open post version 2.

[docwithablog]

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[acutereasoner]

[If john thinks throwing a meaningful sigh in his direction is going to get him so behave himself, he is sorely mistaken.]

[If John thinks Sherlock will not get day-drunk on wine out of spite for being dragged out here in the first place, he is once again entirely mistaken.]

[Sherlock meets that sigh with a raise of his brows and a dull, expectant look, patiently waiting for him to launch into a lecture about his poor behavior, or his poor health habits, or his poor health in general. But then - well, then the waiter comes back with the wine and a complementary bread basket, and Sherlock is struck by the sudden errant thought that John - goddamn him - would probably appreciate it very much if he ate literally anything at all today.]

[He may be stubborn and imperious and in the middle of one Hell of a strop, but he isn't entirely unreasonable, and John's happiness is of some importance to him, so he supposes he'll have to eat some fucking bread.]

[With a deep, long-suffering sigh to rival John's own, Sherlock plucks a random backed good from the basket and proceeds to tear it to bits. By some minor miracle, some of the bits even wind up in his mouth, though he's a little slow going on the chewing. Eating for it's own sake, when you have no appetite whatsoever, is a good deal harder than he originally anticipated. It shows on his face, his brows slightly pinched as though he's just now coming to realize that being a dramatic ponce who will go to any lengths to make a point actually might have consequences.]

...It's not often I admit total ignorance, but how Mycroft does this as a competitive hobby is beyond my powers of understanding.

[docwithablog]

Some of us do prefer to keep our bodies functional.

[ So John begins, watching Sherlock tear apart his bread like it were a particularly obstinate clue that he's trying to make sense of, about to continue along the same vein, except he comes to think of Mycroft and -- well, thinks twice about it. Everything can be done to excess, of course. Eating, too. It was probably rather a bad example. Grimacing a bit, he licks his lips and reaches for the bottle, pouring two glasses and pushing one towards Sherlock, because even if it isn't much, at least he won't be drinking on an empty stomach now? ... Better get him some water, too. John pours a glass of that as well, putting it down in front of the other man, right smack in the middle of his grand collection of bread crumbs. Charming, that. Very. For God's sake, Sherlock Holmes, eat like a grown-up. ]

Though, excessiveness doesn't look good on anyone. [ A small sip of his wine while he waits for the pasta to be brought out to their table. He's starving at this point. A 10 hour work day and all he managed to consume for lunch was a protein bar and an apple. Admittedly, stressing through your lunch break doesn't make you the finest example for your stubborn friend with his disorderly approach to eating, but at least John isn't being a complete dickhead about it. You'd think that counted for something. Then again, knowing Sherlock, you'd be better off rethinking altogether. Putting the wine glass down, he meets the other man's eyes. Glances at the bread basket and makes a slight nod towards it, perhaps pushing his luck, but that's what he does best, really. Take another one, will you? Please. ] Not on your brother, definitely not on you.

[ Because whereas Mycroft might be the bodily image of excessiveness, nothing can truly beat Sherlock's mind at that game, can it? John thinks not. Excessive stubbornness, yes, that's what he's going for currently, but fortunately John Watson can be rather a stubborn arse himself. Calmly, he continues to glance between Sherlock and the bread basket. For the sake of spaced repetition, if nothing else. ]

[acutereasoner]

[Typically it's John who's credited with having the patience of a saint, but in this particular moment Sherlock feels as though that honor goes more to himself. He understands John's frustration's perfectly well (and not just because the man has spelled out his concerns repeatedly and at great length) but there's a grand world of difference between the frustrations of an observer and those of the principle actor. He knows it's no easy feat, living with Sherlock Holmes, but he feels he can say with some authority that living as him is no walk in the park either.]

[He follows John's pointed gaze to the bread he does not want to eat and the wine he does not want to drink, then looks back to the man he very much does want to please even though doing so is a great inconvenience to himself - and it is an inconvenience, as pathetic as that sounds. It's not as though he's going hungry out of spite, even he's not quite so petty as that - it's just. It's difficult, doing much of anything when he's in one of his black moods.]

[And that's what it is - all that it is. A spectacularly black mood that comes and goes and will go again, eventually, in its own time. He very much doubts that getting out of the house and eating a little bread will do much to convince it to hurry itself along.]

[Still, he supposes he at least ought to try if only because it will make John happy. It isn't as if he has anything to lose, other than what little remains of his energy - not that he was going to do anything with it anyway, what with there being nothing at all worth doing as of late.]

I am well aware of my unfortunate appearance, thank you.

[It comes out a bit snippier than he intended, but really. He knows. He doesn't need to stand in front of a mirror to know his eyes look as bruised as they feel, or that his usual pallor has taken on a ghostly, ashen quality which makes the blue of his abused veins stand out all the more prominently. He looks, for a lack of a better comparison, like a drug addict - ironic, really, considering how he once employed cocaine to drastically improve both his mood and appearance.]

[It's tempting. God, but it's tempting - it would a great deal easier to just rid himself of this black mood chemically instead of waiting for it to pass, but doing so would upset John even more than he already is, which rather defeats the point.]

[Grimacing at the very thought, as well as the unhappy realization that he must be worse off than he thought if compromising his sobriety seems like a good idea, Sherlock begins breaking apart another roll. He should really be eating it, not playing with it, but it's good to have something to do with his fingers. Keeps them from wanting to reach for a cigarette.]

We could have ordered in, spared us both the indignity of my being seen in public.