Sherlock groans in frustration as he pushes the lid of his laptop down and pushes it away. He is just so bored! He can't annoy John because the older man is at work and has conveniently turned his phone, he can't work on his experiments because they still need another twenty-four hours to ferment, Lestrade has no cases, and there's nothing to do! Not one thing! He tugs at his hair and tries to think of something to do.

He slams his hands against the table. He needs something to do! Anything! He'll take the dullest case possibly if it solves his boredom! Any kind of case will solve his boredom!

His mind keeps racing, never lingering on one subject for too long, always changing every minute, but constantly coming back to the fob watch. His mind is clearly fascinated by it despite it being completely boring. It's a fob watch, nothing more, nothing less. He should have thrown it away as soon as it was given to him. The word "Doctor" had simply escaped from his Mind Palace, it's happened before, it'll likely happen again.

Sherlock sighs heavily as he goes to stand up; something gets shoved in front of him. Looking down at it, he realises it's a plate; on the plate is some beans on toast. He hears her before he sees her.

"I know you're bored, Dearie, but I do wish you would just eat something. John said this morning you haven't eaten anything in two days and you're much too thin." Mrs. Hudson says softly, stroking his curls and moving them from his eyes. "You'll need a haircut too." She murmurs more herself than him.

Sherlock looks up at her and shakes his head, "No thanks, Mrs. Hudson. I'm fine for now." He pushes the plate away and gives Mrs. Hudson a reassuring smile.

Unexpectedly, she pushes it back and with a stern voice replies, "Sherlock, you're only human, you need to eat this food. I am not having you pass out because you're too stubborn to eat." She sits down in the chair opposite, "I am not leaving until you have eaten that, young man." She says pointing a finger at him.

Sherlock stares at her. He can see the determined look in her eyes and knows that there is no point arguing. She, like him, is rather stubborn when she wants to be, she won't leave until she's seen him eat. With a dramatic sigh, Sherlock picks up the fork and starts to eat.

Mrs. Hudson smiles at him, "There, that wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Instead of replying, Sherlock glares at her. It softens as he carries on eating. Damn John for telling her about that, he knew she'd cook him food, which is probably why John told her. If only he hadn't reawakened her mother instincts, Mrs. Hudson has always been like a mother figure to him, but it only seems to have gotten worse since that case with the art thief. Mind you, he was kidnapped and, well, what they believed was torture, for a week. All he had was a broken wrist, three cracked ribs and a concussion. Now Mrs. Hudson's gone very motherly on him. Not that he doesn't mind. It does get annoying at times though.

He idly pokes at a bit of toast with his knife, scooping up a different bit of toast with his fork as he continues eating. The food does make him feel slightly better and it might be a good thing that the digestion will slow his mind down, not that he will ever say this out loud.

He stands up when he finishes. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, it was rather lovely." He says as he takes the plate into the kitchen.

Mrs. Hudson smiles softly, satisfied now that Sherlock has eaten, "Now, if only we could get you to eat more." She says as she returns to her own flat.

Sherlock smirks. That is always a challenge, getting him to eat like normal people. Three meals a day, Sherlock scoffs at the idea of that. One does not need to eat three times a day, one meal a day is fine for him. Eating slows down the mind, dampens his thinking process, messing with his train of thought. He'd rather not eat. He places his plate in the sink and walks back into the living room, stretching out across the couch; he pulls his phone out from his pocket and starts to text Lestrade.

'Do you have a case? – SH'

The response comes quicker than he expects.

'No, not today. ~ GL'

Sherlock groans as he sends a reply.

'You should have one. – SH'

'I don't have one, Sherlock. ~ GL'

Sherlock places his arm across his eyes, opting not to reply to Lestrade. His mind travels back to the fob watch, maybe he could experiment on it. That will be interesting, he can test some of the chemicals he has on it, try to determine how long it will take to burn through the metal, test its durability, make some use of it otherwise it will get thrown away. Before he can move to get the fob watch, his phone vibrates. He has another message from Lestrade; he hopes it's about a case.

'I know you're bored, Sherlock. If you pop round to my flat, you might find something of interest in there. ~ GL'

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

'Unless it's a case, I'm not interested. – SH'

'No, it isn't a case. It's something you left at my flat a while ago; you may remember it when you see it. I've left it on the table. Also, have something to eat; I don't want you passing out because you're stubborn enough to go on a hunger strike. ~ GL'

'Mrs. Hudson already took care of that, Lestrade. I'm adequate for now. – SH'

'I'll be sure to check with Mrs Hudson when I'm done. Also, use your key! I know you have one! I can't keep replacing the lock because you've decided to pick at it. ~ GL'

Sherlock smirks at Lestrade's response, he writes a reply as he stands up.

'Using a key is boring. Picking it is much more fun. – SH'

'I don't care. Use your key; if I find you've broken my lock again, I'll take cases from you for a week. ~ GL'

'You won't do that. You need me. – SH'

'... Fine. But you'll be spending a few days in prison for breaking and entering. ~ GL'

'Fine. I'll use my stupid key. – SH'

'There's good lad. ~ GL'

'Shut up. – SH'

Sherlock places his phone in his pocket as he goes to put his coat and scarf on. Going outside he hails for a taxi and thinks about what it is he may have forgotten. He's taken quite a few things to Lestrade's flat, more often than not, he's left them there. The last time he took something over there was almost a year ago, he doesn't remember if he left it there, but that might not even be what Lestrade was talking about.

When the cab comes to a stop, he pays the driver and walks towards the building, no longer thinking about what he's forgotten, as he strides towards Lestrade's flat. Pulling the key from his pocket (he has no intention of being arrested anytime soon); he unlocks the door and enters.

He walks into the flat, closing the door behind him, noticing how it is now tidy instead of a mess with. Walking into the living room, he looks down at the coffee table. On top of it is an empty cup of coffee, today's newspaper, and a blue journal. The exact same blue journal Sherlock took to Lestrade's flat almost a year ago. Why did he possibly think Sherlock would find that interesting? On top of the journal is a note. A bit of paper ripped out from one of Lestrade's old contact books, written in a black pen, must have been in a rush because the handwriting is scruffier than normal. Sherlock picks up the note and starts to read it.

'I found this just last night, do you remember it? You brought it around almost a year ago, claimed you haven't looked inside it since your drug days, wanted to dispose of it. I don't understand why you wanted to get rid of it; it makes a very interesting thing to read. If you're that bored then why don't you look through it? It just might solve your boredom for the day, I know John's ready to harm you if you do something amazingly stupid because of your boredom again, so reading this just might be a good thing.

P.S. If you've broken my lock, made my flat a mess, done something to annoy me because of your boredom, then you can kiss your cases goodbye, Sherlock.'

Sherlock rolls his eyes and puts the note down; of course Lestrade would read it. The video of when he was drugged by Irene is on YouTube. Trust Lestrade to read this. Sherlock looks down at the book and picks it up. It's a blue book, old and battered, there's a tea stain on the bottom, the spine is wrinkled, and the pages are worn. He remembers the book. He used to write in this when he was sixteen. The note states that he hasn't looked inside it since his drug days. His drug habits started when he was twenty, he didn't meet Lestrade until he was twenty-five, he brought it around here nearly a year ago. It's been eleven years, what happened to it between those years if he hasn't looked at it since his drug days? Sherlock frowns slightly, holding the book in his right hand; he turns over the cover with his left. Sat in the middle of the first page are five words.

'A journal of impossible things.'

AN: I just really love a fatherly Lestrade! Please don't hate me for it.

I hope you enjoyed it. Have a nice day :)

~Steffii