Trigger warning: mentions of an eating disorder.

So here is the third instalment. Thank you for all of you have stuck with this so far and I thank everyone who has responded to this fic in any way, especially those of you who have reviewed. Actually, now that I've mentioned reviews I feel now would be a goof time for me to remind you to review… :D

It's nothing to worry about

Chapter 3- I already ate (I starve myself)

John buzzed busily around the flat clearing up the mess which consisted of both his and Sherlock's stuff, but mostly Sherlock's. Glorious smells emanated from the kitchen where Mrs Hudson was cooking. It was certainly an improvement on the foul stench of decomposing flesh or noxious gases which were a result of Sherlock's far too frequent experiments. Usually the best smell that ever came from there was the smell of John making toast and half the time that was burnt anyway.

And the reason for all of this excitement was that today was a special day, today was Sherlock's 30th birthday. They were having a surprise birthday party for him. And what he meant by surprise was John hadn't told him but it was more than likely that Sherlock had figured out. And what he meant by party was there were a few people having a home-cooked meal. Mrs Hudson was making a big lasagne, which was Sherlock's favourite meal, and a Pavlova for pudding. It was John's task to make the flat look respectable ready for their guests to arrive which was proving quite a challenge. It was more like an archaeological dig than simply cleaning a flat. There were mugs he didn't even recognise lying about the place and more worryingly test tubes containing unknown substances buried under many years' worth of case notes.

John himself was rather looking forward to this meal; Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly were going to be there. He'd reluctantly invited Mycroft but had been relieved when the elder Holmes declined. He still didn't know whether or not he was joking when he'd said he didn't want to risk being blamed for organising such an event. Either way, things were all going to plan and John really did hope Sherlock would appreciate the effort at least. It was a long-shot but one could still hope. There was still one problem though, Sherlock had left the flat early in the morning and nobody knew why or where he was going. Nobody could get a hold of Mycroft to see if they could see him on CCTV so it was anyone's guess where Sherlock was. Not that him doing something similar to this was uncommon, it was just very unhelpful for it to happen today of all days since nobody knew when he was coming back. It was very possible that they would end up having his birthday party without him being there.

Thankfully this was not the case, Sherlock returned to the flat at about seven, Lestrade and Molly had already arrived and they were all sitting around drinking tea. The detective gave the room and its occupants a quick cursory glance taking in all the information there was available and making deductions. "I don't celebrate my birthday John," he stated almost scathingly.

"Well we celebrate your birthday so get yourself sorted and sit down; I'll make you a cup of tea." In response Sherlock gave a snort of what sounded like derision but disappeared into his room to switch his tight suit and shirt for loose fitting trousers and a t-shirt and his jacket for a dressing gown. He then re-emerged and did as John said, soon finding a hot cup of tea being pressed into his hands. Everybody else had dressed up nicely so it was safe to say Sherlock stood out quite significantly, something he was quite un-phased by.

"I got you a little something Sherlock; it's nothing much but…" Molly trailed off nervously, handing him a perfectly wrapped present complete with bow. Sherlock opened his mouth to fire off some deductions about it but they died in his throat when he glanced at John who was giving him his 'be nice' look.

"Thank you Molly," Sherlock said almost convincingly.

"Open it then," Lestrade prompted when he saw the detective was going to put the gift down. If it wasn't opened now it would soon be lost in the normal chaos that was normally 221b Baker Street, though John done a good job of cleaning it up. Sighing he brought the present back towards him and meticulously began to remove the bow and then the paper. He's one of those people who like to keep the wrapping as intact as possible John thought, this idea amused him slightly.

Eventually all of the paper had been removed and Sherlock ran his fingers along the leather casing, impressed with the quality. He slowly opened the case to reveal a full dissection kit. The new blades shone brightly and something close to a genuine smile played at the corners of his mouth. He looked at her intensely before saying, "This is appropriate." This was as close as anyone really ever got to being thanked by Sherlock genuinely so she returned his half smile warmly. "You are most welcome." A moment later there was a beeping sound coming from the kitchen and Mrs Hudson jumped from her seat seemingly to temporarily forget about her hip. "Dinner's ready, I'm afraid the table isn't big enough so we'll just have to eat off our laps. We'll do the rest of the presents later."

"She darted off into the kitchen and opened the oven. A wave of delicious smells swept across the room leaving everyone with a small grin on their face. Everyone except Sherlock that is. He sat there expressionless but seemingly to have paled slightly. Only John noticed this and sent him a concerned glance but got up to assist Mrs Hudson in the kitchen and to pour everyone some drinks. He'd bought some red wine for the occasion. He knew Sherlock did, on occasion, have a small quantity of alcohol so John poured him some. If he didn't want it he wouldn't feel obliged to have any.

Soon they were all tucking into their lasagne with gusto. John always knew Mrs Hudson was a good cook, he was starting to develop a bit of a belly to prove it, but this simply surpassed all his expectations. Sherlock, however, was not having quite the same wonderful experience as his friend. Slowly he picked all the bits of cheese off the top and then began to separate the layers, effectively dismantling the entire meal.

