July 14th, 2020
A/N: I hope that people enjoy this and please feel free to comment!

Sherlock had never been good at taking care of himself. Even as a teenager, he'd stay up all night for experiments or forget to eat for an entire day. When John first met him, he was ridiculously skinny.

Over time, he became better about it. John's constant reminders were the reason. He put up a front that he only did it so he would stop bothering him about it, but the doctor had learned to see through his defenses fairly quickly. They both knew the other cared, but they left it unspoken most of the time.

Sometimes Sherlock would get bad again. He'd stop eating or sleeping. He'd lose weight. He'd start craving drugs again, but John was always there to help him through it.

This time was a bit different. Sherlock typically didn't sleep during cases purely out of having too much adrenaline. His mind was constantly racing out of control, so it was unlikely he'd be able to fall asleep if he tried. However, he still took breaks. He'd mull over the evidence he'd gathered over tea or coffee while relaxing in his flat.

This time Sherlock wasn't stopping. He was racing around the city constantly. Half the time, John wasn't even taken with him because the doctor had been at work or sent off to do something else for the cases. He was beginning to get worried, and rightfully so.

When he finally saw Sherlock again for longer than a few minutes, he realized how bad it had gotten. His eyes seemed sunken into his face. He was paler than ever. He could see his shirt hanging off of his form. His curls were unruly. John wanted to confront him about it right then and there, but they were on a crime scene and in the presence of Lestrade and Donovan. He knew it would cause a scene and Sherlock would react poorly to it.

He kept quiet. A frown stayed on his face as he watched the detective examined the scene and began to deduce the crime. It wasn't a difficult one for him, but all the running around London caught up with him.

As he went to stand back up from the body, Sherlock began to sway. John's heart jumped as he took a step toward him, sensing something wrong. His eyes were fluttering and his eyebrows were furrowing together. He seemed to be confused. He looked toward the doctor and began to utter his name. As he took a step, the detective stumbled and then collapsed. John was able to break his fall slightly.

He wrapped his arms around his shoulders as they went down. He guided him to lay flat on his back, his medical training allowing him to remain calm as his heart raced. He took Sherlock's pulse.

Lestrade rushed forward to help. "My god, is he alright?" he asked worriedly. "He's not back on the sauce again is he?"

"No, it's not drugs," John told him as pulled his coat off of him; he was nearly certain it wasn't drugs but he wanted to be certain. He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, showing his arms free of bruises that would imply the use of drugs. Lestrade sighed in relief but sill looked concerned. He felt his face and checked his eyes. They were unfocused and bloodshot. He shook his head in frustration. "He's just exhausted."

Greg looked taken aback by the very thought. "I didn't know he felt exhaustion," he said.

He rolled his eyes in response, not feeling like joking around at the moment. He pulled Sherlock's head up. The detective's eyes rolled a little as he looked up toward him. "Sherlock? Can you hear me?" he called, cupping his face. He gestured to Lestrade. "Go hail a cab, I've got to take him home."

The inspector obeyed the doctor's orders. "Sherlock..." John muttered, patting his cheeks. "Come on, you prick, can you hear me?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook out his head before opening them again. He focused on John and nodded slightly. "Good, we've got to get you back to the flat, so you're going to have to get up on your feet."

"I'm fine, I need to continue with the investigations," he managed to mumble.

"No, you need to rest, Doctor's orders. I can either take you home with your cooperation or I can punch your lights out. It's your choice," he said, his voice commanding. Sherlock sighed and nodded in resignation. John slipped his arm under the detective's armpits. He could feel his weight leaning against him and immediately recognized that he'd lost significant amount of weight. He cursed. "Damn it, you know you can't go days without eating..."

Sherlock brushed off the comment with a huff. "Digestion slows me down."

"Yeah, well, death will stop you completely," he retorted.

They clambered into the cab Lestrade had waved down for them. They sat in silence for the entire ride. Sherlock leaned back and closed his eyes, but John knew he wasn't asleep. He needed food and a bath before he could sleep.

When they arrived to the flat, John assisted the detective in walking once again. He protested, but the moment the doctor step away, he was swaying again. They carefully made their way upstairs. Once in the flat, John led Sherlock to the bathroom. "Here, clean yourself up, I'll get a kettle boiling and find something edible."

He obeyed quietly, simply nodding as he left the room. John headed to the kitchen, finding Mrs. Hudson already boiling the water for the tea. "Is he alright, love? He seemed like an awful mess," she said with a shake of her head. "There's some leftovers in the fridge if he's feeling hungry."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he said gratefully. "He's just been burning himself out."

"Well, you'll sort him out, I'm sure," she giggled.

She left, leaving him to set out some food for the two of them. He felt anger and frustration welling up in his chest. He wasn't sure if he was more pissed off with Sherlock or himself. He should've known better than to let him run off on cases when he hadn't been sleeping or eating. He should've intervened sooner.

He heard the bathroom door open from down the hall. Sherlock came walking timidly into the living room a few moments later wearing pajamas. He looked frustrated.

"What? Craving a fix?" John asked, a slight bitterness in his tone as he poured the tea. "God knows you crave them most when you're exhausted."

"No, I'm just annoyed with the restrictions of my body," he replied. He plopped down in his chair with a heavy sigh. "It's infuriating to have your physical abilities not match your mental abilities. My mind feels fine. It is operating just as it always does, yet I'm unable to use it because this body is so flawed as to require food and rest to operate."

The doctor laughed hollowly. "Ah, yes, I nearly forgot that you don't like being human, but guess what? You are! You're a human being with human restrictions and human needs," he snapped, bringing him his plate of food. Sherlock's eyes went wide at the tone of his voice. "You need to stop treating yourself like this before you do something so incredibly stupid that damages your health for the rest of your life."

He looked away. He seemed saddened by his words, leading John to wrinkle his forehead in confusion. "I... I'm sorry for worrying you, John..." he said quietly.

John's eyes widened; Sherlock was observant, but he had never been able to tell when he actually hurt someone else's feelings or made someone uncomfortable before. Now he was sitting before him and experiencing guilt. He was pleasantly surprised and almost at a loss for words.

He sighed and shook his head. "It's fine, I suppose," he managed. "I just wish you'd take better care of yourself."

"I don't know, I find it more effective when you take of me," Sherlock said softly.

He glanced up as he took a sip of his tea. John met his eyes as a tense silence fell over them. The doctor felt his pulse pick up again and warm rise into his face. He shifted his fingers as he considered what to say next. Sherlock's gaze was filled with something more than the usual amusement that's there when he says something witty. He noticed a tiny smirk on his lips that would've gone unnoticed if he hadn't been staring directly at them.

John looked away and shook his head at himself, laughing for real this time. "Well I suppose it's my job to look after you, even though you're a cock."

"And yet you chose to stay my companion," he pointed out, beginning to eat the meal John had prepared. "Though that's because you crave the danger and adrenaline that comes with living and working closely with me. It's a fair exchange that you should help with my lack of human nature and that I should assist you with your abnormal need for trouble."

"I don't just stay for the danger, but I'll admit it's a plus," he said. He sat down across from him with a smile.