Constellations

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John's POV

It was a rainy sunday afternoon, slowly slipping into night. The remaining daylight was shedding light to the sunken detective sitting next to the fire place. I'd just gotten up from a nap, which was necessary since I'd had little to no sleep the previous night. I made my way to the kitchen, passing him as he ignored me. I turned on a dim light above the kitchen counter and heard him scoff from a few meters away.

Why don't you sit on the sofa like a regular person?

I'm cold.

Confused, i peaked my head into the livingroom where my thoughts were approved, the fireplace wasn't on.

You know, the fireplace has that name for a reason, it makes fire.

I forgot to turn it on.

And you didn't notice you were still cold?

No.

A moment of silence

Come turn it on for me, won't you John?

I roll my eyes, and put the water i was preparing for the pasta to boil. I sluggishly walk to the fireplace, forgetting how groggy I am from sleep, and reach over Sherlock to turn the fire on.

The flames go up and paint his face in this golden color, he looks me in the eye and closes his eyes, obviously enjoying the warmth that's spreading through him.

I'll take that as a thanks, yeah?

I throw him a blanket from the couch and he murmurs "mmh" as a response, spreading the blanket over his back, and holding it shut in the front. How does he manage to look so innocent sometimes.

After some time the sun has completely set and the smell of tomato sauce and cooked pastery fills  the apartment. I set the table and note that my roomate hasn't spoken a word for the past hour. Had he fallen asleep?

Dinner's ready!
I inform him and don't get a response.

Sherlock?

Not hungry.
Not asleep.

Are you joking me, you haven't eaten in two days.. How are you not skin and bones yet? Sod that, how are you even alive?

The thrill of adventure keeps me fed

Right, that's not on the menu tonight, sorry. Come eat with me.

Hmm. No.

Sherlock c-

Nope.

I sigh, knowing I'm not gonna win this playing it fair.

I get up and take the big tray sitting against the fridge, and begin to arrange both our plates, forks, and two empty wine glasses on it.

He lifts his head as i sit in front of him, on the floor, placing the tray in between us.

What's this? He asks, brows furrowed.

Dinner. Eat.
I say, pick up a fork and finally start eating.

Stop going through so much trouble to make me food, it makes me feel that much worse when i don't eat it in the end.

Mmh -at's the point.
My mouth full.

He sighs. And what are these for?
He motions to the wine glasses next to our plates.

For wine. We do have some, right?

We do.
He says and gets up, still wrapped in a blanket, crossing over towards the high shelf in the kitchen, taking the wine which i can't even reach. He sits in front of me again, pulling out the cork and filling our glasses with the red liquid.