"Sherlock."
Sherlock's eyes snapped open as John shook him from his sleep. "Sherlock," John said urgently. "You need to eat something. Mrs H's brought up Chinese from that good takeaway. You haven't eaten since Tuesday, now it's Friday. You'll waste away."
Sherlock sat up slowly as he cleared his groggy mind. "I fell asleep," he said with wide, shocked eyes.
"I'm not surprised. Sherlock, you haven't slept since Tuesday, either." John's tone was exaperated as he started to walk towards the kitchen where the food sat upon the table.
"Of course I haven't, John," Sherlock snapped. "I was working on all of those cases."
John turned back around with an incredulous look. "There were twenty-three there, Sherlock."
Sherlock stood, and smiled at John. "And I have solved all of them."
John shook his head. "One of these days, Sherlock. One of these days."
"Once of these days, what?"
"Nothing, Sherlock," sighed John.
"Well if it was nothing then what was the point in saying it?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Everything matters, John."
He ignored Sherlock and went to dish out the Chinese. Then he sat down, with his tray upon his knees, and dug in. Sherlock rose slowly from his chair, then strolled into the kitchen, first pouring himself a glass of water before joining John.
John watched him intently as he picked up his cutlery, and picked up his first forkful. The stare did not end until the food had gone in Sherlock's mouth and the mouth had begun to chew.
"Why do you look at me like that whenever I eat, John?" Sherlock demanded. "Wait, let me guess. You're worried about my eating because I don't, so to speak, eat much. You're worried that I'm getting thinner and you're worried about my health."
"Well done, Sherlock. That was a really difficult one to see, huh?" John said sarcastically through a mouthful of food.
"Manners, John," Sherlock chastised. "And it does surprise me that you care so much. You know that I eat enough, because I am not dead. Yet you still pester me about food."
"I care because I'm your friend, Sherlock. And I'm the only one who can tell you to eat, because I live with you."
Sherlock was silent for a minute. "You know, John," he said. "You're the only friend I've ever had. And, I might be getting confused, but... I... I'm grateful that you're here."
"Grateful?" asked John. "What do you mean by that?"
"You're the only person who has ever liked me, and the only person who I liked," said Sherlock, prodding his meal slowly. "But where does the line get drawn, John?"
John put down his knife and fork, and looked questioningly at his flat-mate. "What line?"
"Why do you have to be so stupid?!" Sherlock shouted as he stood up, causing his tray to clatter on the floor and his plate smash against the ground.
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed.
"Shut up, John!" Sherlock bellowed. "Why are you such an idiot?"
"I... I don't... How..." John stumbled over his words in his confusion.
Sherlock let out a roar of frustration as he sank back into his seat, completely ignoring the wreck on the floor. He hung his head with his brow resting on the back of his right hand and let out an almighty sigh as he calmed back to his usual self.
"How can I tell you, John?" he asked, his voice defeated.
"Tell me what?" asked John cautiously.
Sherlock raised his head, and his eyes blazed into John's as his face crumpled. "Tell you that... I think I might love you, John."
