John Watson's eyelids fluttered open as the sun slowly rose above the horizon, casting out rays of light that shone through the light blue curtains that hung in front of the hotel room windows. He looked around the room for a bit before he decided to get up, but found that he was unable to. He sighed, knowing he was in for another awkward awakening like the one that had occurred the previous morning.

Due to a reservation mix-up, they'd received a room with only one bed. Neither man had been willing to let the other sleep on the floor, which resulted in their agreement to share the bed during their week-long stay in Fiji. John hadn't really minded the arrangement when it was made. After all, they would only be sleeping, and the bed was large enough for each man to have his own 'side'. It was completely platonic; John had made that perfectly clear.

However, when John looked down, he saw Sherlock's head resting on his shoulder, in almost the exact place as it had been the morning before, and his own arms wrapped around the sleeping detective. He'd remained frozen in place, unable to move due to the fact that his left arm was tucked underneath his friend, who had yet to wake. He had laid there for several minutes, unsure of what to do. Luckily for him, the awkward anguish was cut short when Sherlock stirred slightly, then sat up. John pulled back his arm, which had fallen asleep by that time, and the two briefly made eye contact before John coughed and looked away. He'd averted his eyes as Sherlock pulled the covers from himself, revealing his bare torso. Despite John's pleas that Sherlock sleep fully clothed, Sherlock had refused to wear a t-shirt to bed, though he was at least wearing underwear, thankfully.

"Will you put a shirt on now?" John asked, eyes still averted. He heard a heavy sigh come from the other side of the room. John turned to see Sherlock bent over his suitcase, digging through its contents. With his back arched like that, it was very easy to see each and every bump in Sherlock's spine. He stood up, and the fact that his spine was still very visible worried John. Sherlock had lost quite a bit of weight in the past month or so, and John couldn't figure out why. Yes, Sherlock didn't eat nearly as much as he needed to, but in the months following their meeting and moving in together his diet seemed to be improving. Now all of a sudden he was back to barely touching his food or skipping meals altogether. John knew something was wrong, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it, for Sherlock's sake.

"Hey, Sherlock," he said. The detective turned around, and it almost hurt to see how gaunt his face had become. John ignored the pain he felt in his chest and smiled at Sherlock.

"Um, would you like to go down to get some breakfast or something?" Sherlock immediately shook his head.

"No, that's fine. You can go ahead. I'm going to take a shower." John stood up and made his way towards the dark haired man who was currently holding two nearly identical blue shirts in the air.

"I can wait for you if you want."

"That's quite alright John but I'm not very hungry." Sherlock moved to walk past John but he reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him. Sherlock glanced down at John's grip on his forearm for a brief moment, then met his gaze with a firm gaze of his own.

"That's what you said yesterday at supper." Sherlock rolled his eyes and tried to get away, but John tightened his grip on Sherlock. "And at lunch you barely touched your salad."

"Yes, but I ate," Sherlock said rather defensively, his gaze beginning to lose intensity. John scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, if you can call two forkfuls eating."

"Let go of me," Sherlock demanded, though he made no attempt to free himself. John kept his eyes locked on Sherlock's for a moment more before sighing and removing his hand. Sherlock began rubbing his arm, and looking down John saw a bright red mark that had formed where his hand had been. He hadn't even realized he was holding onto Sherlock so tight, but the evidence was there, contrasting greatly with Sherlock's pale skin. John tried to apologize, but Sherlock just brushed him off and disappeared into the bathroom.

__________________

John and Sherlock were both silent as the two strolled side by side along the beach. The waves gently lapped at John's bare feet, both bringing sand over them and washing it away. Sherlock had taken his shoes off, and was holding them in his hands as he walked. It was strange not to see Sherlock in a suit or his favorite trench coat, but rather in a pair of grey board shorts and a black t-shirt. John found himself smiling as he took in the detectives appearance, wondering how he could still look so mysterious and somber in beach attire.

"What are you smiling about?" Sherlock suddenly asked him. John looked up to meet Sherlock's gaze, surprised that he had spoken. These were the first words to leave Sherlock's lips since he'd told John to let go of his arm earlier that morning. John attempted to form some kind of sentence, but all that came out were unintelligible sounds that confused even John. Sherlock furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly to the left, a sign that he was confused by John's sudden inability to speak as well. John just let out a sigh and shook his head.

"Nothing," he said, "I'm laughing at nothing." He looked out at the horizon, hoping Sherlock would just drop the subject, but he didn't.

"You had to have been smiling about something. Normally I wouldn't care but you were looking at me, or at least in my direction so I'd like to know what was it about me that made you smile?" John looked back at Sherlock, but his dark haired friend was now looking off in another direction, avoiding eye contact. That was strange for Sherlock as well. Usually he didn't mind getting directly in John's face and having an old fashioned stare off, but lately it seemed that Sherlock looked at him less and less.

John was beginning to wonder if he was possibly the cause of Sherlock's strange behavior when his thoughts were interrupted by the detective's deep voice.

"John."

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw that Sherlock had turned to face him again. He looked down before looking Sherlock in the eyes. He immediately wished he hadn't, however, for as soon as he did his stomach twisted itself into a knot. He didn't know why, it was just Sherlock, but for some reason the look he was giving him made his internal organs do flips. He placed a hand over his abdomen, as if that would help, and forced a smile.

"I was just thinking... you look so, different in those clothes."

Sherlock looked down at what he was wearing, then looked back up at John with a serious expression on his face. John stared back, and for a few seconds they were just staring at each other. Then, out of nowhere Sherlock let out a deep laugh and nodded his head, still looking at John.

"Yes," he said, "I suppose I do look a bit funny in this."

"Oh, no," John said, "Not funny. Just different."

"Is it a... good different?"

John turned to look at Sherlock quickly, and when he saw the softened expression on his friend's face, letting him know that he genuinely cared about his opinion of what he looked like in board shorts and a t-shirt, he smiled.

"Yes," he said, nodding, "Very good."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth turned up ever so slightly before he cleared his throat and he let the serious expression come over his face as it had been before. He kept his gaze forward as they walked, but John could still see the hint of a smile on his bow shaped lips. John found himself smiling as well, glad that he and Sherlock were on good terms again.

He glanced out at the horizon, and neither man spoke as they walked. It was silent, just as it was moments before, only now both men wore smiles on their faces as they walked.