Three months later, Sherlock had recovered, shedding the final casts and scars. A particularly interesting crime had come up where people were being murdered solely through the internet. Or so it seemed. Sherlock had followed a trail that lead him to a chemistry teacher at a local high school, and was pursuing him when something niggled in the back of his mind.

He crouched behind a wall and paused. What was it?...

A conversation he'd had with John while still in hospital came to mind.

"I wrote you this ridiculous manual, so you had better read it and store it away in your bloody mind palace. Got it?"

Sherlock had nodded, flipping through it, smiling at the statements John had attempted to make air tight, leaving no room for confusion.

Never ever take a pill if you don't know what it contains. Ever. Under any circumstances.

Sherlock had flipped through, noting all 23 rules, and had tossed the book aside. John looked irked.

"I'm ready to go home now," he announced.

Sherlock noted the not so subtle signs of anger on his blogger's face.

"Really Sherlock? I work for hours on that and you just throw it aside and announce you're ready to go?"

Sherlock huffed. "John, I read it. I know it. I hardly need to keep it for... sentimental reasons." He continued, "so take the chest tube out so we can return to Baker Street. I've got an experiment that needs to be checked on."

He watched John think through his options, none of which were particularly appealing or easy, before just giving in the Sherlock's demands, only after he promised NO cases for two weeks, and no walking on his broken leg. And Sherlock has obliged, only too happy to be leaving, as he was oh, so, bored.

And now, Sherlock's mind flipped through the book, stopping at the rule that had landed him in the hospital in the first place.

Before chasing after anyone who may at all be dangerous or involved with a crime, inform one of the following people: John, Lestrade, Donovan, Mycroft. Even better, take them with you.

He scoffed at the idea of taking Mycroft on a chase, or even informing Sally of his plans. So he got out his phone and, better yet, texted both John and Lestrade.

On the trail of a murderer. Thought you might want to come. Sent you a map image of my location. But really, no rush. -SH

And off he went, pleased that John could not fault him this time.

Because he had read his Rule Book.

Even though it had the ridiculous name of The Consulting 5-year-old's Rule Book.