Like, one day a suspect shoots Sherlock and he falls off a tall building or maybe he gets hit by a bus or whatever. Then he wakes up in his room in Baker Street with Mrs. Hudson fussing about his eating habits and John Watson looking over his injuries. It should be completely normal, but the year is 1889, John keeps calling him 'Holmes' and texting and the internet haven't been invented yet, OH NOES.
Watson's certain Sherlock has gone off the deep end, and Lestrade is mostly confused, and Sherlock is getting annoyed because he shouldn't have to know that they don't currently have antibiotics. That's a waste of hard drive space, after all, even if no one knows what the fuck he's talking about.
I made the Yuletide deadline, wheee!
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