This is actually quite short :/ I didn't realise until I'd uploaded it...oh well, the story is done now, in my head, so I can't add anything to it.

Truthfully it's not as "Exciting" as the other chapters, because it's finally time for John to realise his mistake, but hopefully it is still interesting enough to be a good read, and I hope you all like it.

It's actually a Sunday now, when I'm writing this, although it might not be when I've uploaded it so ignore that...

Anyway, all I can say is, READ!

oOo

Sunday -

In the long tradition of time, Sunday's are, and always were, supposed to be days of relaxation. Of rest. Of no screaming, near heart attacks, blades flying at you, explosions, yelling, or fear of dying. Sunday's are quiet.

John was not expecting a Sunday. Or a Staurday, or even a Friday. From now on, he was going to treat every day like a Monday. That awful day of the week that you dread, but at least you are prepared for the worst to happen. Yes, in the history of being prepared, a Monday was at the top of the list.

He had gotten up relatively early - around eight - to sneak out and buy some milk; they were in short supply - as always - and his flatmate was hardly one to even think about shopping.

The reason he had been inclined to 'creep' out of the flat was because Sherlock, for once, was actually in his room, probably not asleep, but more likely lost in trains of thought.

Around an hour after he had left, John tiptoed back inside. He had been caught up a bit, meeting Mike Stamford on his way out of the store and drawn into a twenty minute long conversation on how things were going in the new flat - the summary of John's answer had been "I'm never bored" with a natural rolling of his eyes.

Now, after talking abouot it again, his uncertainty was back. Carefully, John's eyes searched every inch of space. He flung the curtains open, letting bright light into the room so that he could see everything. At every creak of the floorboard, ever car that sped past the window, John flinched. When he made it to his armchair safely, he did a sweep of the floor - and the ceiling - and every other area around the chair, before cautiously sitting down.

A few minutes later, Sherlock walked down the stairs, noticed him with a moment of faltering surprise, and looked back up to the bedrooms.

He was just about to speak, when John stood, his 'stern' expression taking over, "Ok, the tarantula's are still both locked in their cage, the head is still in the fridge - I think - the hand is still in the sink, there are no knives on the ceiling, there's no candy floss in sight, and there is no brain matter jamming any of the plumbing therefore no chance of flooding. I don't want anything, anything to leap out at me, fall on me, make me feel sick to the skin, or drench me, and now I am going to sit here, with a mug of tea, and read todays paper". He took a deep breath, feeling better now that he'd rattled off his safety list to Sherlock, and smiled in exhaustion.

Maybe that would make him think twice.

Sherlock didn't answer. He looked like he was taking it all in, but then, this was the worlds only Consulting Detective, who could tell a pilot from his left thumb. He could almost definitely pass off a simple "interested" expression.

There was a glance, sliding warily to the side to glance at a tray that lay on the kitchen table, full of, what looked like, some kind of melted cakes. John made a mental note not to touch any of them.

And then there was a thud suddenly, loud and clear, from upstairs. It came from directly above where John was standing so he knew it was coming from Sherlock's room, which was slightly more comforting. But then it was followed by a loud crash and he couldn't help but wince ever so slightly. Sherlock meanwhile looked upwards at the ceiling with a piercing glare, as if that would shut whatever it was up. When another thump sounded, he looked back down at John, his well known stone expression staring at him, but the edge of a frown curling around his lips, as he knew by now how curious, and equally temper-mental, John was.

"Don't ask", he said, the small wavering anxious tone hidden in his voice.

And for once, John rubbed his forehead, closed his eyes tight, thinking over ever time in the past week he had demanded to be told what was going on, and every time he had decided he absolutely definitely certainly needed to know...and he sat back down on his chair, deciding that suddenly, he didn't really want to know anything after all...

...Even when there was a sound of glass smashing and something alive fell right past the living room window with a short scream...

oOo

And that...is it...

A whole week, done and dusted. Well, not dusted, that was a lie. But it's definitely done. Yay! :D

I would of, course, love to never stop writing but I think it's time Sherlock was given another case, a proper case. One that doesn't have the possibility of killing John.

So all I can say is thank you much for reading, and I hope, and wish, that everyone enjoyed it.

Please be the kind and amazing people you are and leave reviews with your thoughts, because they are happy and everyone wants to be happy, and it's FINISHED!

:)

- Ghostgirl468 x