Disclaimer: I'm not even trying to be funny anymore...*sobs* Don't own.

Sorry, this took me another decade, oops. I hope you're alright with my little update-o-phobia, can't help it. But tell you what, it gets better. Honestly. Or at least hopefully, I will try.

And thanks so much for the wonderful response, bros. I cannot express enough how much I love you. You keep me rolling.

I see a pair of nubby little fingers, a children's hand. Twitching for dear life. Oh look, it's my hand. I can't remember it being that small. Eww, I can see my veins though. Gross. That's not what I want to see first thing in the morning.

My eyes look a bit further up, finding their way to John's bed. And to the light. God, that stings. As if my head wouldn't hurt enough anyway.

But John's bed is empty, sadly. Where's he gone to now? Hopefully just to the bathroom and not another room entirely. As I said, I don't want to be alone. Let's hope I haven't scared him off.

I look at the clock and find that it's already half past three, although that's probably early for me. I wouldn't know, time doesn't matter to me much. All that does is that I'm awake, yet another day. Mummy's gonna be happy with me.

Oh, speaking of which, I think she wants to give me a visit soon. Somewhere around, when? - Oh, I've forgotten. Stupid. My brain. One could think I had some kind of brain disease, not neuroblastoma. But then, life is full of surprises.

I have been clever once, I think. If I am to believe Mycroft. But I haven't got much time left for being clever nowadays; I'm far too busy cancering. Or whatever that's called.

A nurse is entering the room, the irritating one. I use to call her the plague.

I know I'm always told that you shouldn't judge people, blah, blah, but her- that's a whole other calibre. She's never ever not in a jolly good mood and she talks about chemotherapy and radiation as if it were the most fun in the world. That I should stay optimistic, there's absolutely nothing to worry about.

Well tell you what, that's not it. She never had to sit through this bloody torment. Especially not with a nurse that is treating you like a toddler. Wanting to convince you of a lie.

I turn around, trying to look as far away as possible with my aching head. The disease sighs and goes to the other side of the bed, a frown on her face. I wonder how she's not used to my behaviour yet. The doctors always tell me that I'm an insufferable little smart-arse. At least someone seems to get it.

"Hm, how are we today?" She says, checking my temperature with a hopefully feigned smile on her face. I keep silent. She only nods, thinking her part. "Well, you have to take your tablets soon, him?"

I prop myself up a little; my still twitching, clumsy fingers picking up the tablets one by one out of her firm hand. Cyclophophamide, Carboplatin, Vincristine. All silly names for chemotherapy tablets really. Why didn't they just call them useless anyway and let that that be it? But hey, I'm doing this for Mummy. And Daddy. Maybe even Mycroft.

"Where's John?" I ask, at both ends trying to escape swallowing this deadly poison and really wanting to know where John is buggering around.

The curse only shrugs, smiling at me reassuringly. "He must be-"

"Here." He says, waving, apparently just back from the loo. Phew, close one.

I can see him walk back to bed. So, he's still able to do that? Cancer can't have come far then yet, not even to the bone marrow. He should count himself lucky. I'm such an embarrassing sight. And I have to ask someone to guide me to the bathroom every time, in a wheelchair. They can't carry me that far, it would only hurt.

I swallow them one after another, which makes my throat feel really itchy. He looks at me, with a weird expression on his face. Kind of indefinable-weird. I don't know. Not happy.

"Do you want some?" I ask politely, trying to cover up my reaction to the medicine. I shudder.

"No, no- thanks. I had mine already." He says, half of a smile crossing his face. John goes back to bed and I see his hand twitching in unison to mine as he slips under the blanket. He looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes. "Only minutes ago."

Oh, I see then. "Did you puke?"

"Do you seriously think I will answer that question?"

"It was more of a rhetorical question anyway." I look away embarrassedly.

"Do you even know what rhetorical means?"

"Maybe."

"So no...?"

"Okay, no. I only picked that up from Mycroft somewhere and thought it sounded clever. But this just made me look like an idiot." I shake my head, as I feel the medicine kicking in. Sinking in. Ouch.

"That's because you are." He smiles against the pain.

"Hey, you barely even know me- you're not supposed to judge people-"

John giggles. "You're weird."

I look at him, eyes half closed. "You too."

The pest leaves the room, but not after checking on us both for one last time. And then we're alone. Me and John. It doesn't even feel that uncomfortable. A bit weird, but goodly weird.

I see him close his eyes, perhaps I should just let him sleep. But hey, what's life without a bit of fun. Even for me, the sicko. He breathes in and out evenly, in an even rhythm that is. Almost asleep.

I try to catch out for the remote of his bed, but it's a bit too far. Maybe if I stretch out a bit that way, I- yes, that's it. I have the remote in hand. And I press the first button that I can reach.

Suddenly John's back floats up, making John moan. "Sherlock, please, this isn't even remotely funny."

"Oh yes, this is very remotely funny." I say, pressing yet another button. This time his back is falling back down again. He looks so funny this way.

"Sherlock, can you please just-?" He says, clearly irritated. Maybe he'll be calling me 'the plague' soon. Hopefully not. I mean, I never had a real nickname, but plague isn't the most favourable one I'd like to have.

His feet take an unexpected turn. "If you don't stop soon, I will-" And back down again. Why haven't I noticed the use of hospital beds before? This is probably the most fun I ever had.

"You didn't want it any other way!" He exclaims heroically, taking over control of my bed, remote in hand. Let the war of beds begin. And let's see who'll back down first. I'm sure it'll not be me. I feel invincible.