John awoke in horrible agony, and feeling very much like he was about to die of thirst. The duvet was unpleasantly sticking to his skin and his tongue was as dry as the Sahara. The most pressing issue however was the pain in his head, from which he could only assume he'd suffered some near-fatal injury and was in the process of dying a slow and excruciating death.

The curtains to his bedroom were suddenly yanked open, temporarily blinding John and exacerbating the pain in his head as a uncharacteristically high amount of London sunshine shone through.

"Oh John!" exclaimed Mrs Hudson, in a much too loud voice, a hand clasped to her chest in the universal sign of shock. "I didn't see you there dear. Are you feeling quite all right? It's not like you to be stuck in bed so late. I know it's Saturday and you don't work today and... I don't mean to pry but..."

John pulled the duvet further up and buried his face under it, drowning out Mrs Hudson's ramblings.

A little while later John could smell something delicious, and out of curiosity he peered over the top of the duvet to take a deeper sniff.

Bacon, and eggs... and was that the kettle!?

John ripped the duvet off, rolled to the edge of the mattress, and fell face-first on to the floor.

In the kitchen half of the table had been cleared of experiments and there was now a mouthwatering plate of bacon, eggs and baked beans. Mrs Hudson was just stirring the milk into a mug of tea when a very rumpled looking John staggered through the entrance to the kitchen.

"Oh John, there you are! I hope you boys don't mind that I moved a few things around, none of it looked terribly important but, well, I never know what Sherlock considers important. You looked a bit peaky this morning so I thought I'd whip you up a nice filling breakfast. Just this once mind, I'm not your housekeeper or your nanny you know."

"I know Mrs Hudson" smiled John, dropping himself into a seat and picking up the nearby fork. He lowered his head over the plate, and inhaled the delicious smells. "Thank you for this. I hadn't realised how hungry I was until just now."

"You're very welcome dear," said Mrs Hudson as she wiped the bench down with a cloth. John hoped it wasn't one Sherlock had used during an experiment.

As he was raising a forkful of beans and bacon he noticed an empty plate and mug on a tray by the sink, he looked from the tray to Mrs Hudson, and raised one brow in question.

"Oh Sherlock's been up for hours. You know how he is, he never sleeps enough. He was sitting in the living room when I came up, lost inside that head of his. I brought him some breakfast in the hopes that he'd at least eat some of it, and wonder of wonders: he ate the whole lot!"

-—

After a while of catching up Mrs Hudson left to go downstairs to her own flat. John finished off his breakfast and left the dishes by the sink as he couldn't be bothered with them right then, not the way he felt. He decided to go and veg out in front of the television for a while instead.

He sat down in his chair and turned the telly on, looking for something that wouldn't necessarily cause him to have to use his poor, tender brain. After flicking through the channels he decided the noise of the telly wasn't helping at all, and gave up, switching it off. He dropped his aching head down into the palms of his hands and shut his eyes.

Immediately he started remembering the dream from last night. The details were a bit blurry but he distinctly remembered the grande finale. Also he had this vague impression that at some point Sherlock had held him? Surely he must have imagined that part. He wished he could remember more of the last night, and in more detail.

John let out a deep sigh, rubbed his palms over his tired eyes and got up off his chair with a pained groan. A walk would help to clear his mind, and the fresh air wouldn't hurt either. He walked over to the door of their flat, pulled his jacket on, grabbed the keys off the side table and proceeded down the stairs of 221 and out the door onto the street.
He decided to just let his feet guide him. He had no particular destination in mind and it was such a nice day for London. The sunlight that had so rudely awoken him was still shining down onto the streets with barely any clouds to cover it. There were people wandering around as far as he could see, and the noise of the city was not helping his head one bit but he was outside now and decided to just endure it.

He walked down a long street full of shops and their respective shoppers who were carrying an alarming amount of bags. As he passed a toy shop something out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention and he stopped and turned to stare. There in the shop window was a stuffed bumblebee, quite large considering their actual size. This one seemed to be size of a toddler at the very least. Before his mind could wander towards an area he was trying to avoid he quickly scurried away from the shop and veered down a quieter street that was made up of mostly domestic properties.

After around 10 minutes of wandering around aimlessly where he had started to shake off his hangover, he spotted what looked to be a children's birthday party at one of the houses up ahead. All the children were dressed up in costumes with no apparent theme judging by what he could see. He grinned as he spotted one of the children dressed up as a Princess/Iron Man, and as he wasn't looking he was momentarily winded as one of children barrelled straight into him. Straightening up he smiled down at the kid and froze as his eyes took in the antennae, and black and yellow stripes.

Oh Bloody Hell...

The universe was obviously having some sort of cosmic fucking joke at his expense.

John mumbled out a quick and placating apology to the kid and then practically turned tail and ran. He headed towards a park that he knew was nearby. The park was also quite full today unsurprisingly. Some people were lain in the grass dozing in the sunshine, or feasting on impromptu picnics. In the distance John could even see a footie game under way, the goal posts constructed out of the lads' abandoned shirts. Miraculously he was able to snag an empty park bench to himself, which was located under the shade of an enormous tree.

He chucked himself gratefully down on it, stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. The jacket that he had been forced to take off earlier in deference to the heat was placed next to him. He shut his eyes and basked in the slight breeze blowing across his face.

Bzzzz...

His eyes shot open, and he stared beseechingly at the clear blue sky overhead. There was a beehive hanging off one of the lower branches of the tree that John was sitting under. Well, at least that went towards explaining why that bench had been empty.

John swatted at a bee that had flown too close for comfort. Another followed close behind and he decided to abandon his bench as a lost cause.

Shoulders slightly slumped in defeat John made the long trek back to Baker Street.

"I'm being stalked by bees, thank God I'm not allergic" he grumbled as he left the park causing an old lady to stare at him in concern.

As he approached home he spied Sherlock standing near the window of their flat. He's home. John panicked at the sight of him, but he couldn't put off seeing him forever, this morning had just been a suspiciously lucky fluke.

Bracing himself John opened the front door and made his way upstairs to 221B.