A/N: Thanks for the reviews and well wishes, being stuck at home at least has the benefit of giving me time to write (this is the longest chapter yet!). Enjoy :)

John happily turned the key in the lock, letting himself back into 221b. He'd left about half an hour ago to pick up a few things down at the local shops after having finally gotten Sherlock into bed. He'd been awake for over 80 hours after a complicated private case. He'd been a real mess displaying this by spewing deductions, unrelated facts and was also showing signs of hallucinations right before he'd finally gone into his bedroom and hopefully succumbed to his 'transport's' needs . Sleep deprivation did that to you. The doctor in him was horrified that the man kept pushing himself like this but it just drove home the fact that it was good that he himself was there to look after his friend.

As he made his way inside the front hall their landlady stepped forward out of the entrance of her flat. "Oh, thank goodness you're back". She looked a little harried but there was relief revealing itself now that support had arrived.

"Mrs. Hudson what's happened? What's wrong?" her kind tenant questioned with real concern. At that there was a thump and a bellow from up above that could only be from one person. John groaned and rubbed at his eyes. "I thought we'd finally got him down" he sighed, sounding pained but also as though he was discussing an unruly two year old.

The woman tapped at her bottom lip in a sign of worry. "As soon as you left there he was back up again going on about spies and something or another. I stayed down here mostly, thought it was best"

"You did the right thing". He assessed the items he'd bought that could very quickly get broken. "Listen, I'm going to leave the bags here for now and deal with this first"

"Well be careful, won't you? You know what he's like when he needs a rest. Reminds me of-"

"-sorry Mrs. Hudson" he politely interrupts as though talking with one of his elderly patients, he begins to move "but I better get up there"

"Oh yes of course, Dear, off you go" she agrees and takes out the milk and butter to put away in her fridge then potters off to her own flat to wait it out.

As John ascends the stairs he pauses as the squeaky step screeches under his weight, he imagines that the probable storm of arms and legs above halt at the sound as it has gone eerily quiet up there. He's been discovered.

"Sherlock?" John calls out in a calm voice. "Sherlock, are you out of bed?". He gently opens the door which leads directly to the main area of the flat. He gazes around looking for the most likely hallucinating detective. It takes him longer than it should, he was beginning to think he could be in the kitchen or his bedroom. Instead staring at him from behind his black leather arm chair was a shock of messy curls and manic blue eyes. That was all of him that was visible, the rest of him was hiding behind the furniture. "Sherlock-"

"Shhhhhhh!" the man had risked popping up a little further so that he could stick a raised finger over his lips to complete the silencing action. "Spy" he whispered, which was unnecessary when it was delivered at the same level as he usually spoke. "Your gun, and hurry! Could be dangerous". At this he pointed towards the kitchen with wide, knowing eyes. "Careful!" he added as an afterthought. John cautiously shuffled around, taking his time to look as though he was playing along. There he saw nothing unusual, behind him the crouching man was hissing 'your gun, your gun!' so John raised his hand sticking out a finger with his thumb raised like he did playing cops and robbers as a kid. It seemed to satisfy Sherlock who hissed "Near the sink!".

That was when the doctor understood. Sherlock had left a blazer on the back of a chair which was sitting back against the cupboards and behind it was an empty ice cream tub resting at the edge of the bench. Together they must have looked like a person in his sleep deprived state. Either that or he had just seen a person out of nothing, which at his level of tiredness was also very much a possibility. He moved both the items then turned as there was a large thump behind him.

Sherlock in his relief or joy at John taking care of the 'killer' had stood and then gone face first over the armchair so that his arms and face were sliding down towards the floor and his long legs and feet were in the air. He mumbled something as he just allowed his body to rest there for a moment.

"No, not sleeping there" the blond admonished. He was making his way over when he saw movement at the door and eyed Lestrade who was watching the detective who was still on his stomach and upside down on the chair mumbling and swotting at the floor as though it had jumped up to meet his face.

"Greg, perfect timing, can you give us a hand?"

The DI nodded and shrugged off his overcoat. It was clear to him in only the few seconds he'd been there that his consultant wasn't in his right mind. "He's not high is he?" at this he trying his best to look at the man as he flailed. "He's not usually like this when he's high, unless he's on some sort of downer? Has he been drugged?"

"He might as well be. Sleep deprivation" he explained grabbing onto the right arm carefully. "Without any sleep he'll be having hallucinations, both visual and auditory". He begins to gently try and move the man to no avail. "Who knows what's going on in that brain. I had him in bed then went to the shops but he was up again when I got home. Grab his other arm will you?"

Sherlock looked around wincing. "Did you put your gun away? The other one from the case?" he asked with a little slur.

