Exhaustion

Sherlock slumped down facefirst into the couch, his brain overworked from an intense case he'd received from Lestrade a week ago. He'd been going for a week straight without food or sleep, and even he was looking haggard. –SH

John nudged the prone detective and placed a cup of tea on the table near the couch before sitting down his chair. –JW

Sherlock rolled over with a groan. John looked worried at the sight of the detective's overworked face: bloodshot eyes, dark circles, and loose skin from the weight that he didn't need to lose. "Must I, John?" he grumbled. –SH

"Yes" John gave Sherlock a very serious look and pointed at the cup of tea with absolute authority. "Drink it and I'll not pester you for the rest of the day about eating."-JW

Sherlock attempted to give John a death glare, which backfired with Sherlock's extreme tiredness. He sat up groggily and sipped at his tea. He made a face. "Really, John? Milk?" But he finished his tea without further comment, and, when finished, lay back down with a solid thud, his head buried deep in a pillow. –SH
John rolled his eyes and muttered about something about detectives in their 30's behaving like 4 year olds. He sipped at his own tea while contemplating throwing a blanket at the exhausted detective. –JW

John continued blogging and sipping tea. After a few minutes he turned on the telly quietly, just to have background noise. It was nearly half an hour later, when Sherlock's arm fell off the couch and hit the ground, before the tired doctor noticed that the lanky detective had fallen asleep where he lay. –SH

John tiptoed past his slumbering flat mate and pulled the duvet from his own bed. He was still sure there was something ridiculously deadly in Sherlock's room. Sneaking back to the couch, John gently covered the detective with the duvet and carefully tucked the ends in. He smiled and began cleaning the tea things from the table by the couch.
*-JW

The next morning, Sherlock awoke to find himself half on, half off of the couch, covered in a duvet that was not his own. Yawning massively, he called, "John?" He rolled with a distinct thud off of the couch and heard a disturbing clink of china breaking on the carpet. –SH

John winces at the sound of breaking china and poked his head out of the kitchen. "Hmmm?" He eyes Sherlock. Sleep had helped ease the exhausted detective's appearance, not a lot, but enough. "You awake?" –JW

Sherlock dragged himself on top of the pile of papers stacked on the coffee table. Glowering sleepily at John, he growled, "What do you think." He slid off the other end of the table and practically army-crawled into the kitchen, where he pulled himself up on the doorjamb and proceeded to fall into the refrigerator as he attempted to pull out the bread. –SH

John sighed, rolled his eyes and grabbed his flare mate, dragging him upright and sitting him at the kitchen table. "Sit. Toast?" John turned around and began rummaging around the fridge for bread and something else edible, narrowly avoiding the tub of livers sitting in front of the butter. –JW

Sherlock slumped, seemingly boneless, in the chair that John had placed him in. "Toast is lovely, thanks. Coffee, too? And don't touch those!! I'm seeing how long it is before they turn yellow and disintegrate." Sherlock made a half-hearted attempt at clearing off the kitchen table, and only succeeded in sending a test tube, several of John's files, and a clear inch of dust onto the floor. "Anything come in from Lestrade?" –SH

John pulled a face and retrieved the butter. He tossed it onto the counter an passed Sherlock a cup of coffee. "Not yet. Last time I heard from him he was threatening to fire Anderson, that should occupy his time for a while longer." John buttered two pieces of bread and stuffed them unceremoniously into the toaster and started it. He turned back and took a sip of his own cup if coffee rubbing his eyes and giving the files on the floor a black look. –JW

Sherlock took a long mournful sip of his coffee. "Is it normal to feel this way, John? Sort of...leaden and lethargic and like I don't want to do anything but sleep." –SH

"For the length of time you've gone without sleep? Yes." John looked up at Sherlock and nodded. The toaster dinged and John stared at it for a moment before get up and picking the toast up dropping it a plate. He then slid it across the table towards his flatmate with a stern look. "Eat at least one of those." He then bent and began picking up the files and chucking them towards an empty tray to his right. –JW

At that very moment the phone rang. John answered it almost immediately, "must be Lestrade, he said he would called around this time". While John was busy on the phone Sherlock tried to nibble the toast but had lost his appetite at the mention of Lestrade. He had remembered the case that still required his full attention. (*-GL)

Last week Sherlock had been approached by a man in the street. Sherlock had been waiting outside the grocers while John bought milk. Sherlock decided to remain outside since the last time he had gone in he had informed all the patrons that the grocers vegtables were from the black market. The grocer was not happy with him.
Sherlock stood in the street, next to a normal London bench when a man came towards him. This man did not look special in any way, but Sherlock's observation skills told him that the man was a hit man, but Sherlock was not his target. The man put an envelope on the bench next to Sherlock and walked away. Sherlock grabbed the envelope and ran after the man, but soon lost him in the crowded street.
He tore open the envelope and quickly read the letter. "I have been hired to kill a man. If you wish for him to remain safe, find me and bring me what I want most in the world. My target: John Watson. You have till Thanksgiving Day, or I will complete my mission."
Sherlocks head spun with thoughts. Who was the hit man? Who hired him? and why would the hit man give Sherlock a chance to save John? - JM