"Tie a yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree. It's been three long years. Do you still want me?"
John slapped the 'Off' button on his clock radio. How had it gotten switched to the oldies station? Probably one of Sherlock's experiments, this one psychological in nature. He determined not to comment on it. He rose and went to bathroom for a piss and a shower.
Drying himself off with the fluffy new straw-coloured towel it occurred to him to wonder where it had come from. Gift. Right.
He dressed in khakis and a buttery yellow t-shirt. Perfectly reasonable for the warm early summer weather. He would throw a button-down in his bag before leaving for the clinic. For that "professional" look.
A note from Sherlock awaited him on the kitchen table. New case. Back late. Be prepared. -SH
"Super." He opened the fridge, glad to find no surprises beyond a fresh carton of eggs, a block of cheddar, and a bag of lemons. And nothing else. Well all right. Cheesy scrambled eggs on toast with tea. There was bread, right? He checked the drawer. Yes!
Breakfast sorted, prepared, and eaten, he washed up quickly. Back in the bedroom, he grabbed the first shirt in his closet: white and goldenrod checked seersucker. He threw it on in lieu of a coat and went to catch the tube.
A pair of business women on the seat next to him played a game of quotes using Red Dwarf as their source. He caught snippets as the train rattled along.
"You've got a longer yellow streak than a herd of diarrheic camels," one pronounced with glee. Her companion laughed and came back with "We're deader than A-line flares with pockets in the knees!"
John chuckled and shook his head. It was a good game.
He emerged from underground to a glowing golden sun in a clear blue sky. It really was a lovely day. Shame he had to spend it inside at work. A girl in an ochre dress passed by carrying a gold purse with a tan and white chihuahua in it.
Inside the clinic was unexpected chaos. "Painters already?" he asked the flaxen-haired receptionist, Margot.
"They had a cancellation so they've come in early," she explained.
"Cheerful colour. What's it called?"
"Nice. Any patients waiting for me?"
"One just came in." She handed over the intake form.
He looked at it. "That's not a real name."
"It's pronounced Lemonjello."
"Of course it is. And he's got--" He checked the forms. "Jaundice? This day is not real." He shook his head and entered the exam room. "Good morning, I'm Doctor Watson--" He stopped short at the sight of a giant yellow bird sitting on the exam table.
The bird hopped off the table onto its large orange feet. It spoke in Sherlock's voice. "Quickly, John. There's mischief afoot!"
"Not. Real. This cannot. Be. Real."
John came to on a wooden stage floor awash in rusty yellow light. "What the hell?"
"John! Good, you're awake." Sherlock's voice. Still in a bird suit. "Are you all right?"
"Are you dressed as Big Bird?"
"Then I'm fine. Help me up. We've got a case to close."