Chapter 31: That's How This Works

"I eat food, you eat food. That's how this works."

I stared determinedly at Sherlock, my head resting on my folded arms. He sat with an equally stubborn expression, not eating any of his food. I raised an eyebrow at his antics and he replied with the same expression he'd worn for the past half an hour. John had left to get groceries and excessive amounts of milk fifteen minutes ago and Sherlock had taken advantage of his disappearance to not eat anything.

Sherlock opened his mouth, as if to reply with a witty retort, but closed it after half a moment, swallowing. I raised an eyebrow and he pulled a face. I could have scoffed at the immaturity of it.

"Why don't you want to eat?" I asked after a few minutes, standing so that I was taller than him.

He shrugged petulantly, like a young child would. "Don't feel like it."

I briefly contemplated echoing his words mockingly (John was a bad influence) but then remembered that you get more flies with honey than vinegar. In his current annoying and irritating state, comparing Sherlock to flies was almost fair.

"Well, as soon as you do, you're going to eat all of that." I gestured at the plate covered in breakfast food - even though two slices of toast with jam could barely be considered covered - that Sherlock had taken two bites of as of yet.

Sherlock considered my offer before nodding, standing in a smooth movement and walking over to his chair, sitting down and opening a chemistry textbook that had been balanced precariously on the armrest.

I nodded, satisfied with my small victory for the time being. I took out my phone from my pocket, sending off a quick text to Mycroft. He'd been pestering me to watch The Fifth Element - one of his favourite movies - for the past week and I had finally succumbed to his requests.

"Is he paying you?" Sherlock asked. I looked over to see that he had thrown the book over his shoulder and that it now lay on the floor behind his chair, one of the pages folded over.

"Paying me to do what?" I responded, amused.

"To give him updates on my well-being," I received by way of explanation.

I wondered about the level of confusion that would occur in most other humans had they been privy to the same occurrences - what if the other person was referring to a totally different thing to what you thought they were? What if the pronoun game that we seemed to be playing was in relation to totally different people? What if everything we had just said was a code for something else? - before shrugging and screwing my mouth to one side.

"Maybe," I pondered. "Does credit and phone bills count as payment?"

Sherlock scowled.

"I'll take that as a no," I said loftily.

"You have to be doing this for some sort of personal gain!" Sherlock said in a frustrated tone. So that's what it was about.

"Has it occurred to you that I actually do care about you? That John does?"

Sherlock made a noise that said very clearly that yes, it had, but no, of course it wasn't true. I frowned. He stood and began pacing.

"Lockie, you know we care about you, right? That Mycroft and Lestrade and Molly-"

"Yes, of course I do!" Sherlock snapped. "But I don't, too. I know it logically, here-" he tapped his head, "but I also don't. That makes sense, right? I'm not just crazy, I'm not just broken."

He seemed to realise he'd been walking around the room like it was a competition and sat down again. I closed my eyes for a moment, taking it in. "Of course you're not broken. This is a thing that happens to people."

"I'm taking advice from a ten-year-old."

"Yes. It's working rather well, isn't it? You should do it more often." I smiled and saw the ghost of one flit across Sherlock's face. Things were looking up.

"Now eat your breakfast."

Sherlock frowned. "Toast doesn't have much nutritional value."

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you propose?"

His face brightened as he leaped off his chair and donned his coat and scarf (despite the fact that it was a rather warm day by Britain's standards), strolling out the door. I followed, picking my phone up from where I'd dropped it on the table. We walked down the stairs, my pace almost double Sherlock's as I tried to keep up. Jumping down the last few steps, I grabbed his arm, tugging on his coat. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"You know, you haven't actually told me where we're going," I pointed out.

"I would have though that would be obvious," he said in reply.

"It obviously isn't, otherwise I wouldn't be asking. And if we're going to Speedy's, I'd like to point out that coffee isn't much better than toast and jam."

"I'll ask for bowl of cereal, then," Sherlock said, resigned. "Come on!"

I rolled my eyes, following him out onto the street and into the cafe.

"Is this your daughter, then?" the man asked Sherlock as we sat down at the table in the corner. I heaved a sigh, wondering why people saw it unnecessary to address comments regarding me to me.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, mirroring the expression I'd made not two minutes earlier. "Why does everyone assume I'm your father," he asked me rhetorically, "when we bear no resemblance?"

I shrugged, bemused, deliberately choosing to not point out the similar eye colour, hair colour, and almost alabaster skin. The man began showering us with apologies and went off to get Sherlock's 'usual'. While we waited, Sherlock did his customary once-over, looking over the shop and deducing the lives and characteristics of the people present. However, one couple seemed to catch his eye.

Looking over, I saw that the two boys - men, really - were laughing about something and conversing over salad and a burger, for the taller and shorter respectively. I caught the words 'prank' and 'dork' - a prank war that had recently ended and something about the taller one's hair.

It seemed to happen in an instant - the shorter man was fine, and then he was bent double on his chair, puking all he had eaten onto the floor. The other man rushed to him, holding him up as he trembled. I would have thought they were soulmates if they weren't brothers.

"Food poisoning?" I asked Sherlock.

"No, too sudden. More likely a poison itself. We'll need to evacuate the restaurant and take some samples of his meal."

I grinned. "This is going to be fun."

Edit: 25.2.16