By the time John arrived home from the surgery, Sherlock had 221B back to looking its usual, chaotic self. Magazines lay haphazardly over the coffee table where the red cloth had once laid, and the curtains were only closed against the darkening London skies.
"You look better." John remarked, seeing Sherlock sat at the desk, casually entering notes onto his laptop. "Tea?"
He didn't, of course, wait for a response. Instead he went straight to the kitchen cupboard and removed two mugs before filling and flicking on the kettle.
Sherlock glanced towards the kitchen after John. "I don't suppose you've eaten?" John enquired, popping his head around the doorway to find Sherlock looking in his direction. Sherlock shook his head. He hadn't even felt remotely hungry - another effect of the cocaine, he knew.
"Bit late to cook now", John continued, not really mindful of Sherlock's response. "I could order in some Chinese?"
Sherlock didn't really want to eat, but he acquiesced anyway. At least with a take-away, he could eat as little or as much as he wanted, without too much scrutiny.
"I'll ring it through", he replied, knowing John would over-order. "Busy day at work?"
John gave Sherlock one of those "I know you would never have asked anybody that before you met me" looks, along with a genuine smile. "Not bad", he responded. "Nothing serious. Nothing deadly. Probably quite boring by Sherlock Holmes' standards, I'm sure." he continued with a wink before turning back to the kitchen to finish the teas.
Sherlock let out a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He was feeling better. Calmer; more relaxed; less anxious; less emotional; more... normal.
He reached for the take-away menu and rang through their order.
The following morning, Sherlock was up early. The relative calming effect of the cocaine - funny, he thought, how a drug known for its stimulating properties acted almost the opposite way for Sherlock Holmes - had enabled Sherlock to sleep quite restfully for the first time in some weeks. He'd been drowsy after eating, gone to bed not long after and only awoken when the sound of John moving in the kitchen had roused him.
"Morning, Sleepyhead." John chuckled as Sherlock's swept into the kitchen: all ruffled hair and swirling blue robe. He pulled a second mug out of the cupboard and poured another coffee, handing it to Sherlock who had seated himself at the kitchen table. "Toast?" he enquired, knowing the detective probably wouldn't want to eat after last night's meal.
Sherlock took a long drink from his mug and shook his head. He definitely couldn't stomach more food. Not this week , he thought. "Not working today, Doctor?" he asked casually.
Sherlock wasn't yet sure how much a grip he had on himself this morning, but the fact that John was still in his pyjamas and robe indicated that he probably wasn't going anywhere early today.
John refilled his coffee mug, grabbed his toast and took the seat opposite Sherlock. "Not today." He took a bite of toast and passed his mobile phone across to Sherlock. "Lestrade messaged earlier. New lead in the basement murder case. They want to know if you can go to the station and just give their suspect the once over?"
Sherlock looked at the message from Greg, nodding. He was feeling up to that, he decided. Yesterday's hit had given him some relief which seemed to be continuing so far, so he quickly sent a reply back "1pm at NSY - SH" and headed to his bedroom to get ready.
Emerging a while later, showered and dressed, Sherlock looked ready for action.
"You almost look excited about it." John commented, as Sherlock breezed out of the kitchen and grabbed his Belstaff and scarf from the rack.
Sherlock barely stopped to answer. "Of course! It's a puzzle! It's all about the puzzles! You coming?" he added, almost as an afterthought, as if he was suddenly worried that John wouldn't be joining him.
John pulled his coat from the rack and nodded. "Sure thing," he replied before adding absently, "but I can't be late back. I have a date with Sarah tonight." John didn't notice Sherlock had stopped in his tracks, as he breezed past the detective at the top of the stairs and made his way down to hail a taxi.
Sherlock stood on the landing. Still. Silent.
John has a date?
John has a date!
He suddenly felt as though something had taken hold of him, shaking him violently, squeezing the all the air out of him and ripping his heart right out of his chest.