See, I promised I'd have a new update soon enough! Sort of a filler chapter, but a much longer chapter coming up - would've been part of this, but I decided to split it. Again, any critiques or comments are much appreciated, and thank you so much to everyone who's stopped by to say something kind, and who followed the fic/me.
Disclaimer: I do not own this show or the characters.

John walked through the door of the flat a few hours later, carrying two bags of groceries with him. When Sherlock had been gone, most of his dinners had consisted of takeout, a few beers, or whatever leftovers could be salvaged from the back of the fridge. He'd been far too tired and drained most days to gather the energy to make a real meal, never mind do the shopping.

But now Sherlock was back, and John was sure to keep enough decent food in stock for the times when he could be persuaded to eat. He would never admit it, but the gauntness in Sherlock's face, and the way his skin clung too tightly to the bones when he'd returned, scared him. A few weeks of rest - as much rest as Sherlock would allow himself, when he wasn't pacing and restless for lack of mental stimulation in the little flat – and food had filled him out a bit again and returned the color to his skin, but John still kept a watchful eye on him.

He considered calling out a greeting, but simply shrugged and placed the bags on the counter loudly. No doubt Sherlock had known since before he'd reached the stairs. He began to sort through the groceries, falling into the familiar task of putting each item in its place. A whole bag was emptied by the time he heard a rustling behind him, his own attention focused on inspecting a questionable looking bag of strawberries on the lowest shelf of the fridge, and turned quickly to locate the source.

Sherlock was standing behind him, less than a foot away and with a new package of strawberries and a gallon of juice in his hands.

"You're awfully jumpy." He said, raising an eyebrow and not bothering to disguise a small smirk. There was a question somewhere in the sentence, and John only shrugged.

"I'd gotten used to being alone." He took the containers, turning before he could see whatever reaction the words elicited. They'd been said without malice, but he immediately regretted them. He hadn't been the only one on his own.

"I suppose so." More rustling, and when John turned around Sherlock was already crossing back to hand him more containers. Opting for a safer subject, he took the new containers and shot him a questioning look.

"Since when do you help with groceries?"

"Do I need a reason?" He simply smiled, his eyes unreadable – not that that was out of the ordinary – and turned back to sift through the bag. John put the containers away and leaned against the refrigerator, crossing his arms and allowing himself a small smile. Sherlock pulled out two more containers, this time not refrigerated, and glanced at them before looking to John for direction. John only rolled his eyes and nodded towards the pantry, earning an indignant look for the effort.

"Well, if you deemed yourself human enough to eat more often, perhaps you'd know where the food went?" He teased, crossing the kitchen to help with the rest of the bag.

"Alright. Dinner at Angelo's tonight then?" The man didn't even miss a beat, and John paused to glance at him in surprise. Sherlock was reading the label of a can of peanuts, rolling his eyes disdainfully at something - probably the redundant claim that the product may contain peanuts. He didn't seem to think the question anything out of the ordinary, and after half a second John resumed his path and began shuffling through the few things remaining at the bottom of the bag. Of course he'd ask me to Angelo's, he probably wants to discuss the case, he chastised himself, shaking his head at his own momentary overreaction. This was good though, another sign things were returning to normal.

"News from Lestrade?" He looked up in time to catch a nod, and mentally checked over his list of things to do today. It was a very short list. "Alright, let me just take a shower and clean up a bit. The hangover's gone, but I'll feel better with a shower and some food in me." Sherlock chuckled at some private joke and brushed past him to place the last few packages of food.

Not expecting any other response, John glanced around the kitchen – shockingly everything was in its place, save one thing – and, satisfied, left to shower and change into some clothes that didn't look half slept-in.