'John!'

'JOHN!'

'Sherlock, what's all this fuss about, people on the street can probably hear you!' Mrs Hudson walked into the sitting room to find Sherlock had flung himself onto the sofa without even removing his trademark Belstaff coat, scarf or shoes.

'Bored.'

'You could always watch the telev….' She trailed off after glancing at the machine and seeing that it had been dismantled into all its separate components. She sighed.

'How can no one be committing crimes! The police haven't become clever enough to catch all the criminals by themselves. Or maybe its!...' Sherlock leapt off the sofa with an excited look on his face before it fell and his shoulders sagged, 'No that wouldn't be it, not enough pigeons…Where's John?' He finally looked around and saw that his partner wasn't in the room.

'He's gone off to the country with that lovely Mary, hasn't he? Lovely couple they make, just right for each other.'

'Eugh, sentiment, who has the time or inclination? I needed him to help with an experiment. But if he's not here I'll have to figure something else out. Damn him.' With that he threw himself back down on the sofa.

Mrs Hudson smiled despairingly at him while shaking her head. She was going to ask if he wanted a cup of tea, but in a mood like this he probably wouldn't hear her, so she quietly left the room

Two hours later, Sherlock was chasing a man on a bike down Woburn Place, his coat flapping like a cape behind him. The cyclist took turn after turn, trying to shake his tail, but Sherlock always managed to keep up with his knowledge of all the shortcuts in London.

Sherlock saw the cyclist lift his hand to his ear and attach a Bluetooth headpiece, then activate a call with the voice control. 'I'm on my way, he's still following me, get there now!' The man ended the call and leant forward to push himself faster.

After another couple of turns, Sherlock was within grasping distance of the bike as the cyclist turned into a back street. Before even his quick brain acknowledged what was happening, a baseball bat swung out in front of Sherlock and hit him, hard, on the forehead. Feeling the control leave his body, he fell backwards as his eyes started to roll. Trying desperately to maintain consciousness, the last thing he saw was the two men in the alley make a quick getaway back onto the main street.

'How are you feeling?'

'Grmmmph.'

'Haha, yes I can imagine that nasty bump on your head is making things harder.'

Sherlock winced as his squinting eyes adjusted to the light around him. That nasty bump on the head was definitely the cause of this unfortunate feeling.

Slowly he sat up from what he realised was a sofa. Looking around he saw a girl, no a woman, cocking her head at him, before glancing around the tiny room he was in. She looked intrigued.

'You're Sherlock Holmes.' She stated.

'Hmm yes, and you're a waitress who's just spilt up with her boyfriend and has a desire to live in San Francisco, but lets forgo the introductions shall we. I think I need to be going. Things to do, people to catch.'

'Oh, you're not going anywhere, not with a knock on the head like that, took me ages to wake you up as it was, didn't want you dying on me did I? Not the famous Consulting Detective!' She grinned at him. 'Steph Glass, pleased to meet you.' She extended her hand.

Sherlock glanced at it disdainfully and made to get up. The sharp pain in his head made him sit down again quickly. 'Hmph.' He sulked and leaned back closing his eyes.

Steph retracted her offered hand. 'There, you see, exactly why you aren't going anywhere. At least I can see your mental faculties are all there, deducting all of that in about 2 seconds. Don't suppose you want to explain it to a lowly creature like me?' Again she grinned at him.

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes, he could tell by the distance she was keeping from him that she wasn't the usual groupie that had followed him. He grimaced at the thought of them. Hundreds of them had come out of the woodwork after the revelation that he wasn't dead and that Moriarty really had been a psychotic serial killer mastermind.

He studied her for a second, she seemed genuine, the gleam in her eyes and the way she leant forward like an excited child. 26 years old, what people would call pretty, but didn't use that to her advantage. No make up on, didn't need it, nails short and tidy but without polish, clothes, obviously well made, but not showy. Her brown hair was tied back in a bun, obviously to keep it out of the way for work, but she didn't use a pony tail to attract attention. Her perfume was light, not over-whelming. No wearied look on her face or lines, obviously didn't take life to seriously, took things as they came.

He glanced back at her brown eyes, and for a second longer than he normally would, stared into them, before subtly shaking himself. Some knock on the head that was to make him lose concentration.

All of this only took 2 seconds deduction, and he could never resist a chance to show off, though he would never admit that's what he was doing, so he began into his explanation.

'Your name badge is sitting on the side table over there with your notepad for orders, your apron with what looks like spilt coffee is hanging up by the door, hence, waitress. There's an empty tub of Ben and Jerry's oh my apple pie in the bin, along with tissues, a half torn photo of you and a man and an empty bottle of rose wine, there's also a system of torture in the DVD player in the form of some weepy 'chick flick', so split up with boyfriend in the past day or two. As for San Francisco, anyone walking in here would hardly fail to notice the amount of pictures and ornaments from the city, and also your laptop is open at lettings in the area and job vacancies. Did I miss anything?'

He looked bored and turned his head closing his eyes again so he didn't see Steph's grin grow larger as she said, 'Only the one thing,' his eye's snapped open as he glared at her, 'It's not coffee, it's coke, on the apron.'

'Hmmph', he closed his eyes again. 'Always something. So what am I doing here? I presume I blacked out for the past hour and ten minutes judging by the time.'

'Yea, I was coming home from my shift, and saw you lying in the alley behind my building. I got my friend from the next flat to help me bring you up here. He's good that way, doesn't ask questions. Then I waited till you woke up. Simple really.' She looked at him with concern, 'How are you really feeling?'

'Fine,' he held out his mobile, 'but you might want to phone John.' And with that the pain in his head took over and he blacked out again.