A/N: I'm bored. Therefore, by transference, I've decided my favourite detective must be bored. Hence, this silly story about Sherlock trying to stir up a little excitement in his life while confined to a hospital bed. I'm not sure if I'll continue it. Maybe if someone can come up with additional ideas of how a person can cause mischief in a U.K. hospital?

I love your reviews and comments. Additional suggestions would be welcome too.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything or make any profit on this, obviously. Warnings for silliness. Escapades therein should not be attempted in real life. Never been in a U.K. hospital so don't know if it's all really possible either. All medical personnel are advised to put on their imaginary medical blinders.

Being in the hospital is boring. Once the initial adrenaline rush of waking up from a near-death experience had worn off, the great consulting detective found himself bored. Bored – utterly and interminably bored.

For the moment, he was confined to his bed by a spider web of IV tubing and electrical wires attached to his chest for continuous cardiac monitoring. No amount of morphine could dull the boredom that itched in his veins and beat a monotone death toll in his head.

His pale eyes, pupils pinpoint and dagger sharp gazed round and catalogued his hospital cell. He made a mental note to swipe his next visitor's mobile phone until his own was returned as ransom.

Sherlock closed his eyes in frustration and retreated into his mind palace. Surely there was something within the palisade walls to stem the endless ennui. He dashed from room to room, frantic. "I need a case," he growled through gritted teeth. "Anything, maybe something from the old cold-case files…"

In spite of his mad dashings about in his memory recesses, a suitable crime to solve was not to be found. "Damn," he complained. Suddenly he opened a smaller door, the handle rusted and covered in dust. An idea. Something new and novel. A plan. Sherlock's lashes fluttered open. A slow smile spread across his face. The gears in the younger Holmes brother creaked with ominous curiosity.

Sherlock followed the maze of clear IV tubing originating in his left arm and traced one branch to a bag of fluid hanging on a pole above his bed. He twisted his torso and reached out his hand. "Ow!" Sherlock let out a low exclamation as the movement reactivated an echoing chorus of sharp pains from his wound. Pursing his lips together grimly, he more cautiously but deliberately got hold of the IV drip line leading from the most benign of the fluids flowing into his system. Wisely, he left the morphine and antibiotic drips alone.

His thin fingers kinked the tubing effectively cutting off the conduit of fluid. Sherlock began the countdown.

He didn't have long to wait. Thirty seconds later the IV pump let out a piercing alarm blinking red alert. One hundred and thirty-seven seconds after this, a flustered nurse huffed into his room. "What's happened?" she exclaimed as her charge innocently shifted back under the bed sheets.

Sherlock moaned and squeezed his eyes. "Please, can't you make that infernal noise stop?"

Nurse Lydia squeezed next to the bed to reach the silence button on the pump. She checked the equipment and the tubing. "Seems all right now." She shrugged. "Anything else you need while I'm here?"

Sherlock shook his head no. His left hand slid back under the covers.

As soon as the nurse had exited, Sherlock brought out the phone he'd nicked off her belt. "Ugh," he frowned. An intra-hospital phone. He couldn't call outside help on this one. He shoved it under his pillow. Perhaps it would come in handy later. He'd think about it.

Sherlock's curiosity was not satiated for long. He grimaced as he surveyed all the electrodes that dotted his chest. He could hear the steady blip of the cardiac monitor as his heart thudded along at regular intervals. How dull!

What would happen if he fiddled with the wires? The steady blips on the monitor wavered. He wove his fingers into the leads more precisely. By vibrating the wires simultaneously he could make the pattern on the screen look like a range of mountain peaks. He looked at the clock. It took forty-three seconds for an out of breath Nurse Lydia to dash frantically into his room. "What are you doing?" she exclaimed, "I thought you were going into v-tach. I almost called a code on you." She wagged a warning finger at her patient.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that these stickers can be incredibly itchy?" Sherlock calmly answered. "Maybe I'm allergic." He stopped wiggling the wires and looked up at the nurse.

"I'll see about changing to a different brand," she finally replied after a long pause. She turned and glanced back suspiciously at him as she exited for the second time in less than half an hour.

Sherlock smirked.

Suddenly, his pillow cackled to life. "Lydia, could you come to room 205?" the phone he'd swiped earlier queried. "Your patient is asking for the bedpan."

Sherlock didn't hesitate. In his best imitation of nurse Lydia's voice he replied, "I can't come. Can you take care of him for me, please? I'm rather occupied at the moment." He left off with a soft moan of pleasure echoing from a short distance before ending the call.

"Mr Holmes!" Nurse Lydia burst into the room for a third time. Only four minutes and fifty-two seconds. Sherlock was impressed. "I should have known it was you." She glared over him and held out a hand. "Give me my phone – now."

With a shrug the detective pulled out the item and placed it meekly in her outstretched palm. "I found it after you left in such a hurry last time."

"You should be glad I go off shift soon," she murmured. She did not appear amused.

"You may be going off shift but so is that nurse, Mark." Sherlock began. "I suggest you avoid the lasagne at the restaurant you are meeting him at – too fattening to fit the diet you've been attempting since New Years."

Nurse Lydia frowned.

"If your husband drops by I'll be sure to explain that you are running an extended shift due to my extra special medical needs."

Nurse Lydia blushed, then scowled. "You better be careful what you say around nurses. Don't forget, you're on the receiving end of the needle these days." She turned and trotted out the room with a determined step.

Sherlock checked the clock. He groaned. It wasn't time for his next dose of morphine yet. Darn! He was still restless.

Any ideas for Sherlock on how he might alleviate the boredom on his hospitalisation?