A/N
This is another short story inspired by the style of the original Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It's based mostly on a quote from The Adventure of the Norwood Builder about Sherlock's eating habits during cases and how it sometimes leads to him fainting. The more I thought about the quote, the more this story came to mind. I have tried to pack it with some references to the original stories so watch out for those! The story is told in two parts and is set somewhere between The Great Game and A Scandal in Belgravia. No pairings which means no Johnlock romance, just references like in the series and close friendship. Of course you can read it as you like. Warning for bad language and references to drug use. (Sorry! It fit the narrative!) Enjoy!

ENGINE ERROR

"[...] it was one of his peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and I have known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted from pure inanition." (Conan Doyle, 1903)

Part 1...
"John, if you write down this case, you can tell your fateful readers that the smell of burned flesh probably came from a dead pig. Now, let's go home."
And with these words, Sherlock Holmes quickly rose from his chair and swept out of the interrogation room. He had solved yet another case and saved our client, Jane Holly McFarlane, from a long prison sentence for murder.

The conclusion to the case had been just as strange as the case itself. The alleged murder victim, Jessica Oldacre, had in fact not been murdered at all. She had faked her death in a fire in order to frame our young client who was the daughter of one of Oldacre's past lovers. If this nasty woman had not tried to create even more fabricated evidence against her victim, then even Sherlock would have had a hard time to clear our client's name, especially when the police didn't believe him. When my observant friend had remarked that the hidden bloody fingerprints in Oldacre's apartment hadn't been there the morning before, it was final to him. Detective inspector Lestrade on the other hand had been absolutely sure that McFarlane was guilty, to the point of mocking Sherlock because he believed the opposite. I really must point out that Greg Lestrade is the closest thing to a friend that we have within the Force but it was kind of satisfactory when Sherlock lured a most alive Oldacre out from her hiding place in the apartment by putting on the fire alarm, including the sprinklers. By the look on Sherlock's face in that moment, I could tell that he felt the same.

Now the case was finally closed and it was not a second too soon. Three intense days had passed and I was exhausted to my very bone. Even Sherlock seemed a bit weary which was extremely uncommon for him while still on a case. After a challenging case was closed, Sherlock could sleep until the afternoon and still never leave his bed during the whole day. But that was always afterwards. Until the very end of an intense investigation, he was like a child on a sugar rush. His energy seemed infinite so when I had noticed drops of sweat on his forehead and a slightly vacant look in his eyes during our final interrogation with Oldacre, it got my attention. When even Sherlock seemed to fight to keep it up before the case was closed, it must be a miracle that I myself still hadn't fallen into pieces yet.

Lestrade stood waiting outside the interrogation room when Sherlock and I emerged. It was clear in his whole posture that this conclusion had embarrassed him more than he could deal with, at least with dignity.

"I'm sure you have a rapport to finish." Sherlock said perfunctory as he passed him. "You do want the criminals of London to know that it's a mistake to mess with Lestrade of Scotland Yard, right? Do make sure to keep me out of it."

The detective inspector sighed and shook his head. "My God... Sherlock, you have saved my reputation and probably my whole career. I wish I could thank you more than I can."

Sherlock turned abrupty in his steps and went back to face Lestrade. He stopped just inches away from his face. Suddenly all my friend's exhaustion seemed to have vanished because the look in his eyes could have been intense enough to burn through the other man.

"You can start by observing the evidence to the fullest, instead of focusing on the possibility of beating me." he said in his darkest and most intimidating of voices. Around us, the people present went silent and stared in our direction. Lestrade himself didn't recoil but gave no answer. Instead he lowered his gaze. It was obvious that the remark had the desired effect.

"Come along, John." Sherlock said and with an overly dramatic swirl of his coat, he was out of the place and all present stared after him. As I hurried to follow, I could hear the watching sergeants muttering things like "God, he's intimidating!", "Well, I certainly wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alleyway." and "20 £ that he's doing Dr Watson!" but I choose to ignore all of it, even Donovan cursing some very inappropriate words after my friend. I was just keen to get home, just like Sherlock. I realised that I hadn't eaten since breakfast and decided to get some Chinese on our way home. Tonight would most certainly be calm and relaxing and I really wanted to make the best of it. Tomorrow Sherlock would realise that he was without a stimulating case again and that would probably make him unleash our personal hell that was extremely explosive experiments and wall shooting. I shuddered and shook the thought out of my head. That was tomorrow. Tonight; Chinese and maybe, if I was lucky, some of his soothing violin music that would lull me to sleep but then end by eleven o'clock and not keep me awake all night.

