John was storing some of his belongings in the downstairs hallway closet outside Mrs. Hudson's flat when he found the skull.

After taking the skull that first day John had been to 221B, Mrs. Hudson had put it in a cardboard box in the bottom of the closet. Now, John set his own boxes aside and picked up the skull, gazing into the vacant eyes.

He thought about how Sherlock had seemed a little disappointed at the loss of his "friend," so he decided to surprise him by returning poor Yorick to their mantelpiece. He dusted the cranium, then checked for loose teeth, and set it carefully above the fireplace on the left.

John was in the kitchen dishing out takeaway dinner when Sherlock returned home. He doffed coat and scarf, dropped them on the nearest chair, and exclaimed in delight.

"John! You found the skull!" Sherlock grinned. He touched the supraorbital ridge as if smoothing imaginary wisps of hair. "Hello there, old friend. Good to have you back."

Sherlock went into the kitchen. "Where did you find it? No, don't tell me - in the closet downstairs. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't want it in her living space."

"Yes, well, I thought we could use a fellow of infinite jest and most excellent fancy round here." John replied.

Sherlock didn't understand the reference. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." John removed plates from the cupboard. "I've named him Yorick. You know, from Hamlet. A fellow of infinite jest and most excellent fancy."

"Hm. How interesting. Mr. Hudson could hardly be accused of infinite jest and excellent fancy." Sherlock tasted the risotto John was spooning onto plates.

John halted mid-spoon. "Sorry? Mr. Hudson?"

"Yes, of course Mr. Hudson, our landlady's infamous executed husband. He donated his body to science and she claimed his skull. Mrs. Hudson and I have been engaged in a friendly argument about it ever since. I put the skull out on display, she takes it away. She doesn't quite like having it around but she seems reluctant to permanently dispose of it."

"Can't imagine why." John felt slightly nauseated.

Sherlock noticed John's unease. "Problem?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just a little disturbed by the thought of eating dinner while being watched over by a murderer."

"Relax," Sherlock assured. "You're doing fine."