Sherlock was exhausted. He had stayed up two or three days in a row for a case before, but that was mostly before John, when he used cocaine to help him through those long hours.

Now, he didn't want to think about the temptation. It had been there, as he sat and waited and John slept. But he hadn't succumbed. He was stronger than that, he had to believe it.

"You need food." He didn't even give John a ressponse, just sat the glass down on the bedside table where John could reach it and went to the kitchen. He warmed up John's Indian food, then brought it to him, setting it on his lap with a towel under it so it wouldn't burn him.

"Eat, John."