AN: HI! I've run out of prompts so we're back to whatever my brain vomits out again… Many thanks to reviewers sneakysnakes, fantsybean and GRock87 for their very lovely comments, you guyth are AMATHING!

Yeah, anyway. Here is the latest chapter. And he said unto them review. And prompt. Here endeth the lesson.

Lily

It has recently come to my attention that I have never known Sherlock get injured in a, how shall I put it, normal way. The man seems to have something inside of him that eschews the normal, scoffs at the fundamental and gets confused when you say the word average.

Arrogant young Medical students who think they know it all should be sent to live with Sherlock for a week. In that time he will contract several rare diseases, some of them known only in fish, blow himself up in a pretty but nevertheless explosive way and nearly get himself killed by a suspect on a daily basis.

Any man who presents such a medical phenomenon should not be without his share of allergies, and Sherlock is definitely not without his share. In one pale and skinny body he seems to comprise the conjoined characteristics of a crab, a lion and a guinea pig, but put a plate of gouda cheese in front of him and he will break out in hives like the surface of the moon.

Which is probably why he's the only person I know who could nearly kill himself with breakfast cereal.

After the Great Yoghurt Incident of '10 I made him sit down and write every single allergy he had down. Two notebooks and a call to his mother later, they were all stored in the medicine cabinet along with all the epi-pens, tablets and medic alerts that Sherlock would need to keep him alive past the age of thirty seven.

Now, dear reader, I'm sure you know as well as I do that there's always bloody something. In a hospital scenario, it will be the little old lady, no sooner has the drip gone up, the drugs gone in and everyone is starting to feel better, will she say 'Did I mention I'm allergic to penicillin?'

Of course, in my own little world Sherlock has forgotten one very important little thing to tell me, and by the time I find out, it will be far too late to do anything about it.

It all started when we came home from the hospital. When we got back to our flat, I looked in all the kitchen cupboards and asked

'When did you last have something to eat?' and laughed. Naturally, since he had no cases, even though I wasn't there I had assumed that he had at least managed to feed himself. I think you will agree that was a very stupid assumption to make.

'A nurse brought me some tea and biscuits.' He said vaguely, flipping idly through the paper. Immediately suspicion began to creep in.

'What day was it?' I asked, narrowing my eyes.

'Oh, Wednesday, Thursday, I don't know John.' He sighed, giving me a pained look.

'And before that?'

'What day did we finish the case?'

'You mean what day did I get brutally stabbed? Last Friday.'

'Last Wednesday then.' He said, nonchalantly staring at the paper.

'What?' I said 'That's over a week, Sherlock!'

'Yes I am aware of that John, I was…'

'Kitchen. NOW!' I barked. He jumped, before scowling and sulkily wandering into the kitchen.

'Really John, I don't see what business of yours it is if I…'

I left him grumbling and stalked to the bathroom. Damn him! I pulled out my kit and 'The List' and skimmed it, but neither of the things I was planning on giving him were there. I checked inside my kit and smiled grimly when I saw what was there, taking out a bottle of milky brown liquid. I went back to the kitchen and poured the brown liquid into a glass before slamming it down on the table and saying 'Drink.'

He inspected the glass, revulsion on his face before saying imperiously 'Not that I'm not grateful John, but what on earth is it?'

I glanced over my shoulder and sniffed 'Diorolite. Chicken flavour.' The look on his face told me all I needed to know.

'Honestly John, I know the health service is free but that doesn't mean you can take whatever you like!'

I sighed and pinched my nose 'Sherlock, the st John ambulance crews don't even bother kitting out their ambulances, they just borrow stuff of the regular crews. That is theft. Not grabbing Diorolite when I can which, living with you, is a precaution. Now drink up!'

He gave me a penetrating stare from over the rim of his glass, which lost all effect when he gagged.

'God that's vile!'

I grinned humourlessly. 'I know Sherlock. It's to teach you a lesson. Next time it'll be tomato flavour.' I added, throwing the putrid mixture down the sink. He looked at me sadly.

'You used to be nice.' He complained

I smiled indulgently 'I'm still nice.' I said innocently 'I didn't make you drink it all did I?' I plonked a bowl of honey nut cornflakes down in front of him. And then I made the fatal mistake. I walked away.

Walking away was a stupid thing to do under the circumstances anyway, because Sherlock had been known to scrape an entire meal into the dustbin and still be back in his seat with an innocent expression, thirty seconds later. But it was really stupid because the one thing that was not on The List was the one thing that potentially could have killed him.

Sherlock is fatally allergic to nuts.

I heard a crash from the kitchen and came running, he was sprawled on the floor, his neck was swelling and he somehow still managed to look utterly bored by the whole thing. I stared for a few seconds before medical school and all those pointless seeming first aid courses caught up with me and I ran to the bathroom, yanked open the medicine cabinet and pulled out an epipen. On the way back, almost as an afterthought, I picked up my mobile and dialled for an ambulance.

I skidded into the kitchen in my socks and managed to kneel beside Sherlock who was choking now and his lips were going an alarming shade of blue. I managed o get him to lie still for a minute and thumped the pen hard into his leg.

There was silence in the little kitchen for moment, except for Sherlock's ragged breathing. Then I heard 'Hello?' in my ear and remembered the ambulance.

I spoke to the controller and confirmed that my casualty was conscious and breathing but 'A bit bleary'. I told her his allergies (took a while) and that I was a doctor. She told me the ETA for an ambulance was twelve minutes. Amber on the triage, middlingly serious.

By this time, Sherlock had started to recover. He scowled at me and rubbed his leg.

'You didn't need to hit me that hard!' he pouted

'In English we say thank you.' I said mildly

'Well.' He seemed to be fighting with himself. 'Thank you… I suppose.'

I smiled annoyingly at him.

'Piece of cake.' I replied.

He was still sulking when the ambulance arrived a few minutes later.

AN: Hmmm… not a great chapter. Oh well, review if you have any form of opinion. Or if you don't have an opinion and just like being a part of things. Yay the undecided!