Well I had a lot of time on my hands for the last week. I have a new chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy it. See ya.

John Watson woke up in a strange place. It wasn't any room at his flat or one that he has been to before. His head was pounding and his vision was blurry from sleep. He sat up to take a better look around.

It was a nice room. The walls were a dark shade of red with paintings hanging on them, and a small window next to the bed he was on. There was a book case with every shelf filled to his right and next to a door was a dresser on his left. On the other side of the door was a chair with a pile of clothes on it.

John figured they were his; they looked like his at least. He pushed back the heavy covers and swung his feet to the ground. It was carpeted so his bare feet weren't overwhelmed with the sudden change in temperature. He waddled over to the pile of clothes and noticed a note on top of them. He rubbed his eyes to clear them up before he started reading the note.

'John, take a shower, shave, change your clothes and meet me in the kitchen.'

The doctor let out a breath. He folded the paper in two before he shoved it in his pocket. He picked up his clothes and looked at the door in front of him. He knocked on it nervously before he confirmed that no one was in there, or that it was the hallway. He opened it, relieved that it was the bathroom.

He started to undress from his dirty clothes. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and groaned. A beard was taking over the lower half of his face, dark circles were under his eyes, and his hair was sticking up in all sorts of directions. He looked as if he just rolled out of the streets. He ran his hand over his facial hair and shuttered at the touch. He hated having a beard. He remembered growing one when he was a teen; it didn't turn out well for him. He opened the medicine cabinet and saw a razor and the shaving cream. He shut it with a smile and continued to undress to get in the shower.

X

John felt refreshed, he still had no idea where he was but he had a clearer head now that he was clean and more awake. He made sure that he didn't miss any spots on his chin. He exited the bathroom from a different door and found himself in the hallway.

From the interior of the household he could tell whoever was housing him must have had some cash to spare. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to find the kitchen. Every turn he took there were more doors and turns.

He was lucky when he stumbled upon the kitchen. He saw Mycroft standing at the counter reading the paper. John took a step back in surprise. Did Mycroft really take it up to the next level of kidnapping? "Why am I here?" he questioned, his voice had a hint of anger in it.

Mycroft looked up from the paper. "You were killing yourself quicker than before so I decided to step in," he explained. "I was told that someone had to keep a constant eye on you. I took it upon myself to take you to my home and watch you."

"What about Sherlock?" John questioned. He watched as Mycroft's eyes widened just a fraction. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. He was supposed to be forgetting about him, and even if he wasn't Sherlock was dead. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to ask that. It was just a slip of the tongue."

A headache started again just behind John's eyes. He didn't know how he forgot about the last few months. How he would even think that Sherlock was alive still. It was preposterous. He was still tired, still in a dream state. That's what he was going to tell himself anyway.

Mycroft stepped forward, he almost looked like he was going to touch John but he didn't. "I brought you here so you can get better," he stated. "It's for your health as I said many times before. I called Lestrade, he's going to keep you company during the day or when I'm away. I don't want you alone in the house."

"Do you think I'm going to harm myself?" John questioned, raising his eyebrows.

Mycroft folded up the paper silently and tucked it under his arm. "You already have Dr. Watson," he told him. "You failed to eat or sleep for three days. If I don't have someone here to take care of you like a dog you could forget to do it yourself."

John clenched his fist. "I am not a dog," he hissed. "I don't need to be fed, and walked. I'm a grown man who can take care of himself."

"Clearly," Mycroft said in a clipped tone. "Lestrade's in the living room. I have to go to the office. Don't forget to have breakfast."

John had to keep himself from taking a swing at Mycroft. He didn't go through all he did to be called a dog. He was conforming himself to their beliefs, and he was being treated worse than he was before when he tried to forget. He waited till the government official was out of the room before slamming his fist down on the countertop.

His stomach growled loudly. He had to eat despite his want to disobey Mycroft. He shuffled over to the fridge to find food.

"Hey John," Lestrade said from the other side of the room. "How are you feeling?"

John didn't turn around. He was angry and was going to let it all pass before he tried to make small talk. He reached in to the fridge and grabbed the carton of eggs. He made his way over to the stove to start cooking. He watched the former DI out the corner of his eyes. The man was just leaning against the wall waiting for him to speak. He wasn't planning on talking for a while.

Lestrade let out a sigh and nodded. "The cold shoulder," he said, "I see. Well, I'm going to talk to you anyway. I wish you would speak to me. I really miss going out and having a few drinks every now and then."

John turned sharply on his heel. "When did we meet Lestrade?" he asked.

Lestrade was taken aback at the sudden question. "You really don't know," he marveled. John just stared at him. Lestrade shook his head. "We met three years ago. I was shot while on a job and you patched me up. You were the only person that came and saw me every day, even when you had days off. I have you to thank for keeping me from going insane." His voice dwindled off on the last word. He looked away a little ashamed that he even said it.

John nodded and turned back to his eggs. "Sounds like me," he mumbled more to himself than the other man. "Could you fill me in on how you got fired also? I'm still a bit foggy about all this stuff."

Lestrade chuckled, he thought John was joking. "I was getting too old," he answered honestly; "I couldn't catch the criminals they wanted me to catch."

John set his plate at the table and sat down. "That's stinks," he told him. "I think I'm going to get fired soon. I don't remember going to work at all this week."

"You didn't," Lestrade told him. "From what Mycroft told me you didn't go to work for three days, then you were out for two days here. You looked like crap too."

"Thanks," John rolled his eyes.

Lestrade laughed again. "There's a game on today," he said jerking his head towards the living room. "Mycroft may not use the large television but we could."

John was thankful for the unasked question. "I haven't watched a match in forever," he admitted. He lifted his plate from the table and followed Greg to the living room.

Looks like he's going to get better, but you know what they say; it's always calm before the storm. I hope you enjoyed this so far, leave me a review with you wonderful thoughts, good or bad. BYE!