As I went through the door, I could see the back of my friend walking down the corridor. His steps were even but not as firm and quick as those he had walked with just a moment earlier.

"Hey, you're hungry?" I began calling. "I thought we could stop by that Chinese restaurant you recommend... Sherlock?"

Suddenly his frame had swayed dangerously and he seemed to fumble for the wall. I could clearly hear his loud and strained breaths.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"John..." he breathed heavy. "I think I'm going to pass out within four seconds and I would be grateful if you could ca..."

Suddenly his eyes rolled back into his head and his whole frame collapsed. As his body went limp, his legs buckled under him and he fell, making no attempt at all to catch himself.

Without a single thought of what I did, I furiously raced through the corridor and somehow managed to get hold my friend before he hit the concrete floor. Unfortunately, the weight of his body took me by surprise and I couldn't keep my balance. Soon I was myself on the ground, having received a nasty smash to my hip and elbow but I had at least managed to save Sherlock's head from slamming into the floor by him landing with his torso over my legs. I cursed loudly and tried to crawl out from under him. I suddenly noticed that the sweat was prominent on his forehead again and that his hands seemed to tremble. Moreover, he was white as a sheet with his eyes slightly open and vacant. As soon as I put all the symptoms together, they became a diagnosis. When was the last time he ate? I can't even remember!

"Christ, Sherlock, you idiot, you bloody idiot!" I cursed again and quickly rolled him over to his back. In the same moment Lestrade, followed by a handful of chatting employers, entered the corridor.

"Oh, what the hell are you two doing now?" I heard him sigh as I began to pull Sherlock's scarf off his neck and unbuttoning his coat. The murmuring voices from behind Lestrade turned into muffled giggles at this. Well, the rumours about me and Sherlock weren't going to be any less in a while apparently.

"He fainted!" I answered quickly while I checked my friend's pulse and breathing. "Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?"

The tone in the detective inspector's voice changed immediately.

"Hang on, what?"

"He fainted! I think he's having a blood sugar drop! I need you to hold his legs! Can someone go get a soda?!"

"You're sure? He isn't faking it? He's done that before." Lestrade questioned.

"Really, I don't care what it is!" I yelled back at him, absolutely fed up with his way of delaying everything today. "Are you going to help me or not?"

During the time that I had lived together with Sherlock, my friend and the detective inspector had taken turns in constantly annoying each other. Lestrade annoying Sherlock with his inability to see "obvious" facts and Sherlock annoying Lestrade with being... well, Sherlock. Still, I know I'm honest when I'm telling you that my friend considered Lestrade to be the best of the worst so to say. He was always the first hand pick when we had to involve the police and he was the only person within the Force that I had ever seen Sherlock show something close to respect for. Mutual, I had seen Lestrade breaking nearly every rule in the book to be able to consult him. Of course, he was at his most desperate when he had to use his "ace up his sleeve" so to say, but he was also one of the few which had seemed to realise just how brilliant Sherlock was. That very first night when I had met the Lestrade, he had told me that Sherlock was a great man that one day might be a good one, if we were lucky. I had often wondered what he meant by those words. Did he believe that Sherlock could be something more than a calculating mind? And why? Maybe because he actually cared of what became of him?

That some of my theory could be true was obvious when just a second after I had asked for his help, Lestrade had dropped everything that he had and was on his knees by my side.

"Go get a Coke from the lunch room!" He yelled to a young woman in the increasingly curious crowd that had gathered in the doorway.

"Yeah, he'd like that, wouldn't he?" I could hear Anderson taunt contemptuously as the woman hurried back into the office. At that moment I snapped! Suddenly all I wanted to do was to rush up to the forensic specialist and smash that bastard's nose and I would probably have done it if Lestrade hadn't felt my tension and been quick to put a calming hand on my shoulder. He then rose himself before he in next moment scolded the crowd loudly.

"What the hell are you doing?! Get out! Get back to work!"

The crowd muttered disappointed and slowly returned to the office. I still shook with anger over Anderson's line crossing comment, but had no more energy to waste on it because Sherlock had still not come back to consciousness. God, why wasn't he back to consciousness yet?

