John crumbled on the sofa with groans. He was sweating already after the short walk from the cab to his flat. Sherlock placed the bag of medicine and another bag of cookies that he had bought at a café next to the hospital. He wasn't hungry. The cookies were for John: he hadn't eaten anything since he was shot. Sherlock walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, poured some water in a mug, and returned. John was struggling to throw off his sweat suit. The sleuth put the tray on the table to help and hung John's jacket on a nearby chair. John whispered thanks. Glancing at John's hand reaching for the medicine, Sherlock opened the bag of cookies and urged him to eat something before taking the medicine. John complied grudgingly as he felt like throwing up at the thought of eating something. But he managed to eat one, and took the medicine.

Sherlock made tea. With the tray of tea on the table, he noticed John was dozing off. The sleuth looked around the flat, John's new residence with Mary. Compared to 221B, the sitting room was following John's minimalist leanings with essential items only in place like a big flat screen TV, sofa and table, doored bookshelves. There was a oilpainting that described John and Mary at the wedding, Mary's work. It was almost the only decoration except a vase full of roses.

John's mobile vibrated and Sherlock snatched it to answer the call . Mary was on her way; she had called John's work, and thanked him for being there with John. Sherlock didn't realize John wide-awake until he hung up.

"Tea's gone cold. Shall I make it again?"

"No, cold tea is good. Thanks. Is it Mary?"

"Yes, she's on her way. John..."

"Mary's really mad."

"She didn't sound upset..."

"You need to read between the lines, Sherlock. And today was her first day at her job... The clinic..."

"Mrs. Watson said she had explained your absence."

John scratched his head, and drank his cold tea. With the adrenaline gone, the reality began to set in his mind.

"Women are not exactly your area, Sherlock. Sometimes I wonder how women could keep their heads intact with so many things going on inside their heads. A simple argument about how to squeeze toothpaste can open a can of worms, and..."

"What are you going to say?"

"The truth. Honesty always works the best. It's totally my fault. I didn't tell her and you didn't know."

"John. Tell her it's my fault. Tell her I had called you to help my investigation."

"I can't. Sherlock. She already acts defensively when I talk about you. I can't add one more UNTRUE and stupid reason to make her misunderstand you."

"I don't mind..."

Sherlock stopped in mid-sentence as John's face snapped abruptly.

"I do mind. If there is anybody to blame, it's me."

The doctor's body swayed; he couldn't hide his groans.

"You must lie down, John. Do you need help?"

John bit his lips, and stood up. Sherlock supported his friend to the master bedroom. The room was well decorated in the Victorian style in the sharp contrast to the sitting room: Mary's style. John fell on the bed, yawned, and rubbed his eyes and Sherlock pulled the duvet on his friend.

"Sleep. You didn't sleep last night. I guess at least for two nights you barely slept. And the medicine is about to kick in."

"Thanks."

John's words slurred a bit. Sherlock left the door ajar and sat down on the sofa. He checked on his mobile that he had been ignoring. There were texts from Lestrade, asking about John and if he could make it to the Yard later. He punched a short text, assuring John's being fine and he'd be back to the Yard as soon as Mary returned. He was drinking his second tea when he heard the door open.

His heart beat faster. Mary Watson walked into the room. She looked paler than usual; her eyebrows met in the middle but they managed to smooth out at the sight of the detective.

"Mrs. Watson."

"Where's John? I couldn't get out of the work earlier..."

"He's asleep."

Mary hurried into their bedroom and peered through the door. She stared at John's face for seconds, sighed and went to the guest toilet to wash her hand. She thanked the sleuth for her tea as he poured. Sherlock cleared his throat, and started.

"Mrs. Watson, it's me. I asked him to come and help. I had told him not to tell you..."

He used his low voice to make it sound sincere and believable. Slow it down. Hesitate. Sigh. After seconds, he continued.

"Something went wrong. A ricocheting bullet..."

"Mr. Holmes. You don't have to lie for him."

Sherlock stopped and looked at Mary as if he had never observed her properly: she was different strangely to see through the truth. Mary swallowed and stared back at the detective as if she also had never looked at him properly. Her calm voice filled the silence.

" I know you haven't contacted him at all. John has been complaining. He checks on your website every hour after work. He keeps typing and deleting texts that he would never send."

Her words shut Sherlock up. In silence they finished their tea.

"Mr. Holmes, I am not blaming you. I know you've been distancing yourself from us, and your intentions were good."

She smiled weakly, but her smile didn't reach to her eyes.

"They just backfired today."

"Judging from what I've heard, you are the last person to put him in danger. You had faked your death just to save him and didn't return for three years until you were so sure of his safety."

Mary tried to employ a lighter voice tone.

" It's just that you are like a magnet attracting all sorts of accidents and criminal cases."

"Ah... I don't attract them. They usually find me."

Sherlock felt more awkward as she bit her lips and said,

"My friends said it would be complicated given your relationship with my husband. Now I see it..."

"Mary, are you back?"