"You alright mate?" Lestrade asked when he observed Sherlock's odd behaviour. The detective either didn't hear him or managed to ignore him pretty effectively as there was no response.

"Sherlock?" John prompted as he was sitting next to the younger man. This made Sherlock look up suddenly. Sorry, what?" he asked completely confused.

"Are you alright?" Lestrade repeated and Sherlock nodded then turned to Mrs Hudson, his face the epitome of regret. This set John's initial alarm bells off; if Sherlock did regret something usually he would most definitely hide it under his usual mask of indifference.

"I am very sorry Mrs Hudson," he began. His voice sounded sincere and slightly saddened. "You know I adore you lasagne and this meal is delicious but I am very full. I don't think I'll be able to eat this."

"Why, are you ill Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked worriedly.

"No, no I am quite well."

"Then why can't you eat it?" John asked. Now everyone's attention was on Sherlock and the detective was beginning to get nervous and slightly agitated. The doctor in John picked up on this and who looked at Lestrade who seemed to get the message and carried on with his meal, Molly followed suit, though they were both still listening.

"I was out for a meal with Mycroft for my birthday, I am now quite full. He took me to his favourite restaurant and naturally they serve rather large portions there."

"Really?" asked John, disbelievingly. "You went with Mycroft for dinner. He took you willingly and you went willingly?"

"Not quite. Mummy made him promise to take me. Nobody dares break a promise to Mummy, not even Mycroft. And I daren't be the reason for him not being able to keep his promise."

"It's alright dear, don't worry about it. I know you would have had some if you could manage it. Will you be having any pudding?"

"Ah, no thank you Mrs Hudson, I don't think I could even manage another bite. If you put some in the fridge for me I might have some tomorrow." She nodded and smiled as she stood up to collect the plates.

John stared at Sherlock incredulously; he knew the man was lying. The real question was why. The doctor decided not to pursue it any further, well, not right at that moment anyway. Not when there were so many people about. He would do it later.

It was about midnight that everybody had left. It had been too much socialising for Sherlock to cope with since there had not been a case to discuss or focus on. He'd disappeared off to his room at half-eleven. He had done quite well though; John was quite pleased because he had obviously worked hard not to insult anyone.

Once the flat was quiet John busied himself with clearing away all the used glasses and mugs. Mrs Hudson had tried to stay to wash them all up but John had insisted that she go back down to her flat to relax. It was that moment Sherlock reappeared and John knew that he had to ask then or he'd keep putting it off. "Why did you lie?" John demanded; Sherlock hated it when people beat around the bush. The detective's head snapped up from whatever it was he had been doing.

"Why did I lie about what?"

"I'm not stupid despite what you may think. You lied about going to see Mycroft."

"No I didn't!" Sherlock shouted, seeming just a little bit too defensive."

"Do you want me to call Mycroft to find out because I will? He gave me his personal number so I won't even have to go through all his secretaries." The younger man was beginning to look a bit uncomfortable. He was looking down slightly and he began to rapidly move his fingers in the way he did when he was agitated.

"What's going on Sherlock? You can tell me, you can trust me," John said, his voice firm yet gentle.

"I just wasn't hungry and I didn't want to upset Mrs Hudson," Sherlock whispered.

"Uh huh and when was the last time you ate? The last time I saw you eat was three days ago and it was just a slice of toast."

"I'm not hungry."

"That's not what I asked Sherlock." John's voice was now hinting at the very beginning of frustration.

"I'm not a baby John, I can take care of myself, and I don't need you mothering me constantly. Need I remind you that I survived all the other years of my life without you? Just stop asking me questions. Damn it!" the detective exploded as he stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

John just stood there and shook his head at his friend's temper. He felt slightly guilty since it was Sherlock's birthday but he had to ask. He couldn't pretend that everything was ok. If something happened because he'd simply pretended there was nothing wrong he would never be able to forgive himself. But now he knew he was going to have to start monitoring Sherlock's eating habits very closely indeed.

The detective lay curled up into a small ball on his bed, tears slowly running down his cheeks. He didn't like shouting at John but it was the only way he could get out of the room without letting his surprisingly perceptive friend know he was on the verge of tears.

Why did people have to try to make him eat? Couldn't they see that he needed to lose weight? He needed to stay in shape so he could chase criminals. He needed to be thin so that there wasn't something else people could make fun of him for. Being known as Freak was hard enough but if he was known as Fatty on top of that, even the thought of it was quite unbearable. It was too reminiscent of what his father would call him when he was little, except the ways his father put it were considerably less savoury. Sherlock hoped John would forgive him for shouting at him. A sharp ache careened through his empty stomach causing him to groan quietly and curl into an even tighter ball. Fresh tears began to form in his eyes. Some birthday this turned out to be.

I hope you enjoyed reading that. Please review, reviews really do make my day.