So! Fanon tends to portray Sherlock as utterly indifferent to food, sleep and healthcare, if not violently opposed to them all, since his body is "just transport."
Let's subvert that a little, shall we?
Sherlock, while capable of ignoring his body's needs while actively pursuing a case, is a bit obsessive about his health and wellness at other times--after all, his transport requires proper maintenance to avoid a tedious (and boring) break-down. So in between sulks and experiments, he is meticulous about a specific exercise regimen, prepares his own multivitamens in the kitchen, and (since cooking is also boring) consumes elaborate and vaguely loathesome shakes involving things like powdered kale and raw eggs.
Oh, and if he even so much as suspects he might be coming down with an illness/injury, he badgers John about it incessantly (since all doctors are idiots, but John rather less so than others). Possibly this involves things Sherlock has looked up on WebMD.
TL;DR: Sherlock, when not distracted by shiny objects work, is obsessive about his health.
Attempting to Fill! [1/?]nanadivaDecember 20 2011, 15:55:40 UTC
Amazing prompt is amazing and because I enjoy the mental image of Benedict Cumberbatch working out without a shirt I am going to try and fill it. Hope it's somewhat of what you wanted! +++ The first time John found out that Sherlock cared more about his health than he let on was when he was cleaning the kitchen. It was a cooler, fall Saturday, they had just finished a case, and Sherlock was on the couch with a vigorous pout. John just shrugged his behavior off, and went about busying himself in the kitchen to keep the boredom from spreading into his own veins. The second he picked up a small peitri dish from the counter [filled with some sort of greenish-blue substance John wasn't sure he wanted to know what it may have been], Sherlock leapt from the couch with astounding grace and swiftness, snatching the glass dish from the Doctor's hands.
"That is a delicate mold experiment from the bathroom sink, John. I need to test the composition and if it could produce a scent powerful enough to confuse a carbon monoxide alarm."
"Damnit, Sherlock, what have I asked of you? Can you please not use the kitchen for your bloody experiments?!"
"It's the only place that has enough space for my equipment, John, clearly -"
"Clearly it's a place where I like to make food once in a while! I know you have horrible eating habits, but I don't, and I'd rather not have to worry if I'm spreading mold on my fucking bread or not!" John reached for another small, plastic container, and as he opened it he nearly dropped it. Inside was what looked to be a mixture of powdery substances, mostly white, some piles tan in colour, some blue, and one red.
"Don't assume the worst, John. You would have known if I had relapsed. Those are my own brand of multivitamins - L-ascorbate, pyridoxal phosphate, cobalamin, vitamin A, phylloquinone -"
"Wait, stop, stop. You make your own vitamins? In a home-chem lab?" If John wasn't shocked from thinking the various powders were drugs, he was certainly shocked that Sherlock could even be damned to make his own vitamins.
"Regardless of what you may think of my less-than-satisfactory habits, I do like to maintain a healthy lifestyle. I don't eat for days on end because it is a distraction, a weight on my body I can easily avoid, but also because I do not need to eat. As long as I'm not on a case, my body is in it's prime. You're more than welcome to check for yourself, Doctor."
Whatever angry rant John had prepared to vent at Sherlock for the messy kitchen had evaporated, and he simply stood there, stunned to hear that Sherlock did in fact give two shits about his health. Blinking a few times. John set the small plastic container down, sighing slightly.
"You can really throw me for a loop sometimes, you know that? I think I've figured out most of your habits, then you toss another one in the mix and it changes the equation entirely."
"Good." With a small smile, Sherlock returned to the couch, flopping on his back to resume his pout as if nothing happened.
