Okay, so now we're going to take a break from John and move into some (hopefully) less confusing stuff...

Jesuslovesmaria: I think I understand what you're asking so let me try and give you an answer. Each memory patch erases only 3 hours of memory. Mycroft left John 8 patches each able to erase 3 hours of memory; this equals a total amount of 24 hours that can be forgotten. If John went over the limit, he would still remember some of the conversation he had with Mycroft. (I know that I mentioned Sherlock in the list of things that John would forget and to understand that you just have to remember that John's version of time is very different from Mycroft's.)

I hope that helps! ;)

Disclaimer: Guess who still doesn't own BBC Sherlock? (Just in case you couldn't guess; the answer is me.)

Sherlock stood at the window staring into the street. The thin man fingered his phone and tucked it into his pocket. He was thinking.

The cell phone vibrated and Sherlock snatched it up, hoping for some sort of case. The number that came up was John's. With a grin, Sherlock answered the cellular device,

"Hello? This is Sherlock." He said,

"Hello?" A woman's voice sounded on the other side, "Hello? Is someone there?" Sherlock's smile faded,

"Hello? Who is this?"

"My name's Lexy. I-I didn't know what to do…your name was the first one on the contact list." Sherlock began to feel uneasy,

"How did you get this phone?" He demanded,

"It was just lying next to him…oh, gosh; I hope he's not dead." Sherlock stood up in alarm,

"Lexy? Where are you?! What's happened to John?!" The woman on the other end hesitated,

"No, wait, he's breathing. He's alive." She sounded relieved, "I actually work with John sometimes, we're still here at the hospital…they were running low on doctors." Sherlock didn't hang up as he got on his coat and scarf,

"Lexy, get help. Make sure that John's alright. I'm going to hang up now but I'll be there as soon as I can." Sherlock hung up the phone and charged down the stairs. He hailed a cab and gave the driver the Watson's address. As they drove Sherlock called Mary and filled her in. Mary was ready to go as soon as the cab pulled up. They headed to the hospital.

A knock on the flat door startled the consulting detective out of his thoughts,

"Come in." He said. Mary opened the door. She was in her coat and boots; her eyes were slightly swollen and red but her overall appearance was neat.

"You ready?" She asked taking in his trench coat and gloves, "The cab's waiting outside." Sherlock nodded and followed Mrs. Watson out of the room. It seemed like shorter than six weeks since the Watsons had returned from their honeymoon and John had begun work again. You couldn't even see that Mary was pregnant yet.

The ride to the hospital was silent; they always were. The cab seemed to take forever to get to the building. Sherlock wondered why he still wasn't used to it. The ride was familiar now, he could tell you what was around the next turn, the next tree they would pass, how many traffic lights there were and much, much more.

Mary was quiet, her eyes trained straight ahead. She was doing her best not to think. Not to count down the minutes and seconds that still lay between her and her husband. When the cab did pull up in front of that oh-so recognizable building she scrambled out and hurried inside. Sherlock paid the driver and headed after her. He stopped, though, and looked at the building. This could be it; John could have died during the night. Sherlock turned his coat collar down and stepped inside.

Mary was already heading into the hall with the nurse and Sherlock lagged behind them; he always did. The nurse followed Mary to the door and opened it for her. The two stepped inside and Sherlock tucked his hands inside his pockets and leaned against the wall. This wasn't something he was going to barge into. This wasn't his business; if Mary wanted him she would say so. The door opened and the nurse walked out. She glanced at Sherlock as she passed and then back at the door. Sherlock took the cue and walked in.

The man on the bed look so unlike John with all the machines hooked up to him. Mary was standing at the foot of his bed just looking. Sherlock joined her,

"Any news?" he asked, fearing the worst.

"No." Mary's voice was hollow. Sherlock smiled and wrapped one arm around the woman's shoulder,

"Good." He breathed. Mary turned on him with a shocked expression on her face. Sherlock looked at her, "That means he's not any worse." He assured her.

Mary looked at her friend. Sherlock had been so helpful; he had stepped out of his comfort zone again and again just to make sure she was doing alright. He was doing it now. Here he was, probably making deductions on anything the doctors and nurses might be hiding but he was being optimistic for her sake. Mrs. Watson wondered what she would have done without Holmes. She sighed.

"Where is he?!" Mary screamed as the two of them plunged into the hospital. Nurses looked up sharply as Mary slammed her hands down on the front desk. "Where is John!? Where is my husband?!" She sobbed uncontrollably. Sherlock stepped forward he placed his hands onto Mary's shoulders and looked at the nurse. A frantic light was in his eyes but he forced himself to speak as calmly as he could.

