A/N: I'm sorry that it's been eight days since I've updated, but to be honest, I struggled with this chapter because I'm not an chemist. No seriously, I had no idea what kind of experiments Sherlock would carry out, so I fell back on something familiar. Internet cookie if you can guess! I think from now on though, I'll give myself a week in between chapters so I have time to research and think them through. As always, thanks very much to my reviewers, watchers, and people who fave this story. I greatly appreciate it!


There was a shout from the kitchen as John ascended the 17 steps to 221b after a long day at work. It was raining outside again, and much to his relief the fireplace was lit. Shrugging off his coat, John took a few steps and found his flatmate in the kitchen.

"Anything in?" John asked, strutting into it and to the fridge, silently praying that the food would not be near body parts again.

"Mmmm.." Was the response from Sherlock, who was busy with a chemistry experiment.

John dug out some left over Chinese take-away, and puttered around the small confines of the kitchen to prepare it.

While the left overs were heating up, John looked over his shoulder at Sherlock's experiment. Next to him was the journal, opened to the page that read:

Sample various substances found in your home. Document what they are. Create color schemes.

Liquid Chlorine had already been label under a sickly yellowish color, and iodine (which was a dark orange). There was also a odd foot shaped plant next to it.

"What's this, then?" John asked picking it up.

"Poison. Luckily not one that involves touch." Sherlock commented when John threw it down.

"Anything interesting?"

"Old cold case. Female chemist tried to kill her husband by poisoning him and then set a bomb to look like a leak."

"Try not to blow up the flat then, I'd like a nice quiet night in." John snipped as he retrieved his dinner from the microwave and went to his desk to sit down.

Some time later, John set his plate aside at his desk and was about to type up his blog, when Sherlock interrupted him.

"John, could you go get some milk? I'd like some for tea tomorrow."

"You realize that I just got home a little over an hour ago?" John snapped, returning his attention to his computer.

"Please." Sherlock responded without moving away from his microscope.

John huffed and closed the laptop. "Fine."

"Take my card, get anything else we need."

John paused, "Are-are you trying to get rid of me?"

Sherlock pulled away long from the experiment to roll his eyes at him.

"Because leaving you alone with that is obviously a clue."

"I can handle poison, John."

"Okay." John put his hands up defensively. He fished Sherlock's wallet from his coat in the living room and called, "I'll be back soon!"

"Mmmm" was the only audible response.


John was gone for nearly half an hour when he finally returned to the flat. Looking up, John could see that the window was open, the curtains fluttering with a gentle breeze. Not unusual on such a nice night. He lumbered up the stairs, shifting the bags in his hands for balance.

"Sherlock, I'm ba-" John began to place the groceries on the table when he stopped. Laying face down on the kitchen floor was Sherlock.

John's heart began to pound, "Sherlock!" He rushed over to his flatmate and turned him into a recovery position. Instantly, John went into doctor mode, checking Sherlock's pulse and breathing and finding them slow, but improving. How long had he been like this?

Much to John's relief, Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and he coughed weakly, "John." he rasped.

"Sherlock, what the hell happened? Let me guess, that poison?"

Sherlock could only nod slightly.

"Right, I'm getting you to the hospital." John affirmed, whipping out his phone.

Sherlock hand stopped him, "No, 'm fine, just need to sleep. Made me weak. Window's open."

John snipped, "Yeah, I noticed that."

"Poison was strong, needed to vent it while experimenting."

John nodded in understanding. If the detective hadn't had this foresight, he could have easily died. "So you were trying to get rid of me, then."

"Couldn't risk it, John. Found the answer though. Radix pedis diaboli." Sherlock rasped after a cough.

"Ta." As much as John admired Sherlock's genius, he couldn't help that his friend was a bit of a moron when it came to common sense. "Right. Off to bed then. Can you stand?" So saying, he assisted Sherlock off the kitchen floor.

"Couch. Bring my journal and my pen."

"Fine," John huffed, aiding his friend to the couch, then retrieved the journal and pen. Already, sleep was beginning to sweep Sherlock under its depths.

"Sherlock," John, "next time you do a dangerous experiment that threatens your health, let me stick around, okay?"

"Mmm." Sherlock muttered as he finally dropped off into sleep.

TBC...