Here's the third - and final - part. Finally, as you might say, since I haven't been at home until yesterday, away without access to the internet or the chance to write.

Thank you for all your support regarding the previous chapter, and now I hope you like what you're going to read.

Experiment

3. Result

John was woken seven hours later by Mrs Hudson tutting upon entering, with a stiff neck and various other achy limbs.

"Oh, John, dear," she chatted merrily. "I didn't mean to disturb you. Sorry, dear. Wait a moment, I'll make you a cuppa!"

John stayed on the sofa for a few more seconds, pondering how exactly he had ended up kipping in the living room. They had come home, and then… Of course. He had given Sherlock the sleeping pill - and hadn't wanted to be too far from his flatmate.

"Back in a moment, Mrs Hudson!" he shouted towards the kitchen and jumped to his feet, heading towards Sherlock's room.

Sherlock's door was just as open as John had left it, and Sherlock himself was still in his bed, sprawled out across its entire breadth. And snoring, funnily enough. John remained in his exact position for a few moments, listening to his friend's breathing, not being able to resist the urge to smile, and after having pulled up the covers a bit, he turned around and left, this time closing the door.

A mug of steaming tea had already been sat on the table for him, awaiting John.

"Mrs Hudson, you're perfect," he called out as he took the first sip.

Said lady appeared from the kitchen, hands on her hips, huffing increduously. "What have you done to my carpet, and to my plates, and my glass? And left it to me to clean up the mess, all those shards…"

John smiled and took another sip. "Get yourself a cuppa, too, Mrs H. I'll take care of that later."

Minutes later, Mrs Hudson took a seat beside John on the sofa.

"Where's Sherlock, John, dear? Another domestics?" she asked, smiling.

John allowed himself to yawn widely. "Sorry, Mrs H," he apologised immediately. Mrs Hudson patted his shoulder gently. "Sherlock's sleeping."

"Sleeping? Dear Lord, John, finally. Your case is over, then? I'll make you breakfast. You should take another nap, too, you know. You two are sleeping far too little…" she mumbled quietly, already back on her way to the kitchen.

John stifled another yawn and smiled.

x

It took Sherlock about twenty-four hours longer than John to reappear in the living room. Although John had checked on him several times, he had never found any reason to worry - for Sherlock, such a long period of simply sleeping was common, especially after having been awake for God knew how long.

John was busying himself with the paper when he noticed his flatmate to enter, still in the clothes he had worn when John had dragged him to bed, now of course horribly crumpled and in disarray. His hair was tousled and ruffled, but the funniest part was his expression: baffled, somehow, and still sleepy. John almost broke into a chuckle, despite his increasing worry about what Sherlock was going to say.

"Good morning," he uttered instead, not abandoning his paper. "Slept well?"

Sherlock only grunted non-committally. "Why am I still wearing my clothes?" he finally asked.

John raised his eyebrows simultaneously to lowering his paper. "Because you didn't undress and change clothes?" he suggested.

Sherlock looked utterly bewildered for a moment - a short moment before rolling his eyes and grunting again. "Brilliant, John," he mumbled, resting his arms on the table and letting his head loll forward. "Brilliant deduction. And why exactly was it that I didn't undress?"

John slowly took a sip from his mug. "You were a bit… well… sleepy."

Sherlock's head shot up again. "Sleepy!" he protested. "I am never sleepy!"

"Yes you are," John mumbled more to himself, but Sherlock had heard him.

"I am not!" he insisted. "But…" He slouched once more, sighing, resting his head on the table. Only seconds later, he straightened again, looking at John accusingly. "You drugged me!" he exclaimed. "You put something in my tea and… Don't try to deny it, I know you drugged me!"

Although his heart clenched painfully, John only shrugged, picking up his paper again. "Well, I had to make sure that you wouldn't cause too much havoc with your transport and brain, didn't I?"

Sherlock only grunted and rubbed his eyes. "How could I not have noticed? How could I…"

"Well, you were too much focused on the case, claiming that something was missing…"

"The case!" Sherlock interrupted him, bolting upright at once. "John, come on, we need to go to Scotland Yard, surely Lestrade…"

"The case," John said slowly, enjoying the look of impatience on Sherlock's face, "is solved. Lestrade caught the murderer last night, thanks to the fingerprints you managed to find. And what was missing was that the murderer had been a former teacher of both victims."

