A/N: I know it's been a long time and I'm sorry. I've gotten involved in other projects and have kind of been at a stand still with this story in terms of ideas. I have to note that there are only about 10 or so more to go.

P.S Thank you for the condolences, I appreciate it.

John stormed into 221B with all due fury and glanced about the flat. Sherlock had nearly died. John could not help but remember the sight of the detective laying on the floor of Magunsenn's apartment shot in the chest. It had been touch and go for a while, and having heard that Sherlock had died on the table had made John even more angry at the detective for charging ahead of him while he cared for Janine's wounds. He was still puzzled as to why Sherlocks's first word, when he woke, was "Mary". After being woke from a medical induced coma, Sherlock's first complaint was that he was in pain, and the other was that he was bored.

As his friend was convalescing in hospital, John had readily agreed to fetch some of Sherlock's things from the flat (also in an attempt to stop the detective from complaining his boredom every five minutes).

John went into the bathroom to get Sherlock's toothbrush and razor, which he stuffed into a canvas bag, along with some other essential toiletries. That done, he returned to the living room and gathered Sherlock's computer and sudoku puzzle. He paused a moment to find his journal sitting on the far left of the computer. He wondered if it was even sanitary to bring the book along considering all the experiments that Sherlock had done in them. John shrugged, it would keep the detective busy for a while at any rate.

John spotted a small piece of fluff sticking out of the top right corner of the journal and opened it to the page which read

Collect Pocket Lint and Glue it to this Page.

Underneath this were three tufts of lint with the names "John," "Mrs. H." and Lestrade, and below this were the following notes:

John has eaten at the restaurant in the past two days and accidentally left a fiver in his pocket.

Mrs. Hudson's cat has been shedding of late. She kept a small memento of her latest bo's Lestrade has had a cold in the past few days and has taken up with a 33-year-old woman that is prematurely greying.

John shook his head and decided not to ask himself how he got Lestrade's pocket" lint, or why the police officer would have a piece of his girlfriend's hair in his pocket. "Are is the question why," he breathed, glancing around one more time to check if he had gotten everything. He shuddered at the sight of the fireplace and the memory of Magnusenn, before he shuddered and left the flat.

When John returned to the hospital room, he found Sherlock slightly more conscious than he'd left him though still looking rather well...out of it.

"Sherlock," John called and placed a hand on his shoulder. Glazed hazel eyes swung to him and a goofy grin spread across the detective's face.

"Joohn..." Sherlock crooned and broke into a giggle "Johnny Boooy.."

John winced remembering when Moriarty called him that. "Sherlock. I guess I don't have to ask how you're feeling, mate."

Sherlock broke into an odd giggle, "Emm...nooo."

If the situation was not so serious, John would have snickered at Sherlock's obvious loopiness. Instead, he pulled out the journal and placed it on the tray table next to his friend, setting aside the other things as Sherlock was not in a condition which he could use his computer.

"I brought your journal," John said, "Thought it might occupy your time here, which going by your injury, will be a while."

"Thaank you, Joohn." Sherlock returned as he limply flipped the pages until he found and empty one. Sherlock put his nose to it and read aloud, "draw..lines...with your...pen...or...pencil. Lick.. your... finger...and...smear the lines." His head lifted for a moment. "Have a pen Joohn?"

John glanced around to find one on the side table, which he placed next to the detective.

Sherlock slopily scribbled all over the page before dipping his fingers into the plastic cup of water next to him, then licking his own fingers before pressing them over the pen marks on the page. This done, Sherlock set aside the pen and stretched with a yawn. His eyes were at half mast as he glanced at his friend.

"Alright mate, I think that's enough fun for one night." John decreed as he closed the journal and set it aside. "Time for you to rest."

To his surprise, Sherlock didn't argue, laying back and closing his eyes, the detective was asleep within minutes.

Finally, John allowed himself a chuckle, suddenly wishing that he had taken a video of this.

TBC...