A/N: Okay, here's the first chapter all set and ready! This won't be too long of a fic, I expect two or three chapters at the most, but this little plot bunny has been burning a hole in my brain all night. Enjoy!

It started a very normal day at Baker Street—or so John Watson thought. It was Sunday, finally, and he allowed himself the rare privilege to sleep in. A bit of rest was long overdue; he had been running back and forth between his job at the clinic and his cases with Sherlock for a solid month now. On average he managed about five hours a night, but those missed hours built up on him quickly nowadays. It wasn't like he minded much. When there was an interesting case to solve he enjoyed the late nights, as long as Sherlock was talkative. Their last case had been wrapped up only days before; it had been a trying ordeal having to do with an elephant ending up somewhere…unexpected. Sherlock was on his usual 'just proved my own brilliance' high, but they never lasted long. As he lay there Sunday morning he kept expecting the detective to knock on his door (or more accurately burst in unannounced) and drag him away to find something new to investigate.

By eleven o'clock he had determined that Sherlock was not going to wake him up. He assumed his flat-mate must finally be getting some rest of his own—he hadn't slept much at all this last week—and pulled himself out of his comfortable daze to make a bit of late morning tea to drink as he read his paper. He had made it all the way to the kitchen before he noticed Sherlock lying on the couch, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He knew better than to attempt a greeting. If Sherlock had let him sleep so long, he must be miles into his mind-palace, and any attempt at communication would be futile.

John showered quickly as his kettle boiled, and then settled himself into his chair, ready to entertain himself for as long as Sherlock was mentally absent. To his surprise he had only just opened the paper when the other man spoke.

"Good morning."

John raised his eyebrows at the clock. "Good morning. Barely morning anymore, though."

Sherlock cast an uninterested glance at the clock, furrowing his brow. "Oh. You're late. I expected you up before this. You were my alarm clock."

"Sorry," John shrugged, getting comfortable, "I don't do it too often. Since when do you need an alarm clock, anyway? I've seen you space out for days on end before."

"Plans today?" Sherlock asked, ignoring his statement.

"None," John smiled. "Thought I'd stay in. I suppose, if you're hungry, we could go get a bite later on. You should eat something, God knows when you last had a decent meal."

"I have plans."

"Oh." John said simply. They sat in silence for a few minutes, but he finally lowered the paper and peered at Sherlock. "Is this for…do you have a case you're working on?"

"Not at the moment," Sherlock said. He'd resumed his inspection of the ceiling, but at least he was responsive.

"Oh," John said again with a pause. "You…have a date then?"

Sherlock blinked. "That seems a strange conclusion to jump to."

"Well, plans," John shrugged noncommittally. "That…can indicate a date."

"Have you ever known me to date?" Sherlock asked, and John could hear the smirk in his voice.

"No, but you never make plans either. Two people, going out, spending time together, it all seems a bit too personal for you."

"We go out together all the time. Besides, I'm not going out."

"You said you had plans."

"I do, but I have them at home. I am trying to find the appropriate way to ask you to not be here when those plans take place."

"Oh," John said with a hint of a smile. "Sure. Put a tie on the doorknob next time."

Sherlock frowned at him. "What?"

"A tie on the doorknob. It's a warning to your roommate. Specifically, 'I have a girl in here, don't interrupt'."

"It's not a date, John. It's an obligatory meeting which I would rather receive in private."

John chuckled and sipped at his tea. "Right. When is this meeting, then?"

Sherlock looked back at the clock. "Any minute now."

John frowned, setting down his paper. "Now? I need some warning ahead of time, Sherlock. What am I supposed to do?"

"Like I said, you were late." Sherlock hopped from the couch, peering out the window as if he expected to see something staring back at him. He pulled his wallet from the table and pushed a few dozen pound notes into John's hands. "Go get drunk. On me. Have fun."

"It's noon on a Sunday, Sherlock. I've just woken up, I don't want a drink," he eyed the detective suspiciously. "You've never asked me to miss one of your meetings before. You once called me back from the clinic with a rubbish lie about a fire to get me home to make a meeting with a client. Why so secretive all of a sudden?"

"It's nothing," Sherlock said quickly and unconvincingly. He took John's arm and tried to lead him to the door. "It shouldn't take long, a few hours at the most. Believe me I want to be through with this obligation as quickly as possible."

John was about to protest, but his voice was cut off by a strange sound echoing through the rooms of 221 B Baker Street. It was like the screeching of an old brake, played again and again on a vinyl record. The loud 'vworping' sound filtered towards them from Sherlock's room, and for just a second John assumed it was some new experiment going horribly wrong. Sherlock sighed, dropping John's arms and closing his eyes. "I've told him to park on the street. My papers will be everywhere."

"What's going on, Sherlock?" John asked, wondering briefly if he should dash upstairs for his firearm.

His friend grimaced, looking back and forth between his bedroom door and the door that led out of the flat. "I'm terribly sorry, John, but it's too late for you now. You'll be stuck here, same as me."

"What are you talking about? What can be so terrible?"

Sherlock steeled himself, clenching his fist. "My parents are in town."