"What should I do?" I could hear Lestrade ask beside me.

"Just hold his legs elevated. Come on, Sherlock! Damn it! I should have understood!" I cursed while I checked Sherlock's breathing again.

Yes, I should have seen it coming, shouldn't I? I if anyone knew very well that Sherlock had the most destructive habit of not eating, or sleeping for that part either, when he was on a difficult case. Digestion slowed him down, he said. I had many times wanted to tell him, and occasionally actually told him, how absurd that argument was but like most times, he didn't seem to care.

It was not even the first time that Sherlock had passed out from malnutrition. Last time was three months ago. Then it had happened at Baker Street right after we had entered the apartment. He had been fast enough that time to get to the sofa before he lost consciousness but not even he himself seemed to have felt his symptoms this time. Thinking about it, it was more probable that he had ignored them all together until it was too late. I had early on in our friendship figured that Sherlock was a brilliant man but not a wise one. Yes, he had a stamina that could only be compared to the hardest of metals but he forgot way too often that he was actually a man and not a machine. Not even a machine can go on without fuel or rest for an eternity. Eventually it will break!

I continued to loosen his clothes by unbuttoning his jacket and the first three buttons on his black shirt while Lestrade held his legs in the air. Luckily, in about a few seconds after we had done this, Sherlock slowly opened his eyes again. I sighed loudly in relief as I instantly began to check his pupils and was even more relieved to see that he had no symptoms of any serious disease. As relieved as I was to see Sherlock awake, just as angry I was at his total inability to take care of himself and the anger grew for every moment that passed.

"Thank you, John." was the first words he uttered.

"What?!" I said through gritted teeth.

"Judging from the pain in my head that I'm not experiencing right now, you must have caught me midair. So thank you."

"Sherlock, for God's sake, when was the last time you ate?"

My friend was silent at first but then he shook his head slightly and put an arm over his eyes. A dark chuckle emerged from his throat as his lips turned into a sly smile.

"Two days ago. Hmm, maybe three. Or was it four?"

"Bloody hell..." Lestrade muttered under his breath.

Two days... Maybe three... Probably four... I had to look away from Sherlock. If I had continued to watch his bloody smug face, I would have put him back into unconsciousness again and that would have been a bit no good, I finally figured.

"You're a fucking moron, you know that?!" I said at last just as the young woman returned. I thanked her as she handled me a bottle of soda. "What if I hadn't been here?!"

"I knew you would be."

"No, you didn't!"

Sherlock made a sound from his throat that made it obvious that he disagreed.

"I did feel my body shutting down when the interrogation was over but I had to hold it together until I knew I was out of sight but still within your reach. Judging from past experience of your physical capacity I knew that if your voice sounded four seconds away from me, you would be able to catch me to the extent of at least saving my head from serious injury. Luckily, I was able to stay conscious for just that long but I will agree that it was a close call."

Lestrade burst into laughter at this and shook his head. I guessed he thought that the detailed plan of my friend shouldn't have surprised him. I just rolled my eyes at this.

"Or, you could have eaten something before your body shut down so in any case, you're still a moron!" I answered sternly and pushed Sherlock back onto the floor when he tried to get up on his elbows. "You could at least have told me!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes back at me.

"It was unimportant."

"It never is, Sherlock, oh for God's sake, if you try to get up one more time..."

It could have been the slowest ten minutes of my life were I lapped arguing with Sherlock and pushing him back onto the floor, all while Lestrade watched us with raised eyebrows. Finally the colour on my stubborn friend's face had started to return and we let him sit up to drink the soda. He seemed to regain somewhat strength as the fast calories raised his blood sugar, to the point that he almost looked alive again. Of course, after five more minutes Sherlock found the wait "unbearably and ridiculously boring" and he insisted on getting up before we could stop him. He rose quickly and after just a few steps he swayed dangerously again. I grabbed him quickly from under his arm and Lestrade did the same. Suddenly the world's most stubborn human being didn't do any resistance but instead seemed to relax and let us hold much of his weight. Maybe he finally had realised just how badly he had treated himself? At least I would like to think so because as we led him to the elevators, I could see him closing his eyes and sighing heavily.

"Some Chinese food is not actually a stupid idea, John." he muttered.