Re: Attempting to Fill! [2/?]nanadivaDecember 20 2011, 21:52:46 UTC
Okay! Have some more coffee-fueled BBC!Sherlock. Litte bit of S/J, but it's light just in case that pairing doesn't do it for you. o3o +++ The second time John saw that Sherlock cared about his actual well-being wasn't until a few days later. Still without a case, Sherlock was slowly driving John mad - if the sinewy detective was irritatingly brilliant while on a case, he was an absolute arse without one. His focus was all over the place, leaving half-done experiments about the flat; he nitpicked at the crowds outside the windows of 221B; the violin got plenty of abuse - and John somehow managed through it all, simply waiting the childlike behavior out as best he could. There was work for him at least, so there was time to escape and rant to Sarah about his obnoxious flatmate. She offered little sympathy however, for Sherlock was the reason they had split anyways.
Later that week, he had gotten off surgery early. When he stepped in the living room - though it was hardly livable with all the junk Sherlock kept about - he nearly stepped on Sherlock's hand; had the detective not moved it away fast enough, pushing his body up from the floor, clapping his hands together and landing back down on his palms in perfect sync.
John, startled [though by Sherlock's swiftness or the fact that he was doing push-ups shirtless he couldn't be sure], nearly fell back on the door. With a defeated sigh, he managed to maneuver around Sherlock, plopping down in his favored chair.
"Let me guess, part of your sudden "healthy lifestyle" thing?"
"It's not sudden; you've only just begun to notice after six months, two weeks, and three and a half days of living with me."
"I'm not sure what's worse - that I've apparently only just noticed or that fact that you've been keeping track of how long I've been your flatmate."
John offered a small chuckle, and Sherlock paused, letting out a quick breath of soft laughter with a smirk before rolling onto his back, doing a series of crunches. For a moment John sat in silence, watching Sherlock's surprisingly pale abdomen move, the muscles underneath flexing and relaxing with each upward curl, the sweat gently dotting around his collar bone and pectorals. His hair was a bit of a curly friz, sticking gently to his temple and the nape of his neck. He really did look good - shame he was a prick most of the time.
Realizing where his train of thought was headed, John shook his head and reached for the remote, flipping on the afternoon news. He could hear Sherlock sneer as he stood, slipping on his robe before leaving with a bit of a huff. John heard the shower burst to life and let Sherlock be, getting up to brew a cup of tea for the both of them, doing his best to focus on the news in the background rather than his flatmate's abs.
Let's subvert that a little, shall we?
Sherlock, while capable of ignoring his body's needs while actively pursuing a case, is a bit obsessive about his health and wellness at other times--after all, his transport requires proper maintenance to avoid a tedious (and boring) break-down. So in between sulks and experiments, he is meticulous about a specific exercise regimen, prepares his own multivitamens in the kitchen, and (since cooking is also boring) consumes elaborate and vaguely loathesome shakes involving things like powdered kale and raw eggs.
Oh, and if he even so much as suspects he might be coming down with an illness/injury, he badgers John about it incessantly (since all doctors are idiots, but John rather less so than others). Possibly this involves things Sherlock has looked up on WebMD.
TL;DR: Sherlock, when not distracted by shiny objects work, is obsessive about his health.
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The first time John found out that Sherlock cared more about his health than he let on was when he was cleaning the kitchen. It was a cooler, fall Saturday, they had just finished a case, and Sherlock was on the couch with a vigorous pout. John just shrugged his behavior off, and went about busying himself in the kitchen to keep the boredom from spreading into his own veins. The second he picked up a small peitri dish from the counter [filled with some sort of greenish-blue substance John wasn't sure he wanted to know what it may have been], Sherlock leapt from the couch with astounding grace and swiftness, snatching the glass dish from the Doctor's hands.
"That is a delicate mold experiment from the bathroom sink, John. I need to test the composition and if it could produce a scent powerful enough to confuse a carbon monoxide alarm."
"Damnit, Sherlock, what have I asked of you? Can you please not use the kitchen for your bloody experiments?!"
"It's the only place that has enough space for my equipment, John, clearly -"
"Clearly it's a place where I like to make food once in a while! I know you have horrible eating habits, but I don't, and I'd rather not have to worry if I'm spreading mold on my fucking bread or not!" John reached for another small, plastic container, and as he opened it he nearly dropped it. Inside was what looked to be a mixture of powdery substances, mostly white, some piles tan in colour, some blue, and one red.
