A/N:

We/I still own nothing.

There was a request for Rapunzel, so here it is! :)

I'm planning on this being the last chapter with a story from Sherlock, sorry for any disappointments. There will be one more chapter after this, and that will be up within the next two days, I promise.

Thanks to everyone that reviewed, faved or followed! You guys are awesome!

Enjoy! And please review! :D

~Dante Pierre

John woke to silence. Absolute silence. No violin, no gunshots, nothing. Not even the sound of a teakettle or fingers typing away at a computer. It was never this eerily quiet, and that scared John. After all, the silence could only mean one thing, trouble.

As quickly as he could, John frantically threw back the covers and tried to get out of bed. Unfortunately this only led to the many sheets that had been piled on top of him to tangle around his legs, causing him to trip and fall to the floor, flat on his face. As can be imagined, the whole ordeal caused quite a ruckus and within seconds Sherlock was running into John's room.

"John. John are you all right? Answer me! John!" The detective inquired worriedly upon seeing his friend face down on the floor.

John picked himself up and assured Sherlock that he was perfectly fine, except for the cold, before tripping on the sheets yet again. If it weren't for Sherlock's quick reflexes, John's face would've been once more acquainted with the hard wooden floor.

"Honestly John, you ought to be more careful. What were you doing out of bed in the first place? You're sick. You of all people should know you need rest." Sherlock scolded as he helped his friend back into bed.

"It was quiet, really quiet. I thought sobethig had happened." John replied defensively, "I just wanted to bake sure eberything was alright."

"Of course it's quiet. You need rest. Would you prefer that I shoot at the walls? That could easily be arranged, I am very bored." Sarcasm dripped off of Sherlock's words.

The consulting detective took John's silence as a no.

"Go to sleep. The faster you get better the faster I won't have to be bored."

Once John was back in bed, wrapped up in about a billion sheets and comforters, Sherlock turned and walked out of the room.

"Sherlock!" John called after a moment of silence.

The detective's head appeared in the doorway.

"What is it now." Sherlock asked.

"You said you were bored."

"Obviously."

"You could tell be another story." John suggested hopefully.

Sherlock sighed miserably. He had known it would have only been a matter of time before John asked for yet another story.

"Just one story?" John pleaded.

"Fine. One story." Sherlock sat down on the edge of John's bed and began his tale.

"Once upon a time..."

Once upon a time there lived a beautiful young girl named Rapunzel. She had her mother's raven black hair and her father's chestnut brown eyes. She was the pride and joy of her mother, but her father didn't care much for her. In fact, you could go as far as to say that he was utterly disappointed with her. He had always wanted a son, and since he was an unkind man with a heart of stone; he never learned or even tried to love Rapunzel.

Rapunzel's family was poorer than average, but that could be attributed to the fact that they lived in a rural area and didn't earn much income.

Rapunzel loved the outdoors. Her parents were farmers, so she ended up spending most of her time outside helping out around the property. Unfortunately Rapunzel wasn't very bright, she usually made a mess of every task she was delegated. This just irked her father even more.

One day Rapunzel made the worst mistake of all. When she had been attempting to cook some rice for dinner, at her mother's request, she instead managed to burn half of the house down. That was the last straw. Her father decided Rapunzel was costing him more than she was worth, so he sold her off to a slave trader. He got just enough money in return to fix his house and he no longer had to babysit his incompetent daughter, so he was very pleased indeed. Her mother on the other hand was completely distraught. She knew she would never see her beloved daughter again, and this drove her to take her own life. Rapunzel's father, being the heartless bastard he was, wasn't really bothered by his wife's death and got remarried within a month.

During the time Rapunzel had been sold off, there was a shortage of laborers at a nearby hair product manufactory and experimentation center. A recent accident had resulted in many deaths. Rapunzel was sold off again, and this time she ended up at the factory.

For a while Rapunzel was put to work among the other children, filling up bottles with shampoo, but the owners of the factory quickly learned that Rapunzel was awful at doing manual labor. She spilt more shampoo on the ground then she did actually get into the bottles. Given the shortage of workers, they couldn't just kill her off, so instead Rapunzel was assigned to a bunch of different jobs, but each one she managed to royally screw-up. Finally a decision was made. If she couldn't do any actual work, the owners decided that she would instead be used for experimentation.

Rapunzel was locked away in a room where the long-term effects of a faster hair growth gel were tested on her. The product worked too well, and her hair grew to be one and a half meters long within a month. Unfortunately, the gel also had some nasty side effects, the main one being horrible skin irritation. She was in so much pain that she wound up spending weeks screaming and crying all day and night. Nobody could figure out why the product was causing any pain at all, so finally, the gel was dumped and the experiments came to a halt. Once they stopped applying the gel to her scalp, pain started to subside almost immediately.

For the next four years, various different products were tested on her hair, but her hair was never cut. It grew to be ridiculously long, and that plus the unbearable pain that many of the products brought her, finally caused Rapunzel to go to drastic measures. One morning, when the researchers that had been using Rapunzel entered her room, they found her strung up by her hair. The poor girl had taken her own life.

"The End. Now go to sleep." Sherlock said firmly. He got up and walked out of the room without another word.

John contemplated calling the detective back and begging for another story, as he had grown rather fond of the dark, gruesome tales Sherlock told, but he decided against it. With a small yawn, John curled up in the middle of the bed, pulling the blankets closer to his body and fell asleep.