They heard John. Mary almost ran to their bedroom. Sherlock slowly followed to see her kneeling next to the bed and reaching out for John's hands. The detective flinched a bit, feeling embarrassed as he felt that he was violating their private moment. He hurriedly slipped out of the room. He was getting his coat and scarf when Mary appeared at the door.

"Mr. Holmes, thank you so much for what you did today. Would you mind if I ask you a favor?"

Sherlock's fingers that were tying the scarf stopped.

"Anything."

"We've run out of groceries and tonight was actually our weekly shopping night... I don't think I would be able to go out for shopping..."

"Give me a list of items. I will get them for you."

"Thank you."

"Mary, don't. Shopping and Sherlock? Please... "

There was an alarm in the doctor's voice: the detective couldn't blame him given the colorful history between them. Mary turned her head back at her husband.

"Mr. Holmes is a grown-up. He can manage. He's been living without you in the last three years. I know you've been shopping for him, John. Stop babying him. Now it's time for Mr. Holmes to learn how to deal with essential trivia of life."

"How did..."

"You had left the receipts at plain sight."

Sherlock fidgeted uncomfortably as he remembered the mild surprise that he felt when he found his refrigerator and pantry mysteriously stacked with biscuits, beans, poptarts, cheese, apples, and so on. He had thought it was the landlady. It was John.

"Mary. We can order on-line."

She threw a disdainful glance at her husband, jotted down a short list, and handed it to the detective with a superficial smile.

"Just give me the receipt. I will go to bank to transfer money tomorrow to your account."

"Don't worry about the money, Mrs. Watson."

"No. I am paying you back."

His eyes scanned through the list and his mouth opened before he knew it.

"Fat free milk and cheese?"

"We have to mind cholesterol. The jam, it's on the shelf for organic products. Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

She seemed to so eager to dismiss him for the moment. He'd better disappear so that Mary can talk to John privately. The detective left the flat and headed to the nearby Tesco... Mrs. Watson was right. Sherlock actually was capable of shopping; he'd prefer not to as long as there was someone who did the job for him. He walked around the aisles and tossed the items on the list. He just hoped John would be able to survive this moment. Heaving the grocery bags, he smiled at the Chip and PIN machine as the memory suddenly stirred up. He texted Mary that he would leave the grocery bags at the door with the receipt in ten minutes.


Two weeks later, Sherlock invited John to 221B: John had to see the doctor to check on his wound so the sleuth accompanied him to the clinic. John was pleasantly surprised to find the refrigerator and pantry full of "food" for human consumption. No biological samples in the kitchen... No odors. No clogging of the loos. The flat looked inhabitable. John was thinking about ordering Chinese when Sherlock started preparing lunch. John asked incredulously,

"What do you think you are doing now? Slicing bread? Is it for some kind of mold growing experiment? I don't see any petri dishes..."

"For our lunch. Hope you don't mind my cooking."

John's mouth dropped open as Sherlock started spread mayo on bread pieces. He made four sandwiches and a potful of tea. The doctor's voice rose half-accusingly.

"You can cook. You've been hiding it from me."

Sherlock shrugged it off and set the table for the two.

"Cooking is just a basic science. Nothing more. Get the ingredients. Measure them. Prepare them like peeling, chopping... Just follow the recipe. How do you think I managed to survive while I was gone away?"

John stared at the plate that held two beautifully cut pieces of ham and cheese sandwiches and an apple. He bit off his sandwich. Sherlock used the doctor's favorite cheese and ham, which Mary never bought. She always insisted on low-fat products with slices of cucumber. The sandwich, no wonder, tasted wonderful.

"Wow, you can open your own sandwich shop, Sherlock. It's good."

The sleuth sat down and bit a bite off the breads with a grin. Then he opened a thick file in front of him. John asked,

"A case file? You don't eat while you're on your case. Is it closed one?"

"Yes as the murderer was caught. And no, because we are still trailing on her accomplice. While you are here, I'd like to get your opinion on this case. A second opinion, very valuable to me."

John's eyes twinkled as Sherlock shoved the file to him. While chewing, the doctor flipped the pages and read the contents. Sherlock focused on eating, trying not to remember the call with Mary the other night. Mary agreed to involve John in the cases for the time being as long as it didn't endanger John. Mary Watson betrayed Sherlock's expectation: he had thought Mary would force John to choose between her and him. Sherlock asked her permission to involve John in his cases to certain degrees so John would not gatecrash the police investigations any more. Mary took time in agreeing but with one condition: "act adult" was her exact words.

John got the permission to go back to work after a week. Mary was busy adjusting to her new workplace. At least for this week, the detective and his blogger could work together like the old days, visiting the Yard and crime scenes. After lunch, Sherlock glanced at his mobile and said,

"Lestrade wants to see me at two. Joining me?"

John grinned and stood up. The two men ran downstairs, gave a short good-bye to Mrs. Hudson who just came inside, and headed out to grab a cab.


A/N The weather is unforgivingly hot here in my place. It seems spring and fall have disappeared. Well, I have to manage. Hope everybody enjoyed this chapter. Reviews are very appreciated. Thank you so much for reading. Now, Log off to practice the violin:-)