Fix a few small mistakes to chapter 2, never post a chapter at three in the morning DW says as she posts a story two hours before said time.

On to the story!

Two days passed and Sherlock was finally beginning to show signs of recovery. That is, his incessant moaning was no longer about what colour coffin he should chose, and was now focused solely on how his brain was beginning to shrivel to the size of Anderson's.

John had taken to ripping holes in various bits of Sherlock's clothing, every chance he got.

Sherlock was convinced they had a moth problem.

"I don't know why they never target my stuff Sherlock, maybe it's your detergent." John replied the same time there came a knock on the door.

"We use the same detergent!"

"Well maybe they're sick of you being an annoying tosser all the time, and want to teach you a lesson."

"...Wait a minute."

"Greg." John said with surprise at their unexpected guest. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to talk to Sherlock." Lestrade frowned. "We're drowning in this case, John. Would really it be that big of deal if you just let him out for an hour or so?"

John returned his frown with a tinge of confusion. "Well yes... it would, didn't Sherlock tell you what he was sick with?"

"Sure he did, but come on; I've seen the man show up to a crime scene with a fever so high, he was half convinced we were on a beach in Maui and he still managed to catch our guy. This can't be nearly as ba- aah!" Lestrade reeled backwards with a look of pure terror on his face. "Bleeding Christ! Sherlock!" The consulting detective had appeared in the kitchen doorway and was idly scratching the spots on his neck. He raised an eyebrow at Lestrade. "Problem?"

Lestrade's eye were beginning to bug out of their sockets. "You told me you had a bit of a sniffle!"

"I do." Sherlock gave a quick demonstration. "See."

"Yeah, alright, and the chicken pox!"

Sherlock sighed. "What's the big deal? So I have a bit of a rash."

"The big... I've never had the chicken pox!" Lestrade spoke to him through his shirt sleeve. "And I've got six kids at home who've never had them. Stay here much long and I'm likely to start a sodding pandemic!" Lestrade turned with scrabbled with the door handle. It took several tries for him to get a good grip as he refused to pull his hands from the full protection of his sleeves.

John finally took pity on the man when it became clear he wasn't going to be able to open the front door in that state.

Sherlock stood at the top of the stairs with a sour expression. "But what about the case?"

Greg turned and stabbed a finger at the sick man. "You're in quarantine." This earned him an eye roll.

"Don't be absurd."

"Sherlock, you are not allowed to leave this house, or contact Scotland Yard until you have a one hundred percent clean bill of health. If I hear that you've done either, I will come back here and arrest you for public endangerment. Now good day; John slam the door."

With a sigh, John obliged.

"Now what am I supposed to do?" Sherlock wailed.

John shrugged. "Take up a hobby? You can help Mrs. Hudson with her knitting."

That of course was the moment their landlady chose to open her door to see what all the commotion was. "Oh! What a splendid idea! I do have a bit of yarn that needs untangling. Sherlock, you stay there I'll go grab the baskets."

Sherlock glared harpoons.

"Well well look at you."

Sherlock smiled as he secured his scarf in place. "Spot free, fever free and off to a crime scene. Let's just see Lestrade try to ban me this time. You sure you don't want to come?"

John shook his head. "You go. I'll stay here, man the fort. Call me if anything really exciting goes down though, yeah?"

Sherlock waved an acknowledging hand and then he was gone. John let out a relieved breath.

Three hours had passed and John had caught up on his blog, read a book, and watched some commentary free programming. And now John was... bored. He was incredibly incredibly bored.

"Is the flat always this quiet when he's not here?" John mused aloud as he waited for his second cup of tea to heat up. He shrugged. "At least I don't have to put up with him lying around griping and moaning all day anymore."

He pushed aside the three scarves and two hats Sherlock had managed to complete and settled himself into his chair just as his phone sprang to life.

John frowned at the number. "Sherlock annoying you that much already, Lestrade?"

There was a short pause followed by an awkward cough/chuckle. "Yeah, well um actually I'm calling because I thought... well you see there was a bit of an... accident, and... long story short? Sherlock's in a body cast."

John sighed.

And there you have it folks! I hope you enjoyed it after waiting as long as you did. Sorry about that things got... odd out here in the none digital world, but I think they're finally starting to look up. Anyways thanks for reading, and hope to see you again soon. I've got a couple of stories brewing (one may or may not involve a certain beloved detective facing off against farm life.) but I've decided not to post anymore stories until I get the stories I have going now at least a bit closer to being finished. Well that's about it. Please leave a review if you would be so kind, or don't it's your life I won't hold it against you that much.
Bye!