Sherlock slumped, scowling. "Of course. How stupid of me. The same pattern of writing, wasn't it? Oh, never mind."

Silence emerged for a few seconds.

"You drugged me," Sherlock repeated, sounding unbelieving. "John…"

The feeling of guilt increased a tiny bit. "It was that, or either have you collapse somewhere and cause damage to your brilliant brain! Sherlock, seriously, you can't just simply decide that you don't need to sleep and stay awake for eight days in a row…"

"Nine," Sherlock corrected him lazily.

John couldn't believe it. Nine days. "Jesus, Sherlock! Do you even know what kind of complications long time sleep deprivation can cause? And no, don't tell me it's just transport."

"But John!" Sherlock protested. "I was in the middle of a case."

John finally laid his newspaper aside. "You had almost solved it by then! As I said, Lestrade could do the rest on his own."

Sherlock only huffed.

"And don't try to claim that you don't feel better now," John reminded him. "Because I wouldn't believe you that."

Sherlock moaned exasperatedly. "And why the hell did you let me sleep in my clothes? I feel… disgusting."

John almost spat his tea all over the table. "Seriously, Sherlock, there was no way I was going to undress you so that your precious suit could remain that well-ironed…"

"But you drugged me, didn't you? Why not take care of anything else?" Sherlock teased, staring at John intently.

John stared back. "Nope," he answered.

"And putting sleeping pills in my tea is OK?" Sherlock asked.

Another slight pang of guilt. But then, there hadn't been another way except for letting Sherlock collapse completely - on his own. "It was for an experiment," John defended himself, saying the second thing to come to his mind.

Sherlock looked absolutely dumbfounded for a few seconds before he started chuckling. John joined in moments later, feeling all the stress and tension from the case finally wash away. Sherlock was fine, really fine, and had even slept. And since the case was over by now…

"Mrs Hudon's left you some breakfast in the kitchen," he told his flatmate, almost anxiously waiting for a reaction.

"Fine," Sherlock mumbled, getting up, turning towards his room. "Starving. Tea, too?"

John nodded, taking another bite of his toast.

Minutes later, Sherlock was back, now in a t-shirt and his dressing gown, though still wearing his customary trousers, heading for the kitchen. "Hope you didn't infect her," he called from the kitchen. "Or has she taken to doing experiments, too?"

The thought of Mrs Hudson sitting in front of a vial, staring at it intently, or the thought of her attempting to drug Sherlock was so comical John almost choked on his toast. "Don't think so," he replied as soon as he was able to draw breath again.

Sherlock reappeared, a plate and a mug in his hands, set both on the table and flopped down on his chair. "An experiment," he muffled in between two bites. "John, you never cease to surprise me. And I didn't notice… Stupid."

John eyed him for a few moments, trying very hard to find anything, anything at all, that would tell him whether Sherlock actually felt betrayed. Whether he was angry. 'Will you forgive me', was simply nothing you could ask Sherlock Holmes.

"You know that you should sleep more often," he said instead. "And more regularly. Even during cases. And you should eat, you really should remember to eat and drink…"

"Why," Sherlock interrupted him, chewing. "What for?"

Dumbfounded, John couldn't find any words.

A small smile appeared on Sherlock's face. "I do happen to have a doctor around to remind me of such trivial things."

John stared at Sherlock for a few seconds. Really? Because what he had just said was a good as a thank you. "Right," he stated curtly, not knowing what to say.

Sherlock sighed as he took another bite, narrowing his eyes. "I am hopeful that there will not be further complaints about body parts in the fridge. Since you now know how it is to need something for an experiment."

Forgiven, then. "Only if you actually go to bed sometimes. And stop to have some food."

A scowl was all he got. "Depends," Sherlock finally stated.

John hid his smile behind the paper. "No heads," he demanded.

"Fine," Sherlock agreed grumpily and took a sip from his mug. "And no sleeping pills."

Although John nodded, it wasn't a promise, and they both knew.

But as long as he was there to indeed remind Sherlock of vital things such as eating and sleeping, they might not need any pills again. Neither for Sherlock nor for himself.

That's it, then.

What did you think? It took me a while to write this, in fact, because I wasn't totally sure about possible reactions. But whenever I pondered this question, THoB came to my mind, THoB and how easily John got over the fact that Sherlock had locked him in the lab. Normally, Sherlock's the one to drug people, and somehow, it just felt right that way, not dramatic and along the tone of the other two parts.