The sound of John Watson's cell phone receiving a message brought the doctor out of the sleep he had been in; taking care of a newborn was more work than she thought it would be. He frowned as he argued ignoring the text, but it rang again a few moments later. Grumbling under his breath, John pulled out his phone, fully prepared to kill Sherlock if he texted him to get him a pen again; that man could be so lazy when he wasn't on a case. It wasn't Sherlock though; it was Greg Lestrade. John was on his feet seconds after reading the messages. "Sherlock?" she called, frowning when she didn't find him in the living room. "Kitchen". John sighed when he saw Sherlock heating up something in the microwave. “This better not be some kind of experiment,” he warned, already knowing it was. Sherlock had eaten before and probably wouldn't do so again for a couple of days. "It's just a stomach." Sherlock shrugged. "I'm testing how-" John raised his hand to stop him. “I don't care and I don't want to know. Stop putting body parts where we put food. It's bad enough putting your fingers in the fridge." "They were thumbs and they needed to be kept cool," Sherlock protested. "Again, it doesn't matter. You will traumatize Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock looked at him offended and crossed his arms. “Is there a reason you wanted me?” "It's Greg. He has a case for you," John replied, sighing in exasperation. “Serial killer, four victims. All the victims had their organs removed and some muscles were cut away from the bones…” John hesitated, looking a little confused. “Why would an assassin get muscles like that? I mean, you can't sell them, right?" "I need to see the evidence and know the facts before I can come up with theories." Sherlock's eyes lit up, eag... the center of the paper... p was gone. He frowned in confusion and looked up to meet Sherlock's worried gaze. John sighed slightly and moved closer to Sherlock, resting his head against his arm. Sherlock kissed the top of his head before lying down on the sofa, pulling John with him he ended up crawling between the back of the sofa and Sherlock's side. “I love you,” John murmured, resting his head on Sherlock's chest. “I know. Now, rest, John,” he sighed, lacing his fingers together on his stomach humming a song he had composed for John when they had married. It had been Sherlock's gift to John and John had asked him to play it often. It seemed to work to calm John down to sleep. Sherlock could hear John's breathing becoming slow and even as he fell asleep. Sherlock also relaxed and began working on the case again, escaping to his mind palace..