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Trust it to Sherlock Holmes to spend the days his flatmate was on vacation with his sister at St- Bart's, solving case after case.
John had been reluctant to leave, like he had always been reluctant to leave Sherlock's side since the consulting detective had returned. He'd only been convinced to go on his long-planned holiday with Harry because Mrs. Hudson had promised him she'd keep an eye on Sherlock.
Only that Sherlock hadn't been home in days, and she had called around.
Sadly, Molly and Greg were spending the weekend with his mother – the DI having decided it was time to introduce them – and so she ended up calling St. Bart's, hoping there was someone who knew Sherlock who could help.
Eventually, the call ended up at Mike's desk.
This wasn't unusual, since he always seemed to be the one getting stuck with problems no one else could handle.
And Sherlock Holmes, after all he had done for his friends, was still considered a problem by some at the hospital.
Mike ignored them and, as soon as he had called Mrs. Hudson back and promised her he would look in the labs, made his way there as quickly as he could.
He had seen Sherlock in the lab the day after John had left, but he hadn't thought of checking if the consulting detective had left or not. He should have known.
He had known Sherlock for a few years now, even discounting the ones where he'd been dead, and he'd still not bothered to see what he was up to when his flatmate wasn't in London. Mike shook his head at his own stupidity when he opened the door and Sherlock was indeed in the lab.
It was clear that he hadn't slept or eaten in days, if his haggard appearance and the bags under his eyes were anything to go by. John would not be happy to see that he'd lost weight again while he'd been away.
Mike stepped into the lab and cleared his throat.
"Sherlock?"
The consulting detective looked up, somewhat confused, and the teacher was reminded of the day Sherlock had complained that he'd never find a flatmate.
The young man looked bored and excited at the same time, which Mike hadn't considered possible before.
"How are you?" he asked. He was one of the few at St. Bart's who actually got to ask Sherlock such questions, and one of even fewer who got an answer.
"I found the perfect flat."
It was good news. Sherlock had been complaining that his landlord insisted his homeless network wait on the other side of the street and that he stopped playing his violin at all hours of the night for some time.
"However, I have to find a flatmate to afford one."
"That can't be that difficult." Mike wasn't being sarcastic. Sherlock was strange, but he was not a bad guy at heart. Once someone got to know him...
Sherlock snorted.
"Who'd want me for a flatmate?"
"Sherlock – don't you think you have been here long enough? Mrs. Hudson called." If anything other than John Watson could bring Sherlock Holmes to see reason, it was the mention of his landlady.
Sherlock frowned.
"I haven't been here for that long. It's Monday."
"It's Wednesday".
His eyes widened.
"What?"
He took out his phone and checked.
"I must have got caught up" he murmured, before forgetting about Mike's existence once more and concentrating on his microscope.
The teacher registered that he was swaying from side to side and quickly strode forward, grabbing his arm.
"Sherlock, you apparently haven't eaten or slept for days. Why don't you go home?"
Sherlock rubbed his eyes and shook his head, reminding Mike of a stubborn child.
"Can't. It's too quiet. Too much like – " he interrupted himself and shook Mike's hand off, obviously hoping that the teacher would become disheartened and leave.
Mike didn't.
"Like the two years when you where gone?" he asked softly, and Sherlock looked up again, surprised.
Mike shrugged.
"John and I talk".
"Yes. Yes, of course. It's a – it's a good thing you do".
Sherlock was slightly slurring his words. This was not a good sign.
"Come on, I'll take you home. I'm sure your landlady will keep you company. And John's due back on Friday" Mike tried.
Sherlock shook his head again.
"Can't. I just solved the case for Dimmock, and then there's Gregson –"
"Dimmock? Another one? Weren't you busy with one of his on Monday?"
"If that's when we last met, then yes."
At least the exhaustion was making Sherlock talkative. And he would probably pass out eventually. While dragging him out of the hospital and into his car wouldn't be easy, Mike was reasonably sure that he could do it. If not he could always call Dimmock. Or Gregson.
Speaking of –
"Did Dimmock know?"
Sherlock looked confused.
"That you've been here for days." Mike didn't think so. The young DI had defended Sherlock after his disappearance, against his superiors and fellow officers and put his career at risk in the process. And, according to John, he was a regular visitor at 221B these days, even if there wasn't a case he needed Sherlock's help with.
"Didn't tell him. He called."
"I'm sure he will understand, Sherlock. Now let's go. You need rest. And something to eat."
"I don't need anything" Sherlock insisted. "I have my work. Everything else is just transport."
That he was using this old argument again told Mike how exhausted he truly was. Since he had returned he hadn't bothered to pretend that he only needed brainwork to be perfectly satisfied. There was so much more in his life now. John. Mrs. Hudson. DI Lestrade. Molly. Maybe even Mike.
"That may be, but you will collapse if you continue like this. And John will be upset".
It was somewhat manipulative to mention John, Mike knew. The doctor had suffered while Sherlock had been away (although, he was sure, so had the consulting detective) and this had led to his flatmate being more aware of his comfort since his return.
Still, if it got Sherlock into his car, Mike was ready to be manipulative.
Even if the consulting detective definitely noticed, if judged by his glare.
Mike sighed.
"Sherlock, please. You can solve the cases after you've had some rest. And John will return the day after tomorrow. Mrs. Hudson will be there, and I'm sure if I called Dimmock and explained, he'd bring you the files."
The consulting detective looked down at his shaking hands, seemed to realize that he was fighting a losing battle and sighed. Then he nodded once, sharply, and Mike sent a silent prayer to Heaven.
Thankfully, he managed to get Sherlock into his car without him falling asleep on his feet.
He did pass out in the car, but Mrs. Hudson was waiting at 221B and together they managed to coax him awake enough to get him into his bedroom.
Afterwards, she made tea and thanked Mike profusely. He waved her words away, smiling.
For what would his life be if he didn't get to help out Sherlock Holmes now and then?