John was absolutely sure he was missing his liver. Or his stomach. Or the better half of his brain. There had to be something to explain the incredible lack of hangover pain he was feeling. John woke up quite comfortable, nestled into Sherlock's old bed underneath blankets. Blankets?

John bolted upright, looking down at himself, at the bed. He could never get used to waking up in this room, but that wasn't what bothered him. He tugged at his shirt. Hadn't he been wearing something over it? No, this was a new shirt entirely. He threw off the covers and leapt to his feet, but immediately regretted it. He wasn't sick to his stomach, no, but sudden movements were still far from a good idea.

"Niles!" he called, getting to his feet again and moving - more slowly this time - to the door and out of it. He worked his way through the empty hallway, leaning against the doorway to the living room and rubbing

his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Niles!"

The young surgeon stepped out of the kitchen, stirring a cup of coffee.

"G'morning, John. How are you - "

"You went into the room last night."

"Sorry?"

John bit his lip, his fists clenching in irritation.

"You went into my room. Into his - you went into that room!" John flung his arm back, gesturing violently down the hallway at Sherlock's old room. He couldn't believe the nerve, the invasion of privacy, in infringement upon Sherlock's - upon his personal space. John had expressed several times over the course of their first few weeks that his bedroom was off-limits, and Niles had agreed to that wholeheartedly. Niles sighed, setting his coffee cup down on the table.

"Yeah, I did."

"Yeah - okay." John ran a hand over his face, shifting the weight off of his right leg. "Why?"

The surgeon shrugged, walking closer to the doctor and gesturing at his face.

"Have you smelled your breath this morning, John?" he said, making John frown. He licked his lips - they tasted wretched, so did the inside of his mouth.

"You've had water since, but you can probably still taste it. I'm a doctor, John. Any assumptions I might have about us being friends aside, what kind of physician would I be if I left my own flat mate to choke on his own vomit?"

John felt a pang of shame. He didn't like relying on people, certainly not people he'd only known for a few weeks - well, aside from the obvious, but that was a special case - and he certainly didn't like the idea of making a fool out of himself.

"You didn't have to take care of me."

"Well, yes, actually, I did." Niles slid his hands into his trouser pockets, his shoulders rolling. "You'd never forgive yourself if you made a mess of those sheets, and I don't particularly enjoy the company of a depressed Dr. Watson. Luckily enough I got a bin over in time… couldn't save the shirt, though. Oh, don't give me that face - there wasn't much to it, and you weren't so bad. Just needed a bit of a clean-up, a bit of water, and a few B12's to make sure you didn't feel wretched in the morning."

John chewed his lip and turned away. Sure, it was nice to know he was being looked after, but it was still a particularly forward display of worry, and the implication of dependency wasn't a concept the army doctor very much enjoyed. Niles seemed to read the apprehension in his face, sighing again and attempting a smile.

"Look, John, I'm sorry. First and last time, right? I promise."

John looked at him, at the apology written in his face, and caved. He was too tired to keep on being frustrated, and ostracizing a generally pleasant flat mate wasn't going to do him any good. He let out the breath he'd been holding and walked out to his arm chair, collapsing into it and leaning his head back against the cushion.

"It's fine. It's - it's fine." He rested his face in his hand, massaging away the light throb of a headache he'd developed from the agitation. "Thanks."

Niles smiled, though he seemed taken aback by the gratitude.

"It was my fault you were that drunk anyway, so it was my responsibility to make sure you were alright," he said simply, sipping at his cup of coffee. "No problem at all."

"No, the - for the going out, too. For drinks. It was good. Good… distraction. It helped."

The young surgeon's face cracked into a grin.

"Good. Good, I'm glad. Coffee?" John nodded.

"Yeah, a bit."

"I've got to pop into work for a bit today. Care to come along?"

John accepted his cup of coffee, giving Niles a look over the brim.

"What, to the surgery? No offense, but I'm not so enamored with it that I want to be there on my days off."

Niles laughed, downing the rest of his coffee in one go.

"No, but I haven't explained why I offered yet."

"Ah."

John looked up at him expectantly, honestly a little surprised. He wasn't so used to people telling him why he wanted to go about and do things, just that he was going to go about and do things. Part of him thought it was a little bit refreshing… part of him had to admit he missed the mystery.

"They found one of the victims, alive, but in a bad way. You know, from that lot of disappearances they've been talking about in the papers. I fixed her up yesterday, going in to check on her now. I think the Yard's coming in to ask a few questions…?"

The doctor looked at him, his mouth opened just slightly. The prospect of participating in an investigation - no, Niles had never said anything about participation. Still, he was deathly curious. He wanted to know how it ended, and he needed something - anything to occupy his time. He didn't exactly have anything else to do that day.

"Alright. Why not?"