Sherlock was slumped on the couch, bored, and with a destructive gleam in his eyes. It had been 3 weeks since the last case, despite daily offers from Lestrade and a whole host of visitors. John could remember them all clearly. A dead father, a lost dog, theft, stalkers, murder… Each had been waved away with a listless 'dull' from Sherlock. So now, he was facing the wall, refusing even to see new clients because he didn't want to be disappointed again.

The phone beeped. Sherlock didn't move. Neither did John. After all, he reasoned, Sherlock can answer his own blasted phone. It beeped again. Insistent, demanding to be answered. John relented, and opened the message from Lestrade. It was concise, only six words, but it was enough to spark John's, and hopefully Sherlock's interest. Murder at station. Anderson suspected. Help.

'Oi Sherlock' John called, 'How do you feel about annoying Anderson?'

'Why?'

'He's gone and made himself a murder suspect.'

Sherlock immediately raised himself from his couch fortress. His eyes were alight, not just with the thrill of the chase, but also with a malicious gleam that only came from frustrating his 'rival'. He grabbed his scarf, turned up his coat collar and grinned at John.

'Coming? Time to give the prick exactly what he deserves.'

John smiled back. Not only was this case perfect timing, it was always good to see Sherlock win one over Anderson. The forensic scientist was arrogant, rude, insulting and not to mention completely unobservant. He was also protected by his job, which made it very difficult for Sherlock to give him his dues.