"I received a phone call concerning John Watson." He said in a shaky voice. Realization broke over the face of the woman behind the desk. She stood up hurriedly,

"This way, please."

Mary shook her head. "Don't think about that." She muttered. He looked the same, though, they had added the feeding machine later but he was still in the same room and the same bed. He had been like this for four and one-third weeks. Mary had tried so hard but she couldn't stop keeping count of the days that dragged by. The determined woman wasn't about to give up hope in her soldier though. "Oh, John," she whispered, "If you die, I swear, I will kill you."

Sherlock either didn't hear what she had said or he just thought it unnecessary to reply to her. He had his phone out, scanning through some article. As he was reading his ringtone sounded. Mary turned towards John, hoping that the noise would somehow wake him up. Nothing happened and Sherlock picked up the phone.

"Sherlock Homes," he said and stepped out of the room. Mary leaned close to the door, listening. "No," Sherlock was saying in an annoyed voice, "I've told you again and again that I'm not interested in any case that you might possibly have to offer…Really? A man who can't die? Wow. Where did you get that idea? Anderson could come up with a better theory than that. Good-bye, Lestrade." Sherlock hung up and stood in the hallway for a moment. Everything was so still, so quiet…it was dreadful. The man turned and re-entered the room of the sleeping medical man. "Mary," he said quietly, "you should try and eat something."

"What? Like you do?" She asked sarcastically as she took in her friend's sunken cheeks and hollow appearance. Sherlock smirked,

"I've trained myself to be able to go without food for a long time." Mary snorted. "Also," Sherlock continued, "I'm not a pregnant woman who would be endangering not only her life but the life of another human by not giving it the proper nutrition." Mary just looked at him,

"Well…" she muttered.

"Shall I go get you something, Mother Watson?" Holmes questioned. Mary gave in,

"Alright, but I'm not making any promises that I'm going to eat a lot."

"No," Sherlock breathed, "we don't want you to go into stress eating, do we?" Mary lifted her purse threateningly and Sherlock smiled while he hurriedly ducked out of the room.

The black-haired male paced down the hall and tapped down the stairs, whistling snatches of a song that he had recently started to compose. As he walked out of the hospital his keen eyes noticed a very familiar man. Sherlock groaned mentally and hoped that Mycroft hadn't seen him but it was only moments before Sherlock found his older brother walking next to him. Sherlock had to quicken his pace to keep up with the older man.

"Hello, brother mine." Mycroft began. Sherlock glanced at him,

"How's the diet?" He asked turning his eyes back to the sidewalk before him.

"I might ask the same of you. You've lost at least four pounds. Have you eaten at all since John was found?" Sherlock muttered something inaudible.

It was true though, he had hardly eaten at all since Watson had ended up in the hospital. Sure he had a biscuit every now and again and he would partially eat a meal when Mrs. Hudson asked it of him but, to be honest, he had forgotten about eating. No one seemed to get that bit. When Sherlock was focused on something- really focused- he pushed everything aside and, very often, that caused him to forget certain things.

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" Was the reply that Mycroft received,

"Barely," Mycroft confirmed him, "you're even having trouble keeping up with me and this is my slower pace." Sherlock stopped abruptly,

"What is it to you?" He demanded. Mycroft turned and looked, not at Sherlock, but at his little brother. "It never mattered to you before! Why do you care now?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft sighed,

"Little brother, you have hardly eaten anything for almost five weeks and you want to know why I'm concerned. I'm always concerned." Mycroft inspected the tip of his umbrella, "I do really think that you're putting yourself in danger." Sherlock shook his head but that only made him dizzy. He had been feeling the consequences of his actions more and more lately. Mycroft shook his head, "It will never do if both you and John are in the hospital. Come on." He said as a black car pulled up. Sherlock looked at it in a sort of desperate way; he hated to admit that Mycroft was right but he also knew that he was in no state to fight against his brother's will.

"Mary…" he muttered dumbly. Mycroft smiled,

"She will be taken food, don't worry. Just get in the car, Sherlock." Mycroft spoke in his soft, gentle way that was both threatening and soothing. Sherlock hesitated a moment longer before complying. The British Government climbed into the car after his little brother and the car disappeared down the road.

"What is it really?" Sherlock asked as car moved along. Mycroft looked at him before handing him a bag,

"Eat while I talk." He ordered. Sherlock obediently began to consume the food that Mycroft had, doubtlessly, brought from home. "Now listen, brother dear," Mycroft began, "I know you're not taking cases but-" Sherlock looked up sharply,

"But?" He asked.

"But," Mycroft repeated, "You might want to take this one up. It has to do with John's current state. It may not be as 'faultless' as you are inclined to believe."

Sherlock froze.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelp, so much for less confusing...

;)