Part 2...
The boxes with the fried chicken with sweet and sour sauce and rice warmed my legs and filled the coupé with a tempting smell. I looked forward to bite into the food as soon as we had gotten home after this long day that had ended in a bit more dramatic way then I had first expected.

Even though I had felt confident that we wouldn't need to take Sherlock to the hospital, Lestrade had decided to drive us home in one of the police cars. Now we crossed through the evening London traffic in very high speed for being this great city.

"Gets you through the traffic a lot faster." he said. "Everyone seems to freak out just by the sight of a police car. Sometimes one hell of an advantage."

The way he said the last sentence made me wonder if he used that advantage a bit more often than he should.

I turned around to check on our passenger in the car's back seat. He sat with his arms crossed and with his head resting against the shadowed window. Some of his dark curls covered his closed eyes and his calm breathing was reassuring evidence that he had fallen into some much needed sleep.

"Hmm, they're always such angels when they're asleep, don't you think?" Lestrade muttered as he threw a quick look my way. I snickered and turned back to face the road.

"Does yours also think it's a good idea to perform a ballistics experiment on your girlfriend's coat in the middle of the night?" I asked sarcastically.
Lestrade burst out into a fit of laughter.

"Haha, not far from! But seriously? He's actually done that? Shouldn't really surprise me."

"Well, what's the fun in knowing what to expect?"

"Yeah, maybe that's true. I don't think your girl thought so."

"No, she didn't." I answered and couldn't help but to join Lestrade in some ironic chuckles even though I could see Emily's face in front of me as she told me that it was over.

"I must tell you, I really can't understand how you're coping!" Lestrade said. "I meet him some few times a month and I'm totally exhausted! I can't imagine how it is to live under the same roof as him!"

"Well...," I began. "Privacy is kind of overrated anyway. And I'm not bored. Never am actually..."

I said no more and Lestrade must have taken my answer as a sign to drop the subject. The silence that followed was embarrassing for both of us. Until that point I had rarely talked much to Greg except for some sentences about the cases Sherlock helped him with.

"Thank you for your help by the way." I finally said to break the silence.

"Oh, you did the whole thing but thanks." answered the detective inspector. "It was the least I could do. You two saved my career today."

"Well, that was mostly Sherlock."

"I must have been completely blind, right?!" Lestrade exclaimed and the conversation was on again. "Maybe I was obsessed with the thought that Sherlock was wrong and I was right?"

Yes, you were... I thought but I said something a bit more sympathetic.

"We all are now and then. Don't blame yourself too much. You should know that that time when Dimmock showed up at Van Coon, Sherlock asked for you and he wasn't very happy. He respects you more than you think."

"I wouldn't have respected me either today. God, I really am an idiot!"

The frustration was clear in his voice. He wasn't a bad detective, I could tell that. He was one of the best Scotland Yard had but he wasn't a genius. That's where Sherlock came into the picture, because he was "better" as Lestrade once had put it. But being better had its price, like obviously ignoring that you actually were human.

"Well, at least you know that your body can't carry on without nutrition, unlike the other idiot in the backseat." I said while I rolled my eyes. I sighed deeply before I spoke again. "He doesn't seem to know when to stop. Doesn't feel his limits."

Lestrade shook his head as he stopped the car for a red light.

"Never have, whatever it has been. Work, nicotine, drugs; always a bit too much. He's still an addict in that way, you know. Will probably always be and of course unreliable as hell because of it."

"So how come you started to consult him?" I asked as I casually tried to glance out the window, trying to disguise my curiosity.

"Well, he was eager to get my attention and just like now, I was sometimes very desperate. I was also younger and more willing to try different methods than most, and there was something about him which made me curious about what he could do. Never had I imagined that we would come to this eventually."

"Was he using?"

I had popped the question without really thinking about the consequences. Anderson's remark earlier and the mention of heavy drugs and addiction just now had made me feel cold inside. It was a topic that I rarely had discussed with anyone, except for brief remarks from Sherlock's brother Mycroft on some occasions. Others, including Sherlock himself, had also given hints but never the whole story. I felt ambivalent about the subject. One part of me really wanted to know more, just to be sure what I could expect but another part of me was afraid of what I might hear. Maybe I feared the truth because I had realised that the matter probably was a lot more serious than I first had thought? On the other hand, was it right to let myself stay in the dark, just because it was easier that way? Probably not.

