The TARDIS emerged gradually at the end of Baker Street, picking up dirt and empty carried bags with the wind it created. It wasn't a common sight in London these days (police boxes were not used any more) and there was the occasional pedestrian who would stop and gawp at the sight in front of them.

It was a sunny day, hot without a cloud in the sky. Summer was on it's way. As the four of them stepped out of the box, Amy keeping an arm around Sherlock to enable him to keep balanced, they could hear the sounds of city traffic. Beeping horns, roaring bus engines, fierce motorbikes, emergency sirens that screeched like worried owls.

"There we are. Home sweet home," said the Doctor, scanning around Baker Street before doing tiny jumps on the spot.

"It's a new day..." breathed Sherlock. When he had left with them before it had been night time and raining.

"Yes. Well, I may have gone forward a bit by a few hours. Don't worry, it's perfectly normal," replied the Doctor. "It does happen from time to time."

More like all of the time, thought Amy with a smile.

River was reminiscing as she looked around, smoothing down her jeans and undoing her jacket to cool off. "The last time I was on this street I was hanging out with The Beatles. August 1966. Now that was a night to remember." She beamed radiantly.

"Yes, and don't I know all about your stories with famous bands of the 60's and 70's," sighed the Time Lord pointing his index finger at his wife. "Why you didn't invite me I will never understand."

Sherlock wasn't listening. 221b was up ahead and he was longing to get back inside and sit down. He gazed at the doorstep, his head spinning constantly like it had done when he had experienced the Waltzers at Hunstanton as a child. Mycroft had refused to go on them, the wimp. It came to his attention that two figures were walking towards the flat. A man in a black coat and a woman in a grey one. They rang the doorbell several times. "John," Sherlock called, stumbling forward. Amy was closely behind as he pushed onward, ignoring the stiffness in the back of his knees.

John and Mary turned in unison and there eyes widened in relief. However, there was a look of anger on John's face. "Where the bloody hell have you been?!" the ex army doctor demanded, closing the distance between him and the detective.

It took Sherlock a moment to get his bearings. "I, er... I went out for the night. For a case, obviously." Because obviously Sherlock Holmes never went out for the night for any other reason.

John took a huge intake of breath before exploding like a volcano. "You went out for the night? A night? Sherlock, it's been three bloody weeks!"

"No, it hasn't," he said, almost laughing.

"It has." Behind John, Mary nodded in agreement. "Three bloody weeks! The wedding is a week-"

Turning to the Doctor, Amy shot him a disapproving look which made the Doctor retreat slightly. "Oooooh. Whoops. A bit too far forward, then... again... Yes. Sorry. It's the TARDIS, she does that."

"Doctor, it is not the TARDIS's fault," his companion hissed.

John was carrying on with his rant. "I was so worried about you, Sherlock. We both were. We thought something had happened to you, that you had gotten yourself into bloody trouble again! Mrs Hudson was panicking beyond belief. I phoned Lestrade. I phoned Mycroft-"

"You phoned my brother, what for?" He was annoyed at any mention of Mycroft's name. The interfering old miser.

"In case something had happened to you! Sherlock, you scared the shit out of everyone. Out of me."

"Whatever happened to 'Hello, Sherlock. Welcome home'?"

Sherlock pushed past John and Mary to get to the door. John looked irritated. Then he noticed the male and female a distance behind Amy, along with the TARDIS. "Who are they?" he asked a tad too loudly.

"Shut up, John," hushed Amy. "They are my friends."

"And the box?"

"That's transport. Excuse me." She pushed past carefully to help Sherlock with the door.

"Transport?" questioned John incredulous as he followed Sherlock and Amy inside with his fiancee in tow. "Don't be so fuc- that's a police box."

"Yes," said Amy as they headed up the stairs and into the living room. "A police box..." She couldn't be bothered explaining everything to John. She would leave that to Sherlock instead. She expected that he would believe his friend more than her.

Once in the living room Sherlock hitched off his coat, slinging it on the the edge of the chair. He felt glad to be home. Back to familiarity.

"So what have you been doing, huh? These past three weeks?" John continued.

"John..." Mary nudged him to silence him.

"Quiet please, John," sighed Sherlock. His head was starting to throb. He removed his scarf and slumped down on the sofa in exhaustion. He really hoped he would recover quickly, his body was going against him and he didn't like it.

It was then that John noticed the green tint pertruding from Sherlock's shirt collar on his neck. Royal blue veins meandered up his neck, fading as they cascaded off into thinner tributaries at the ends. "Jesus, Sherlock..." he gasped in horror. He went to touch Sherlock's neck, investigate the sight, but Sherlock pushed him away with an 'I'm fine.' "What happened?"

That was Amy's cue to return. She had busied herself in the kitchen with a load of medication the Doctor had given her for Sherlock to take over the next few days. Concoctions that would help fight off what little poison was left in his system. "He was attacked," she explained carrying a tray with a glass containing clear gloopy liquid on and a wet flannel to cool off his temperature.

"Attacked by what?" probed Mary. "What would do that to someone because that is not normal."

Sherlock downed the liquid with a grimace, wiped his mouth and said; "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does, Sherlock," heaved John.

"He was-" Just as Amy began Sherlock looked at her, pleading her to stop with his intense eyes. Don't tell them truth she read from his expression. A beat. Then; "He was poisoned."

"With what?"

"I don't know. The Doctor did, though, and he gave Sherlock some treatment. Don't worry, it's not life threatening." Anymore. She feigned a smile.

John nodded even though he knew that they weren't telling him the complete truth. It would have to suffice for now, though, because Sherlock looked like hell and obviously needed time to recover. He felt Mary rubbing his back in comfort and he nodded again. "Right. Okay. Is there anything I can do?"

"There's not much any of us can do other than keep an eye him, make sure he takes the medication and make sure he doesn't do anything other than rest."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock sighed exasperated. "How wonderful."

"How long will it take for him to recover?"

"I am in the room in case anyone has forgotten," Sherlock added.

"A few days. Maybe a week. I'm not sure." Amy shrugged. "It will take as long as it has to. But don't worry, I will make sure he's better in time for your wedding."

"And the stag night," said John. "Pub crawl. You promised." He pointed his finger in Sherlock's direction.

"I wont let you down John..." No, he wouldn't. He would never let down John Watson. Not anymore.

With a smile, Amy wandered into the kitchen. She expected that the Doctor and River had materialised off by now, which was okay, she was okay. She had to look after Sherlock now. She didn't have to, she felt obliged to. After all, she felt it was partly her fault he ended up in this situation. Turning to John and Mary she flicked on the kettle. "Want to stay for some tea?"