The doctor couldn't help colouring a little as Greg watched him carefully with widening eyes. "See what I mean? Thinks I have a gun. Barking". He left it at that not seeing the knowing smile from the policeman. He wasn't an idiot. "Ok" John instructed. "Grab him near the armpit, let's get him up". He then started to speak to the lounging brunet whose face was now grinding into the carpet with his own weight. "Sherlock, come on, you're overtired. Time to get up and get to bed".

The two men rolled him over so that he was now on his back, groaning. They pulled him forward so that his hips dropped to the floor leaving his legs on the seat of the chair. He swung his limbs around as though he was falling through space and time in slow motion. As the two men began to raise him up by his arms he seemed to see Greg for the first time and unsuccessfully tried to shake him off saying. "I told you I have an exam tomorrow, Victor, go away. We can discuss your obvious worship of me tomorrow".

"Must have been just as tactful back at uni as he is now. If there ever was a Victor" Lestrade noted with humour, humour which dimmed a bit as he was nearly hit in the head again by a stray limb.

They had him upright, he stumbled like a newborn foal for a moment before being fairly steady on his feet. They were about to walk him to his room when John noted he'd slightly cut his head most likely when he'd fallen. He pointed at the wound and then said "I'll just grab something to wipe that with then we take him. He has tendency to sleep on his front when he's like this so I'll have to do it now".

Greg nodded and watched as the detective bumbled over and took his violin out. "Hey, do you reckon I could get him to agree to anything like this? Maybe get some good blackmail material?".

John let out a bark of laugher as he entered the bathroom, knowing the DI wouldn't actually take advantage of his friend in this condition. The man had had his reasons for filming him last time he was drugged and John had fully supported that at the time. What he'd said the day before about his new haircut and car were fairly unforgivable. "Ha, good luck!". He spent a minute or so looking around for some supplies, or even a clean towel as the violin shrieked to life in the other room. It sounded strange, otherworldly and not completely in tune or pleasant to listen to. "I'm going to have to go upstairs for a moment. Watch him for a minute".

John moved towards the stairs but turned around just in time to see Sherlock pointing his bow at Lestrade and saying "Are you here to audition for second violin? If so, you should have been here an hour ago. I don't appreciate tardiness and you won't make my quartet with that attitude". John returned to the lounge area about three minutes later, it had taken him time to find what he needed. As he descended the steps he could hear a melancholy tune emanating from the Stradivarius. It was beautifully haunting and he couldn't help but feel impressed and a little proud.

Their visitor apparently felt the same way. "Got to give it to him, out of his mind and still able to produce that. Blimey"

"Some men have all the luck with that stuff, don't they? Talent. Can't say I was ever like that with my clarinet". Sherlock was still playing but allowed John to dab at his forehead with the wet gauze. He shut his eyes, head angled perfectly to get to the wound due to the chinrest. He hummed softly in a pleased way at the physical contact. When he was finished John moved to the kitchen to throw out the soiled material. "Can you get that thing off him, please? Let's get him to bed".

Greg did his best, Sherlock was swaying on the spot as he played and not in time with the music which was slowly getting worse. But he still wouldn't give up his prize, pushing the grey haired man away with an elbow in the middle of his chest.

John raised a hand for the policeman to stop and he did, stepping away. The doctor walked up so he was directly in front of Sherlock who now opened his eyes again and gazed down softly at his flatmate. Recognition sparked in his eyes. "John" he murmured in almost a caress "I feel a little strange". Playing always did focus him and it seemed it was now able to give him a moment of clarity no matter how fleeting.

"Time for bed" the blond said once again, this time gently placing a hand on the detective's larger one to halt the bow. Surprisingly it worked and the notes came to a stop.

He allowed the instrument to be taken off him and stood patiently, swaying as he waited for something. Apparently that was for his friend. As soon as John placed a hand on his arm Sherlock let himself be led to his room. "Haven't we already done this today?" he asked, quietly, voice sounding a little rough now.

"Yes, but you like me so much you wanted to do it again"

"Oh. Ok" he agreed. "I must like you a lot".

John was going to gently lay him down but as with the time he'd been drugged by The Woman he somehow fell onto the bed face first and stayed there. "Night, Sherlock" he bade him even though it was only 4pm. He received a long moan in response.

When he returned to the sitting area Greg was still standing, never sitting down without invitation. "Mind taking a look at a couple of photos for me? I've actually got a couple of medical questions so that'll work. Strictly speaking I should have Sherlock take a look but I don't think he's going to be much use to me".

"Let me put the kettle on first. It's been a long few days" John admitted with a weary smile.

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you have a request :)