"SHERLOCK!" John yelled, his voice sounding off.
Ignoring his flatmate, Sherlock sprang off the couch and went into the kitchen.
"In the kitchen, John." Sherlock gruffly replied, messing around with John's beloved kettle and cups.
Silence ruled the flat for a few minutes as Sherlock waited for the inevitable. He didn't have to wait long. A thump echoed through the flat, followed by more silence, then another thump. But this time the silence wasn't broken by the noise John was making as he attempted to get down the stairs.
"John?" Sherlock questioned warily.
John didn't reply.
Making a beeline for the stairs, Sherlock raced to find his friend, although treading carefully as he went up the stairs. About three-fourths of the way up, he found a tiny John collapsed on one of the steps. He looked so vulnerable being so small. As Sherlock inspected him, he discovered that John was precisely the size of his middle finger. Taking care to be gentle, Sherlock reached out and lightly nudged the still doctor. No response came from his blogger.