A/N: Hiya, guys, sorry this has taken so long to arrive. My laptop's charger died and at the time that was where my only copy of this chapter was. Grrr, if it wasn't for homework I'd finished this before that even became a problem...

Anyway, I think this is going to remain a two-shot, but if anyone would like to prompt I'll try my best to continue this. : D

Disclaimer: Yup, still not mine...*sob*

It had been a few months since it had been revealed to New Scotland Yard that Sherlock was married and everything had returned to normal. Well, nearly. Sherlock was still his imperious self, striding onto crime scenes with his coat swirling around him dramatically, scathing insults for Donovan and Anderson always on the tip of his tongue. The two police officers would respond in kind, giving as good as they got, and Lestrade would berate them and try to control Sherlock enough to get information out of him in logical leaps and connections to evidence. But there was one difference. While the officers and Sherlock decided not to mention Jamie by mutual avoidance of the subject, Sally never again called Sherlock a Freak. Oh, she had plenty of other words to use, but it seemed that the threat uttered by a woman over 3000 miles away had changed her mind about that word.

The next time that anyone heard of Mrs Holmes was when Sherlock refused a case. It didn't seem that important at the time as Lestrade didn't really need assistance but was worried about the amount of mischief a bored Sherlock could get up to. It was only the next day when Lestrade received a bombardment of texts, all from Sherlock, and all with one theme; bored!

I am extremely bored. Have urgent need for a case. SH

Lestrade, do you have any cases? SH

I'll even take a boring murder that even Anderson could solve. SH

Anything at all . Even a robbery or kidnapping will do. SH

Fine, ignore me. I will find alternative activities. SH

I'll conduct an experiment involving every single left sock you own. SH

And acid. Copious amounts of acid. SH

Knowing that it took at least two days between cases for Sherlock to get this antsy, Lestrade realised he couldn't have been on a private case the night before. Stumped as to what else could've prevented Sherlock's involvement in the murder investigation, Lestrade decided to ask him. The next time Sherlock sat in his office, trawling through cold case files, the Detective raised the subject.

"Well, if you must know I was waiting for Jamie's Skype call. We can only talk for one night a month and it's sometimes unreliable so we didn't talk at all last month. Now, I need to see the mother's blood test..." Sherlock had answered tersely and then was straight back into his perusal of the files.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH SHSHSHSH

It was about the same amount of time later again and Sherlock had been asked to help out on a case that had left the police baffled. A torso and head was found next to a pair of legs. However, the dismembered body parts were discovered to have come from different people and their only lead was a series of cryptic clues scrawled across the walls of the crime scene-a locked public toilet. Sherlock was excited that the case was so interesting, but surprisingly he also showed some tact by saying that, as the wounds weren't inflicted post-mortem he felt sorry for the painful deaths the victims had suffered. For Sherlock, that was the equivalent of breaking down into tears over a stranger's corpse. He was slowly becoming a better man; one day he would become the good man Lestrade knew he could be.

However, it wasn't that day just quite yet, and Sherlock's sudden burst of empathy didn't prevent him from answering his phone irritably after it rung out in the silence of the crime scene.

"What, Mycroft? I'm busy," he snapped into the phone.

Suddenly, all the colour seemed to drain out of the Consulting Detective's already alabaster face, and his voice quavered.

"Wh-what?...Where? I'm coming now." He jabbed at the disconnect button on his phone and turned on his heel, throwing an errant comment over his shoulder as he left about footballers and that they needed to look for buttons at the crime scene. Despite being utterly confused, Lestrade knew by now to listen when Sherlock said something, for even though it may seem random, everything mentioned by the genius could be the difference between finding the perp or not. But at the moment it was Sherlock himself that worried the DI. Very few things could rattle him enough for his reaction; in fact, Lestrade had never seen something affect him that badly.

Over the course of the day, Lestrade sent Sherlock numerous texts, asking for assistance with the case. Knowing how much the genius hated sentiment he thought it better to hide his concerns behind the case, hoping the veneer would allow his inquiries to receive an answer. It didn't. All the DI got was an empty inbox and a growing headache.

When he finally received a text from Sherlock, Lestrade almost cried in relief. However, all the text said was,

Come to St Bart's, room 184. SH

Sighing in exasperation, the silver-haired man wrapped up at the crime scene and then took the tedious car journey through the rush-hour traffic. When he arrived at the hospital he had to wade through crowds of weeping relatives, drunks with minor injuries and a few really bizarre incidents (I mean, really, who gets a toothbrush stuck up their nose?) before he reached the right room.

To his surprise he saw two people in the room, or more correctly, on the bed when he opened the door. Sherlock's dark curls were unmistakable and Lestrade quickly glanced at the bed's other occupant and dismissed them, the DI only dropping her a quick, "Hello," before turning his attention to Sherlock. "We identified the other victim, a certain William Blake and you were right, he's a reserve player for Totteningham Hotspurs football team."

"Well, have you searched for any connections between the two victims? Previous meetings, mutual acquaintances?"

"Yes," sighed Lestrade, exasperated. "We're not entirely useless without you, you know."

"You might not be maybe, but...Actually if you were stupid enough to have Anderson on your team, then I am very surprised you have any brains left to solve crimes..."

"Sherlock," admonished Jamie quietly.

For it was Jamie in the bed as well, paler and tired-looking but still recognisable because no one else was allowed near to the tall man. She was leaning against her husband's shoulder and had a sling immobilising her left arm.

"Oh, uh, sorry, Mrs Holmes. Are you alright?" Greg mentally slapped himself even as he spoke. Look where you are, and see if she's bloody alright!

She smiled wryly, as if guessing his thoughts. "I'm doing okay."

"Umm, well, I wanted to borrow Sherlock, but I can see that's not an option now."

"No, it's not," said the man in question.

Jamie rolled her eyes. "Sure it is. Look, they've got me trapped here, I'm fine and I'm not going anywhere. Anyway, you'll get bored soon. Go solve crimes, Mr Consulting Detective."

"Spending time with you is never boring," grumbled Sherlock, but started to move off the bed. "And what's this about you being 'trapped'. You always tell me off when I say things such as that."

"Well, you know what they say about doctors being the worst patients," she teased, lowering the bed with the remote. Picking up his discarded coat from the unused visitors-chair, Sherlock smoothed back Jamie's hair and kissed her softly, gazing into her eyes. After nearly a minute, Greg cleared his throat quietly and the two broke out of their trance. Blushing slightly at his distraction Sherlock swept out of the room imperiously, leaving Jamie smiling slightly on the bed.

Lestrade nodded to her, preparing to leave the room, when her voice stopped him.

"Thank you for putting up with him," she said. "He needs this you know, 'the Work'. His brain..." she shook her head, "Well, it's amazing but also a curse as well; so many thoughts, deductions flying around his head the entire time."

The DI found himself smiling as well. "You're welcome." His good mood remained for the rest of the day, the knowledge that someone cared for Sherlock, that there was someone he would let help him, keeping a smile bubbling below the surface. It seems there really is someone for everyone.

A/N da second: Hope you guys enjoyed this and I would just like to say- 5 reviews, 11 alerts and 23 favourites! Eeek, thank you all so much!