"Don't assume the worst, John. You would have known if I had relapsed. Those are my own brand of multivitamins - L-ascorbate, pyridoxal phosphate, cobalamin, vitamin A, phylloquinone -"
"Wait, stop, stop. You make your own vitamins? In a home-chem lab?" If John wasn't shocked from thinking the various powders were drugs, he was certainly shocked that Sherlock could even be damned to make his own vitamins.
"Regardless of what you may think of my less-than-satisfactory habits, I do like to maintain a healthy lifestyle. I don't eat for days on end because it is a distraction, a weight on my body I can easily avoid, but also because I do not need to eat. As long as I'm not on a case, my body is in it's prime. You're more than welcome to check for yourself, Doctor."
Whatever angry rant John had prepared to vent at Sherlock for the messy kitchen had evaporated, and he simply stood there, stunned to hear that Sherlock did in fact give two shits about his health. Blinking a few times. John set the small plastic container down, sighing slightly.
"You can really throw me for a loop sometimes, you know that? I think I've figured out most of your habits, then you toss another one in the mix and it changes the equation entirely."
"Good." With a small smile, Sherlock returned to the couch, flopping on his back to resume his pout as if nothing happened.
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+++
The second time John saw that Sherlock cared about his actual well-being wasn't until a few days later. Still without a case, Sherlock was slowly driving John mad - if the sinewy detective was irritatingly brilliant while on a case, he was an absolute arse without one. His focus was all over the place, leaving half-done experiments about the flat; he nitpicked at the crowds outside the windows of 221B; the violin got plenty of abuse - and John somehow managed through it all, simply waiting the childlike behavior out as best he could. There was work for him at least, so there was time to escape and rant to Sarah about his obnoxious flatmate. She offered little sympathy however, for Sherlock was the reason they had split anyways.
Later that week, he had gotten off surgery early. When he stepped in the living room - though it was hardly livable with all the junk Sherlock kept about - he nearly stepped on Sherlock's hand; had the detective not moved it away fast enough, pushing his body up from the floor, clapping his hands together and landing back down on his palms in perfect sync.
John, startled [though by Sherlock's swiftness or the fact that he was doing push-ups shirtless he couldn't be sure], nearly fell back on the door. With a defeated sigh, he managed to maneuver around Sherlock, plopping down in his favored chair.
"Let me guess, part of your sudden "healthy lifestyle" thing?"
"It's not sudden; you've only just begun to notice after six months, two weeks, and three and a half days of living with me."
"I'm not sure what's worse - that I've apparently only just noticed or that fact that you've been keeping track of how long I've been your flatmate."
John offered a small chuckle, and Sherlock paused, letting out a quick breath of soft laughter with a smirk before rolling onto his back, doing a series of crunches. For a moment John sat in silence, watching Sherlock's surprisingly pale abdomen move, the muscles underneath flexing and relaxing with each upward curl, the sweat gently dotting around his collar bone and pectorals. His hair was a bit of a curly friz, sticking gently to his temple and the nape of his neck. He really did look good - shame he was a prick most of the time.
Realizing where his train of thought was headed, John shook his head and reached for the remote, flipping on the afternoon news. He could hear Sherlock sneer as he stood, slipping on his robe before leaving with a bit of a huff. John heard the shower burst to life and let Sherlock be, getting up to brew a cup of tea for the both of them, doing his best to focus on the news in the background rather than his flatmate's abs.
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Sherlock would make his own vitamins. All of this is very... fitting. Very in character.
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I am blushing SO HARD right now. That is my biggest fear - not getting them in character. That compliment has just... Oh golly gosh let me hug you.
Thanks! I take it you like it so far then? Hopefully I can get more out tomorrow - this prompt is ever so delicious.
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