Okay guys I just wanted to say sorry for being away for such a long time. I guess you could say things have been a little stressful, work has been pushing me hard but I got promoted so it was well worth it. My cat, who I've had for fifteen years of my life, is dying so I'm real broken up about that. Plus my girlfriend is pretty far away right now so I'm starting to see why long distance relationships have such a infamous reputation. Anyway I hope I'm not away for that long again for awhile.

thefangoddess said: "What if one day after Mary is gone, Sherlock arrives at John's new flat covered in injuries and crap, but here's the catch: he arrives like Irene did that one time (I haven't watched SiB in a while) and John walks into his bedroom and Sherlock is passed out on his bed."

I wasn't sure if you meant Mary was gone like out of town or gone like DEAD or what so I rolled with it and basically I hope you like it. I just want to thank you all again for reading and sending me some love, reading your reviews always makes me smile!

John leaned against the door and sighed as he entered his flat. The stress of dealing with an endless stream of patients, three of which were hypochondriacs who refused to leave until he prescribed something, had taken its toll. He stretched and heard something click, then he pretended he hadn't heard it click. Not because he was denying his age or anything, of course.

The doctor felt weary and in need of a nap. He stumbled into his bedroom and kicked off his shoes. He was about to throw himself onto the bed when he realized that his bed was currently occupied. This confused him for a number of reasons.

The most important reason was of course that the occupant in his bed was none other than Sherlock Holmes, who was bleeding onto John's sheets.

John instantly went into medical mode, pulling back the covers and searching for serious injuries, of which he found none. The detective was covered in various minor scrapes and bruises but the most serious injury was a large cut across the palm of his hand as though he'd reached out and caught a knife with it. The only threat there was that he might lose the full ability to open and close his hand. John ran back into the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit out from under the sink. He didn't even bother to wake Sherlock up, just went to work bandaging and cleaning all he could.

Of course, receiving medical care is usually enough to wake a person up, and so Sherlock's eyes blinked open. He yawned and readjusted himself slightly.

"John."

"You know most people just text first, when they feel like popping in." John scolded him immediately.

"Neither of us is most people." Sherlock replied, and John didn't say anything because he agreed but didn't feel like telling Sherlock that he did. Sherlock studied John for a moment, quietly and thoughtfully, then he reached up and pulled on John's jumper. John let the hand guide him into the bed, sitting on the edge where he could still reach the first aid kit he'd placed on the nightstand. Sherlock scooted over and lay his head on John's lap.

"I missed you." He breathed.

"It's not like you couldn't come and visit." John grumbled.

"Yes, it was." Sherlock muttered. "I don't fit into an ordinary life...or whatever it is you have now."

"You're such an idiot." John rolled his eyes. "You always fit into my life."

"I'd like to be a part of your life again." Sherlock sighed. John had been bandaging his hurt hand, which gave him the perfect opportunity to seize one of John's hands and press a kiss to it. Before John had time to splutter or blush, Sherlock was already asleep again.

John sat frozen for a moment, then he shook his head and just let his hands run through Sherlock's wild hair.