What was that?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know when you last ate?"

He shook his head, slowly sitting upright as Mrs. Hudson leaned back. "My sister needs it more," he said. "We don't have much, and I promised Mum I would take care of her."

"Yet, you have been rushing back and forth helping Mr. Holmes all day," Mrs. Hudson admonished, standing to prepare a plate from the supper remains.

"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson. I've gone longer before."

"Nonsense," she replied, setting the plate on the table as he cautiously pulled himself to his feet. "You eat that, and I'll put together some more for you to take back for your sister and a few others. And you!" She shook her finger at the doorway, where I noticed Holmes had appeared. "You haven't been setting the best example yourself, running back and forth to the Yard with barely a meal in a week! If you want them to help you, you need to give them time and access to food. Not everyone can force themselves to go without food or sleep for a week straight."

He leaned against the doorway, trying to brush off Mrs. Hudson's irritation as he eyed where Jacob was sitting at the table, silently checking that the boy was alright. Something about the way he was standing caught my attention, and I moved closer.

"Holmes?" He tore his gaze from Jacob to look at me, and I gestured to the other chair. "Sit before you pass out, too," I told him with a smirk.

He frowned at me, irritated that I had noticed, but he pushed himself off the wall and slowly made his way to the table, where Mrs. Hudson put another plate of food in front of him.

"One of these days, Holmes," I warned him as I watched Jacob quickly clearing his plate, "you are going to faint at the wrong time. I hope all I will be able to say is 'I told you so.' You need to eat, no matter how interesting a case."

I could see he did not believe me, but a quick glance at Jacob prevented him from rolling his eyes at the warning. He picked up a fork and began clearing his own plate as I shared a knowing smirk with Mrs. Hudson. For all that he claimed the children were simply useful eyes and ears on the streets, his presence in the kitchen showed he cared about them. Maybe that would serve to make sure he took care of himself, if only to show them what to do.