Doctor John H. Watson was having a peaceful morning to himself for once. At least that's what he thought.

John got up from bed that morning without an alarm clock, fully aware that this day was scheduled to be easy going and simple, work free. He was on a single day vacation for his sake, no matter what Sherlock did to protest. Since Sherlock did not want to work without John, he regretfully took a day off also. John left his bed with ease, and made his way to the telly for his usual morning session of whatever was on.

As he sat down in his arm chair, he relaxed and looked to the couch across. Sherlock's usual boredom spot was empty. John had no idea what time it was, so it was a mystery if Sherlock would be awake anytime soon. Usually John did see him in the mornings after he himself woke though. Sherlock was usually an early riser.

John shrugged it off, assuming that his flat mate was busy. Turning on the telly, he slumped back with a sigh. He flicked through the channels, finding nothing but the news. He used to love the news, curious to what was happening every day, but since Sherlock has been around being picky about interests, the stubborn picks have sadly sunk into his mind. John finds nothing interesting on the news anymore.

John ought to at least check the time and make sure Sherlock is okay, right? John looked at the wall clock. It was exactly eleven thirty in the morning. Okay, something is definitely wrong because Sherlock would in fact be up, complaining about being on vacation, demanding tea to be made, shooting things and cunning something to do for John to later on clean up.

John got up slowly and regretfully from his arm chair to go see if his flat mate was in check. He glanced back at the telly, seeing the news and nothing more of worth. It seems a woman in London has recently been tortured with nothing more than marshmallows and a pair of tweezers. Typical old England is still typical old England.

John turned it off as they showed evidence photos, the sobbing and now partially bald victim's testimony and the petrified witnesses and moved on. He ought to check Sherlock's room first, since that is the most rational place. The flat is not huge, so there's nowhere else to look.

John walked to Sherlock's room and saw that the door was closed. He knocked, knowing that if he barged in he might see something he doesn't want to see.

"Are you in there? Sherlock, it's almost noon." John said concerned.

"Yes, I'm here. Don't come in," He responded in his usual flat voice.

John rolled his eyes in disbelief. It's almost noon and the twat is still attempting to sleep. He knocked more on the door before protesting.

"Sherlock, its noon come on now. This is a bit unlike you to be lazy-"

"I said don't come in, leave me alone."

"What are you so busy with in that dinky bed room?" John asked impatiently.

"John I'm…I'm in my mind palace." Sherlock said a little hesitantly.

"Mind palace? All bloody morning you've been in that stupid 'mind palace'?" John asked bewildered.

"Yes, and I can't get out of it." Sherlock sighed.

"What?" John was confused now.

John opened the door to wish he never had. In the middle of the room lay a medium cardboard box, with words scribbled all over it, 'Sherlock's mind palace' along with crappy doodles. Inside the box was Sherlock, his arms and legs sticking out limply to the sides. Sherlock was stuck.

"Should I be concerned?" John asked stifling a laugh.

"John, just leave me alone to my mind palace." Sherlock says sternly with an eye twitch.

About an hour later, John was distracted from the telly to the sound of his phone vibrating. He slowly picked it up, scrolling to see the text message.

John. I'm still stuck.

John tried not to smile at this as he texted back.

YOU need help?

Just get over here already!

John set his phone down and sat up in his chair, attempting to get out. He got up hastily and went down the halls to see what he could do to improvise.

Walking back into the room, John caught on really fast to see why he was texted so hurriedly. The situation was a lot worse.

The nearby book shelf that used to be propped up and tidy was now set at an odd angle and the books decorated the "Mind Palace" that Sherlock was still in. Not to mention he was soaking wet. The vase that Molly had given to him was broken and the flowers were scattered, so the water most likely landed on Sherlock when he fell backwards into the shelf.

Guessing from the looks of it, It seems Sherlock was trying to pry the box off and fell backwards into the shelf and made a bigger mess...

"How hard did you fall?" John stifled a laugh.

"Shut up and get me out." Sherlock snapped.

John sighed at the kill joy comment and walked over. He took the sopping wet books off of Sherlock, set them onto the shelf and put out his hand.

"Just hold on and i'll tug you out." John said.

Sherlock gripped it and John pulled. Sherlock didn't come out, the box simply flopped forward and made Sherlock faceplant the floor. John couldn't help but laugh a little. Sherlock was yelling something but it was mumbled.

"What?" John scoffed.

"Gt! Mm! Up!"

John nodded and turned the box onto its side so Sherlock's face could be seen. Looking at John sideways, Sherlock sighed annoyed.

"Done stalling yet?"

"Just let me go around and rip this thing off." John said, finally wiping the smile off his face.

John stepped behind Sherlock and took a hold of the box on both ends. He tugged on it as hard as he could, but it didn't budge. He tugged again, but the box simply shifted with Sherlock still in it. John gave a single hard tug and pulled back all at once, giving it his greatest effort. The box did move off of Sherlock, but it propelled backwards with John, making him tumble into the bookshelf. All the books fell again all over the place and the shelf creaked slightly. John looked up and the shelf tipped forward. The shelf tipped more and more over its own weight and fell on John.

Sherlock had fallen out of the box and now sat on the floor exhausted. He looked behind him at the loud alarming noise. John shoved the shelf away from with with a small moan of pain.

"John, you alright?"

"Yes."

"Positive? That shelf is pretty heavy."

"Yes, i'm going to bed. I'm tired."

John got up grudginly and walked out of the room. Sherlock eventually stood up and looked out the doorway. John looked pretty exhausted and detered, what will make the situation better? Words that have never been spoken to him would help a little.

Sherlock hesitated before calling out. "Thank you?"

"You're bloody welcome." John said, shutting the door to his bedroom.