Lestrade turned to look at me and raised his eyebrows. He seemed to hesitate before he spoke.

"I don't know how much you know already but I'll be honest with you. I don't think it was much that he didn't use back then even though cocaine unmistakably was the favourite. He kicked the habit two years ago now."

"How?"

"Well, I knew I couldn't have a junkie around my crime scenes so I told him that if he wanted his three minutes, he better stop using and he actually did. Must have been the first time he has done what he's told."

Yes, it didn't sound like Sherlock Holmes to do what he was told and definitely not to do what Lestrade told him. Even though the permission to work with crime investigations could have been a motivator, I guessed that someone else probably was involved and I was almost sure that I knew who. There was only one person in this world that had that kind of authority over Sherlock. Mycroft Holmes brought the quote "Big Brother is watching you" to a whole new level. In this case I was kind of glad that he did.

The confirmation that Sherlock had been such a heavy drug addict at once made me feel uneasy. Even though he may have kicked the habit now, his personality was in every way addictive to its very core. He may not carve the artificial stimulant during ordinary circumstances when he had interesting cases that stimulated his restless mind but if the boredom became too severe, to the point of depression, he may never be far away from the needle. In a personality like his, the habit was never dead. Only sleeping...

"Better make sure he doesn't start again." I said under my breath. Lestrade may have noticed because he looked at me with a questioning glance but he said nothing. It was after some silence that he spoke again. The tone in his voice was different now and it was obvious that he had chosen his words with care.

"Umm, John, you should know that you have done him a lot of good since you moved in together."

Lestrade paused for a moment and shook his head. "Sherlock doesn't deserve a friend like you, but none the less God knows he needs one, even if he doesn't know it himself. I want you to know that, especially when he drags you along into a dangerous situation or well, blows up your cans of beer."

I laughed with him at the last remark but I didn't say anything because I was not really sure what to answer. Maybe it was because I had rarely thought about my friendship with Sherlock in the way that Lestrade had described it. Instead, I turned my head again to look at my sleeping friend in the back seat. He was breathing more loudly now and his head had fallen even deeper down the window. He looked so calm, almost as if he actually had found a rare moment of peace. Still, if it was something you learned from living with Sherlock Holmes, it was that before the worst of storms, there was always the calm. And I would have lied if I didn't say I loved it.

I almost found it strange that people seemed to think that I was good for him but no one ever assumed that he was good for me. On the other hand, they probably didn't know much about me or remembered were I had been in January 2010? Everything I had been I was no more. I was a crippling, a shadow of my former self and I felt like a burden to the society around me, a useless war veteran. Everything was everyday routine, the same mundane pattern over and over. Most of all, I was alone. Then I met that enigmatic, potentially mad man at St Barts and took the crazy decision to move in with him after knowing him for just one day. I never regretted it. Now I felt like my life had a purpose again and I always had something to look forward to. Every day was different from the other and in a second a calm day could change into a frantic one. I had been truly privileged to share a stubborn and arrogant but brilliant man's adventures at close reach, the man that I realised had actually become one of my close, if not my closest, friend. This way of life that he had dragged me into the day I became his flatmate had saved me in more ways than he could ever imagine. So what did I say to Lestrade? Well, I simply said the truth.

"He has done the same thing for me."

As the car turned up on Baker Street, I remember that I made a promise. That one day, I would thank Sherlock for how he had changed my life and given it a purpose again. Never had I imagined that some months later, I would do this very thing by his gravestone...

A/N
I hope I didn't break anyone by those last sentences. So what do you think? In the short story about the case I mention, The Adventure of the Norwood Builder, "Holmes" is very forgiving about Lestrade not believing him. I don't think that 21th century Sherlock would be and that it would be a lot more like him to answer Lestrade like he did here. As a side note, I can really recommend the original short story. It's really Sherlock Holmes in his right element with all the characteristics that makes his character so special. I think you definitely will recognise our modern Sherlock's personality in there.

I really like writing from John's perspective like in the original stories and on the blog, even though I probably do it more my style than either of them. I haven't tried writing from Sherlock's point of view because I bet I wouldn't do his mind justice.
It's funny how things turn out! I wrote most of this story before seeing the Christmas special but now when I read it again it fits so well with how they wrote about the drugs!

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