Starving; A Sherlock Fanfic

Boredom

Sherlock's POV

Boredom. How uneventfully usual boredom had become. Even the word sounded uninteresting. I reached for my cigarettes, which normally sat on my desk among various news articles, but instantly remembered that John had taken them. Of course, I didn't understand why, but that didn't really matter, did it? Yes it definitely mattered, just not at the moment.
A case. That's what i need. Any case at all. Preferably a murder, but a cheating spouse or something would work as well. Where were all those annoying clients when you need them? They rarely bring anything worthy of further inspection, but it'd be lovely to have something to deduce, as I'd deduced everything in the flat at least twice. But it was nearly dinner time and highly unlikely that clients would suddenly start flooding in. John, however, would probably come and call me away to dinner. Probably ask if I want to try that new place that opened just last week.
Right on cue, I heard John's light footsteps walking down the hall towards me. "Hey, it's almost dinner time," John said, "I was thinking we could go to that new place, Findings or whatever it's called." I didn't respond and continued staring at the ceiling, hoping childishly that he'd go away.
"Sherlock? Sherlock are you listening?" He asked me, probably assuming I was in my mind palace as usual, "Sherlock?" He asked again. Sighing I swung my feet off the side of the sofa and sat up. I looked at him, seeing the familiar face and noticing his clenching fists, signaling that his date for this evening had probably cancelled, the one he hadn't told me about but I knew of, as always.
"Yes, fine, whatever, let's go" I replied quickly. At least we'd be getting out of this flat, but of course it'd mean having to find an excuse to tell John as to my appetite. I grabbed my coat and opened the door with one hand as I tied my scarf around my neck loosely. I could hear John's sigh of annoyance at my behavior as he followed me down the stairs.
As I walked out the front door I turned my collar up, not due to the weather but purely out of habit. I flagged down a taxi and both John and I got in. The drive wouldn't be long, ten minutes at most, so I decided to take a brief trip to my mind palace.
Everything faded away and I felt as though I was lost in time. Even though, logically, I should have been emersed in my thoughts, all of my ideas and thoughts flew away like ashes from a fire. It was a peaceful break from the chaos and noise that usual filled my head. But, as always, I was brought back to reality eventually, this time by a rather annoyed John.
Upon entering the restaurant, I immediately started deducing my surroundings. Walls painted by hand, and by someone around 5'3. Owner is here and observing, probably from somewhere in the kitchens. The woman sitting next to the door is pregnant and hasn't told her boyfriend. Those two kids dislike their step-dad. Cancer survivor. Divorced. Birthday tomorrow. First date. German Shepherd owner. Golfer. Artist. Doctor. Marriage anniversary.
I followed John to a table feeling considerably better now that I'd finally had something to cure the suffocating boredom. But it wouldn't last for long. Sure enough, I was bored before the waitress had even come to our table, though once she did she had then become a new subject of interest. She was young, fresh out of college and had an apartment with most the windows facing Southeast. Her boyfriend had a black cat that she's allergic to, she also is thinking about breaking up with him and... I froze as my mind came across a specific word. Suicidal.
I don't know why I was so shocked by this realization, it's not as if being suicidal was a rare occurrence, but there was something different about this. I searched for the answer to my uneasiness. Finally, it dawned on me. My eyes widened slightly at conclusion. She knew, she could see it. The understand look she gave me, the sympathetic smile, the subconscious tug at her own sleeve. How could she know?! What gave it away? Maybe I was imagining it. Yes, perhaps hunger was messing with my senses, but my senses being faulty seemed even more terrifying.
"Sherlock!" I heard John say irritably. I was brought back to reality sharply, feeling like I was only half awake.
"Y-yes sorry," I muttered, clearing my throat before saying something about using the toilets, that was probably far from coherent, and hurrying off. Behind me I heard the northern accent of the waitress.
"What was that about?" She asked John.
"He's the great Sherlock Holmes," John replied sarcastically, "God knows what goes on in that head of his." He added bitterly.
Once I reached the toilet, I locked myself in a cubicle and leaned against the wall. Shaking, I tried to calm my mind for a moment. I rolled up my sleeve and traced the new wounds that accompanied the many things pale scars adorning my skin.
I took a deep breath. If John hadn't taken my cigarettes, none of this would've happened! No, it wasn't John's fault, he didn't know and it was going to stay that way. I rolled my sleeve down, opened the stall door and walked over to one of the sinks. I splashed cool water over my face in an attempt to rid my mind of these thoughts as they were nothing but weaknesses. I stared at my reflection, seeing the bags under my eyes and every other flaw that made up my features. I tried to picture walls being put up around my internal pain. John couldn't see me like this, no one could, but especially not him. John could never know about any of this. Not about my past, or my mind, or my self doubt, or anything else.
I straightened my jacket and dried my face. I took one last deep breath before walking out the door and back to John, determined to make it through dinner.