Eyes opening, John sighed as he realised he was still tiny.

Stretching out on his pillow, John hopped off the bed, gasping a little at the impact and walked through the open bedroom door.

Climbing down the stairs was difficult and time consuming, but John didn't want Sherlock to have to trudge up and down the stairs each time.

Huffing, out of breath, John walked into the living room, and was surprised to find Sherlock not there. Walking into the kitchen, Sherlock wasn't there either.

Beginning to panic, John called out to him.

Hearing no response, John bit his lip, wondering where Sherlock had gone.

Slow footsteps came up the stairs and John froze. He recognised them a second before he heard the high-pitched male voice.

"Oh, Johnny boy~! I know your in here!"

Feet slipping slightly on the floor, John dived under the couch and pressed himself against the chair leg as the footsteps entered the room.

"Did you miss me, Johnny boy? I thought you might call," Moriarty's voice taunted him, the slow footsteps slowly circling the room.

John knew he was helpless being this small, and he could only hope that Sherlock would get back before Moriarty found him.

Spotting his phone, John slowly crawled over to it. He opened the keypad as silently as he could and hit speed dial.

He muffled the speakers as Sherlock's voice said hello.

Slowly sliding the phone closer to the edge of the couch, John waited. Then, he thumped his foot against the floor, heart pounding in his ears.

"Oh? Where are you?" Moriarty sang in a sing-song voice as he got closer to the couch.

"Home," John breathed into the phone then quietly pressed the end call button, hoping Sherlock would get the message and come home quickly.

Running, John slid out from the back of the couch and dashed into the kitchen, silently slipping into a cupboard and hid behind various jars of stuff.

"Come out come out wherever you are!" Moriarty sang.

Watching the slit of light intensely, John waited, Moriarty's footsteps going all around the house as he looked for John.

Less than five minutes later, Sherlock's footsteps pounded up the stairs.

"Get out of my flat!" Sherlock spat, and John let out a silent sigh of relief.

"So cold, Sherlock!" Moriarty said, but John could hear his footsteps retreating.

The door clicked shut behind him and a minute later, John heard the front door shut.

Sherlock's footsteps thundered around the flat as he called, "John?!"

Pushing the cupboard door open, John tumbled out with a huff.

"Over here, Sherlock!" John said, holding a hand up to his mouth as he coughed.

Damn, they really needed to clean those cupboards!

Sherlock rushed over to him and scooped him up, pressing him against his cheek.

"I shouldn't have left you on your own," Sherlock murmured finally, pulling John back so he could look into his eyes.

"You couldn't have known that Moriarty would be creepy and try and get me," John said, patting Sherlock's nose with his tiny hands. "Where were you anyway?"

Sherlock drew John closer to him and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. "I got a call from Lestrade saying there was a case. I guess Moriarty," he spat the name like it was poison,"planned that so that he would be able to get you."

John understood, he didn't even feel hurt. It was just the way Sherlock was. Smiling, John rubbed his head against Sherlock's cheek.

He wished he was big again so that he could kiss Sherlock.

Sherlock took a deep breath and smiled at John, opening his eyes and putting John on his head. "Right, we need to do some experiments, John!" Sherlock said excitedly as John nestled into Sherlock's soft hair.

"Why?" John asked, wondering if it was for the case.

"To get you big again! Now that you got the dart and it still has some left in it, we can figure out how to get you back!"

Smiling, John softly tugged on a strand of Sherlock's curls gently.

                                                                         *.*.*.

The next few hours, Sherlock busied himself with experiments, never letting John leave contact with Sherlock, not that he minded, but he did get bored sometimes.

Like now. Sighing, John peeked over the top of Sherlock's head and watched him for a moment as him lean, quick hands steadily dropping a liquid into a small, circular container.

Groaning, John retreated and dropped on top Sherlock's shoulder. With practised ease, John slipped inside of Sherlock's coat and down the back of his shirt.

