"Right then, who are you?" Sherlock said, examining the tiny creature as it went about its business on the kitchen counter, heedless of the hand lens hovering above it. "Waist of one segment, therefore not Myrmicinae."

He prodded the insect gently with a finger. It ran from his touch. "Not aggressive, no sting, therefore not Ponerinae. Five segments of the gaster visible from above with orifice guide hairs, therefore subfamily Formicinae. Small ocelli and short legs, therefore not genus Formica, but Lasius."

Sherlock shifted the lens for a quick check, and then continued. "Head not heart-shaped, therefore not fuliginosus. Colour brown to dull black, therefore not umbratus, rabaudi, mistus, or favus. Short, upright hairs on the antennae scape and tibia, body matte and hairy – got you," he said, straightening. "Lasius niger, of the subspecies found almost exclusively in London," he pronounced disdainfully, tossing the hand lens on the table.

He addressed the ant. "Alone, are we? Sent to check out the scouting report? Where are your friends? Not here yet, it seems, but I see you laying down the pheromone trail that will bring them. Now, what are you so busy with? The white powder? Hmm, icing sugar or something else? Picking it up and carting it off, I see, sugar it is, then," he said, eyeing the otherwise bare counter and conspicuously empty sink.

John came into the kitchen in his dressing gown, yawning in the early morning light from the window. His eyes didn't seem to be fully open. "'Morning, Sherlock," he said, groping at the makings for coffee.

Sherlock wheeled on him. "As I see you've not yet been to the growers' supply for the diatomaceous earth despite my request, the invasion I predicted yesterday seems to be imminent but fortunately has not gotten fully underway. They won't be open yet, they receive deliveries until nine, so to head it off quickly, it will have to be boric acid from the chemist's immediately after breakfast, which won't be long from now, as it appears there is no longer anything to eat. I do appreciate your doing all the washing-up after you used just the plate and fork, but I'll thank you next time for saving a piece of Mrs. Hudson's excellent morning torte for me when she brings one, instead of consuming it all yourself before you think I can find out about it." He glared at John.

John blinked at him uncomprehendingly, then turned and shuffled off. "Right. I'm going back to bed."

-END-