Sherlock watched Elizabeth intently on the way back to Baker Street. The doctor at A&E had assured them that it was only a mild concussion. John had agreed, and that had made Sherlock feel a little bit better.

But just a little bit.

Sherlock, Elizabeth, and John had cornered a suspect in a warehouse. Lestrade was on his way, and their job was to keep the man from getting away. What they hadn't planned for was that the man would have a baton. And that he would take a swing at Elizabeth.

All Sherlock saw was red after he had seen Elizabeth crumple to the floor. She had only passed out for a few moments, but that was plenty of time for Sherlock to wrestle the baton away and whack the man unconscious. John had tended to a stirring Elizabeth while Sherlock roughly handcuffed the suspect to a pole in the warehouse. He made sure to cinch the handcuffs as painfully tight as he possibly could.

Lestrade had rushed in just as they were rushing out, already hailing a taxi. They hurried to the A&E, John having already determined that she would most likely be fine. Though they hadn't called ahead, a neurologist and an awaiting MRI greeted them. Sherlock had sent a silent thanks to his brother for his help.

The taxi dropped the three of them off at Baker Street. Elizabeth was fine besides a headache and didn't sway at all as she walked. But Sherlock still kept a hand on her arm just in case.

Sherlock walked her up to her room while John fetched paracetamol.

Before they left, John said, "One of us will be up in two hours. We have to wake you up and ask you some questions to make absolutely sure there isn't any damage the MRI didn't detect."

Elizabeth mumbled her agreement before dozing off.

Two hours later, Sherlock trekked back up to her room. He had volunteered to take the first shift, and John had suggested that they alternate after that.

He shook her awake, "What's your name?"

"Elizabeth."

"Full name?" Sherlock asked.

"Elizabeth Angelica Holmes," Elizabeth murmured groggily.

"What is the fifth element in the periodic table?"

"That is not a question you ask someone with a concussion. Some people don't know that normally." Elizabeth argued.

"Well, you aren't 'some people'," Sherlock replied.

"Boron."

"How many feet in a mile?" Sherlock continued his interrogation.

Instead of answering his question, Elizabeth made a deduction, "You know it wasn't your fault, right?"

"Just answer the question."

"There wasn't anything you could've done," Elizabeth ignored him.

Sherlock was silent for a moment, "Answer the question and you can go back to sleep."

"Fine. 5,280 feet in a mile. Happy?" Elizabeth rolled away from him.

"Quite," Sherlock walked to the door. "See you in four hours."

John woke Elizabeth up at two am.

"What's your full name?" John rubbed at his eyes.

"Elizabeth Angelica Holmes," Elizabeth felt bad for the doctor. "I'm fine. You don't have to wake me up anymore."

"Just a precaution. I'm not going to take any chances."

"Is he brooding on the couch?" Elizabeth asked, knowing John would know what she meant.

"Yeah." John sat on the bed.

"It wasn't his fault," Elizabeth protested. "There wasn't anything he could've done. And I told him that two hours ago."

"His brain tells him that logically he could have prevented it," John said. "But his heart, no matter how out of practice it is, is telling him that he should've somehow done something. It's confusing the hell out of him."

"Logic is warring against emotion he tries to suppress," Elizabeth summed up. "That must be killing him."

"He'll be fine once he goes to his Mind Palace and reasons with himself. But I need to ask you two more questions for my visit to count. I told Sherlock he had to ask you at least three."

"Fire away," Elizabeth put her hands behind her head.

"When were you born?"

"March 9, 2001."

"Thank you. What is your father's full name?"

Elizabeth chuckled, "William Sherlock Scott Holmes. You know he told me that he wants me to name my children after him. He says I will have three boys. William, Sherlock, and Scott."

"Doesn't he want a granddaughter?"

"I don't know. I don't think he really wants to think about me having children unless we're joking."

"It's a scary thing for a parent, I'm sure. It reminds him of how old he is." John said goodnight, promising to come back at six am.

At four sharp, Sherlock poked Elizabeth in the shoulder.

"What's your full name?" Sherlock asked. Elizabeth noticed that he had changed out of his suit and was now wearing his blue dressing gown. But he still didn't look like he'd been sleeping.

"Elizabeth Angelica Holmes," Elizabeth said tiredly. "You should really go to sleep. You don't have to come up and check on me any after this."

Sherlock just waved her suggestion away, "Can you name three of Edgar Allan Poe's poems?"

"You are really bad at these questions," Elizabeth remarked. At Sherlock's level stare, she sighed, "Bells, The Raven, and Annabel Lee."

"Who wrote War and Peace?" Sherlock continued.

"Leo Tolstoy. And what's the million dollar question?" Elizabeth joked.

At Sherlock's obvious confusion, she said, "Never mind. Remind me to make you watch daytime telly sometime."

Sherlock made a sour face and left the room.

Elizabeth felt like it was only three seconds later that she was woken again. This wasn't nearly as gentle as the other times, this was more determined. Was John mad at something?

But the face looking down at her wasn't John. It was Sherlock.

Elizabeth was instantly alert, "What's happened? What's wrong?"

"What's your full name?" Sherlock was searching her eyes.

"This is not the time for questions!" Elizabeth wanted to know what was wrong. "Dad, what happened? Is John okay?"

"What's your full name?!"

"Elizabeth Angelica Holmes!" Elizabeth almost screamed. "Now tell me what's going on! Who's hurt? Do we have a case?" She started to get out of bed, but Sherlock stopped her.

"It's nothing like that," he had visibly relaxed after she'd answered the question.

"Then what?" Elizabeth was really starting to freak out. She desperately hoped everyone was okay.

Sherlock said nothing, but he pointed at the clock on Elizabeth's bedside table. It read 7:13 AM.

"What? What about the clock?" Elizabeth asked impatiently. Had she missed an appointment or something? She didn't remember having to go to the dentist's or anything today.

"John fell asleep," Sherlock explained. Elizabeth still didn't understand. "It's been almost three-and-a-half hours."

What? He wasn't making any sense. But then it dawned on Elizabeth.

"My concussion!" Elizabeth was aghast. "Oh my God! I thought somebody was dying!"

"No, no, everyone's fine," Sherlock assured her. "I just...John said that it was important that you be woken up every two hours. And when I saw the clock..."

"It was just a precaution, Dad," Elizabeth soothed. "He only stressed it that much so that you would actually do it. It really wasn't necessary." Elizabeth rubbed her eyes and got out of bed, there was no way she was sleeping now.

She and Sherlock went down to the living room. John was, in fact, fast asleep in his armchair. As Sherlock began to experiment on some eyeballs, Elizabeth deduced from the scene.

She noticed the scuffs in the carpet from someone running. John had not moved at all, so no one had even tried to wake him up. The picture of what had happened surfaced in her mind.

Sherlock must have noticed the time and just taken off running. He hadn't even roused John and made him go and ask the questions. Instead, he had just bolted up the stairs and done it himself.

Touched, Elizabeth went into the kitchen and asked him about his experiment. She knew that he liked to be asked what he was doing, and then be told he was brilliant after his explanation.

So Elizabeth did just that.