AN: 'What?!' I hear you say 'Two updates in as many weeks, is she dying and wants to ingrain her weird sense of humour firmly on our minds?'

No.

This was prompted by Kelllie and thank you very much for your highly complementary review my dear!

Lily

'Oh John!' sighed the long-suffering Mrs Hudson as she stood in the doorway of our flat. 'With Sherlock I could understand this mess but you should know better!'

I flushed in shame slightly and hastily sidled carefully in front of the kitchen table (bearing a bowl of rotten fruit and several odd-coloured old experiments) 'Sorry Mrs Hudson, we will clear up...'

'At some point but not now.' Said Sherlock, coming up behind me and sliding his arm around my waist. I saw Mrs Hudson's face soften considerably at the gesture.

'Well it had better be soon boys. I'm only trying to look after you boys, sooner or later one of you is going to come down with something nasty and then who'll be left to look after you?' She turned, obviously intending to make a grand exit, but squeaked and jumped back as she was confronted with... something. 'What on earth is that?' She squeaked. I shut my eyes and silently begged Sherlock not to answer that truthfully.

He looked over her shoulder in interest. 'I believe it is a yoghurt circa... 23 of October.' He turned to me 'I told you those things were bad for you John.'

Mrs Hudson gave a disgusted little cry, and scampered quickly out of the door.

And now for an explanation.

The reason for our flat's abysmal state was down to the latest case. It was an unusual because it was one that Mycroft had given us, and even more unusual because Sherlock had deemed it interesting enough to be granted his attention.

I fear I am unable to tell you what the case involved, as it contains matters delicate to her majesty's government and even to her majesty herself, and anyway, I don't know what surveillance Mycroft has put in this flat that we haven't ripped out within five minutes of finding, and I am not willing to be 'taken care of' for telling you about Mycroft's little problems.

Anyway, back to the mess in the flat. The case took a surprisingly long time, a week and a half to be exact, and culminated in a certain young man, naming no names, dislocating my knee and shoving me in a cellar in Portsmouth to drown when the tide came in.

Five hours later, I was found by a local policeman and given to Sherlock who had been banned from coming in because of the hyperventilating. I believe I have indicated in an earlier narrative that Sherlock is able to have hysterics completely internally. That statement needs to be changed to 'is sometimes able'.

Now, as you may have guessed Sherlock was fairly pleased to have me back, though I do say so myself, and had become rather vocal and somewhat physical in letting me know that when we arrived back in London. As you may imagine, cleaning was not in the forefront of either of our mind. The flat had begun to look like it had been the victim of a small nuclear attack.

Shortly after the debacle with Mrs Hudson, it became abundantly clear that we should have listened to her. Because Sherlock at the cold Chinese.

I'd told him to throw it away at least three days ago, and yet he hadn't. He'd also decided that it was a good idea to heat it up and tell me that he'd ordered fresh Chinese. I'll admit I probably could have worked out that it wasn't fresh stuff, but I couldn't be bothered. For that I am ashamed.

It was for that reason that Sherlock stumbled out of bed at four in the morning, and ran to our small bathroom, just in time to empty his stomach into the toilet. I sat by him and mopped his brow, making sympathetic noises until six. It was then that I threw up into the sink.

Suddenly I wasn't feeling quite so sympathetic.

It was possibly the groaning, possibly the thumping, very possibly my own quiet whimpering as I laid my head on the toilet seat and started to cry softly, that roused Mrs Hudson and forced her to come upstairs in her nightie with her hair still in curlers.

She gasped as she came to the door of the bathroom 'Oh look at you both!' she said

'I'd rather not.' Sherlock moaned, resting his pale and sweaty face on the side of the bath.

She pulled Sherlock up by the shoulder of his t-shirt and me by the scruff on my neck. 'I warned you didn't I!' She tutted, dragging us back to the sitting room 'I told you you'd catch something if you stayed in this mess, but you didn't listen you never listen!'

She threw us onto the sofa together 'Thank you Mrs Hudson, we'll...' I began weakly

'Oh no you don't John Watson! You've gotten yourself into this mess and it's up to me to get you out!'

As she stormed into the kitchen in search of bleach and buckets, I groaned and buried my head in Sherlock's shoulder. We were in for a fun week...

AN: I have no idea.