Come morning they both decided not to allude to the last night. John drank his tea in silence and didn't say a word when Sherlock shuffled into the room looking like a ghost. As usual Sherlock chose to ignore the basic human ritual of breakfast and instead flopped onto the couch with a deep sigh. It didn't take a detective to notice the definite change in Sherlock. He'd always been rather pale and thin, but he seemed even more so, if that was even possible. It gave him a sharp look, as though his bones could cut through his skin. It was his eyes that haunted John the most. The eyes that were normally so full of light and curious energy were now swiveling tiredly about, taking in the contents of the room with no particular reason.
The two of them might have sat there all day, John observing Sherlock and Sherlock observing nothing, if Sherlock's phone hadn't gone off. The lanky detective pulled his phone out of his bathrobe pocket and rolled his eyes as he read the text.
"Lestrade needs me. He didn't give any details about the case which means it's probably something so simple I could solve it in ten seconds. He likes to hold off being embarrassed as long as possible." Sherlock stood and strode into his room without the energy that usually accompanied a summons by Lestrade. He returned shortly dressed, clearly he had made no attempt to tame his wild black curls but that was normal enough.
"I should be back shortly. No need to come along this time, it should take all of a minute."
"Alright. Try not to be too..." John sighed. "Don't be yourself?"
"Wouldn't dream of it." Sherlock smirked, but the smirk didn't meet his eyes which still dozed within his skull. Then he was gone like a fleeting gust of wind. For a few seconds John didn't dare to move, he held his breath and waited until he couldn't hear Sherlock's footsteps anymore. Then he rushed into his flatmate's bedroom. This was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. Sherlock hardly ever left the apartment except for casework, so if he was going to search his room it was now or never.
Sherlock's room was a strange mix of clean and disorganized, he had a way of sorting his piles of junk that made it appear a little less dirty than it actually was. It was certainly better than the living room. John remembered when the detective began affixing their mail to the mantle with a jackknife. He'd put a stop to that immediately.
"Alright...think like Sherlock. Where would he hide something like..." John trailed off. He couldn't ignore the obvious anymore. He'd heard whispers of words like "danger night", and the "drug raid" that occurred way back when he had first met Sherlock was a not too subtle hint. People made it quite clear that Sherlock dabbled in illicit substances, it was just too easy to forget it seeing as John had never witnessed him taking them.
He began searching through the mess trying his hardest not to disturb anything, knowing that Sherlock would know if even the smallest paper was out of place. After so many failed attempts John gave up in frustration. That was when his eyes landed on the case for Sherlock's Stradivarius.
Come to think of it, wasn't the violin out in the living room leaning against the couch? So what was in the case? John crept towards the case as if it was an animal he didn't wish to frighten, and as he popped the latches he felt a yanking on his heartstrings.
"Oh Sherlock..." The case for the detectives most prized possession re-purposed for...for this! John sank back to sit on the floor. Now that he had confirmation, he knew he couldn't sit idly and make excuses about how it was Sherlock's private life and he couldn't interfere. As a doctor and a friend, it wouldn't be right.
He'd have to get rid of it all.