Sherlock huffed as John crawled around the front and slid inside Sherlock's shirt, sitting on the second button and watching the experiments up close. It was more interesting from here.

"John," Sherlock groaned. "You're very distracting."

"Sorry!" John snapped back, wiggling just to annoyed Sherlock.

John felt Sherlock sigh and gave a small grin.

After a few more minutes, John's stomach rumbled and he looked at his watch, surprised to see that it was already 9pm.

"Sherlock," John said, hungry.

"Just a minute, John," was Sherlock's distracted reply.

There was aloud sizzle, and Sherlock's hand came up to protect John as something spat.

John heard and felt Sherlock's intake of breath, and worry consumed him. "Sherlock!" John exclaimed, tugging at the hand in front of him.

"I'm fine, John," Sherlock said, but his voice sounded strained.

"Don't you dare, Sherlock," John warned, grabbing his hand and flipping it over.

There were a few drops of liquid sizzling slightly on his hand, but it wasn't serious. "Go stick your hand under cold water!" John ordered.

Sighing, Sherlock obediently went over to the tap and turned on the cold water, sticking his hand under it, shivering slightly at the chill.

After a minute, he turned off the tap and dried his hand. Then, he showed it to John. "Happy now, doctor?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

Grumbling, John climbed up Sherlock's shirt and sat on his shoulder. "Sher, I'm-" John started, then jumped as the door burst open.

Losing his balance, John felt himself slip off Sherlock's shoulder and couldn't grip his shirt.

"No!" Sherlock yelled, legs bending as he turned and cupped his hands, catching John seconds before he would have hit the ground.

Heart racing loudly, John looked up at Sherlock, feeling immensely grateful. He tried to stand, but just fell back down as his knees buckled under him.

Brining John close to his chest, Sherlock slowly stood, and turned, his face murderous.

Greg stood in the door way, looking flustered.

"There's been another murder," he huffed, breathless.

Sherlock continued to glare at him for a second before turning to John. He lifted him up and brought him close, gently inhaling the scent of his hair. John stared up at him from where he was lying on Sherlock's hand, smiling weakly.

"We'll be right behind you," Sherlock murmured finally, raising his eyes to Greg.

Sherlock grabbed his coat and slipped it on, gently putting John in the inside pocket, where he would be safe and warm, before buttoning it up and putting on his scarf as Greg inclined his head and left.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked after he was sure Greg was out of hearing range.

"F-fine. I'll be fine," John said, grateful for the reassuring warmth of Sherlock's body heat.

                                                                 *.*.*.

At the crime scene, John was feeling slightly better. At least he could stand now (not that he was sure he wanted to) and he stayed curled up in Sherlock's pocket.

He felt like he was burning up.

Quickly taking off his shirt, he sighed in slight relief. But he still felt like he was burning. Feeling weak, he chucked off the rest of his clothes (except for his boxers, but he was thinking about taking those off too) and wiggled.

Deja-vu hit him as a wave of tiredness hit him. "Sherlock...." he groaned weakly, black crowding in on his vision.

                                                                 *.*.*.

There was a roaring in John's ears.

Groaning weakly, John covered his eyes with his arm. "John?" Sherlock asked softly from beside him.

Removing his arm, John looked at him and was so surprised, he said the first thing that came to his mind. "Your not big any more!"

Then he looked around him. "I'm not small any more!" he cried with glee.

He turned, beaming, to Sherlock to see him watching him with amusement.

Rolling over to him, John pressed their lips together, glad to finally be able to do that again. God, he had missed kissing Sherlock.

Slipping his tongue inside Sherlock's mouth, John pressed Sherlock closer to him.

Groaning, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist and pressed them even closer.

Grinning, John pulled back and planted kisses all over Sherlock's face.

Then he frowned. "But... how?" he asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "Must have just been temporary. Long enough to scare you, but short enough for Moriarty to capture you."

John nodded. "Ahh."

Leaning forward, John stole another kiss, smirking.