Sherlock was bored. Nothing we could do. The run of the mill criminals had bored him half to sleep. Usually it's a good thing when detectives-especially homicide detectives- are bored. Not so much with Sherlock. He had taken a sulk and had resorted to throwing eggs at the wall to see how quick it would take for the yolk to run down to the floor. After that, he decided it would be more fun to tear up every piece of furniture looking for something. Then after he couldn't find whatever the hell he was looking for, he had stormed to his room, slamming the door and swearing. I glanced over the newspaper, glaring at the practically torn up room, and checking the clock. Damn. It was only 10am. I folded the paper, sighing and rubbing my eyes.

There was a loud bang and there were several more curses followed by a cry of my name. I ignored it and opened my laptop checking my e-mails. None. My social life had pretty much disintegrated.

"JOHN!" Sherlock bellowed.

"What?" I shouted.

"FETCH ME MY SLIPPERS!"

"Get them yourself!" I shouted back.

"I'LL PUT CYNIDE IN YOUR TEA!"

"That would work if you ever made the tea!"

Silence ensued. I smiled quite happy with my argument. Footsteps sounded as he came charging down the stairs. He flung open the door and pointed at the table where his ugly blue slippers sat.

"They're right there." He cried. "Could you not bring them to me?"

"Sherlock," I said, sighing. "You're here now aren't you? Take your damn slippers and shut up."

Sherlock's mouth twitched. He looked positively... well eccentric. I sighed, closing my laptop and putting it to one side, picking up the, frankly, rotten slippers and passing them over to him. He slipped them on and wiggled his toes before making a noise then turning to leave.

He turned back. "Has Lestrade-"

"No,"

"Not even a little?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock." I said. "There have been no phone calls. No text's. No e-mails. There's not even been a telegraph."

Sherlock frowned not getting the joke. "Why on earth would one send a telegraph? Surely in this modern age you could possibly send a message in a much more convenient method."

I stared at him. "Go to your room and leave me alone,"

"There's no need to take that tone with me." Sherlock mumbled. He fell across the armchair, putting up his feet. His eyes flickered to and from the small wooden box where he kept his gun. I watched him for a second.

"No," I said disapprovingly.

"'No' what?" Sherlock asked.

"I know what you're thinking," I said. "And no, you're not doing it. It'll cost us in the rent and I am not in the mood to bail you out... Again."

"Since when have I ever asked you to bail me out?" Sherlock snapped.

"Since I met you,"

"That's a little bit of a stretch John," Sherlock replied. "Maybe three months after we met."

"No, it was pretty much after we met." I said. "I kept a chart."

Sherlock frowned. "That's very organised of you,"

"Don't act so surprised," I snapped. "You must have wondered what the stationary was for."

"I simply assumed it was for work." Sherlock shrugged.

"I hate it when you assume things," I muttered.

"Don't we all," Sherlock muttered.

"You do know there is a stack of unopened mail ready for you on the table." I said.

Sherlock made a groan, flailing his long arms over the chair and lying low. He sighed picking underneath his fingernails. I licked my lips and leaned forward.

"Sherlock," I said. "Would it make you feel better if I went out and killed someone?"

"And the purpose of that would be...?" Sherlock asked.

"To cheer you up!" I cried.

"Well that is completely redundant." Sherlock replied. "It would be more effective if you had not said that you would kill for my mental pleasure."

"Fine. I won't kill anyone." I said.

"Oh, John!" Sherlock cried.

"What? What now?"

"At least if you killed someone I could pretend to work it out." Sherlock sighed. "Are you done with the entertainment part?"

"Going to watch TV?" I asked.

"Oh don't be ridiculous." Sherlock said.

"Then why are you wanting it?" I asked, passing it over to him.

"I like Randy Philips column page." Sherlock said.

"Randy Philips?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Sounds like an electric appliance." I said.

Sherlock looked up. "John, that is quite disgusting,"

"I know." I sighed. "Humour is just lost on you,"

"Catching on quick aren't we." Came a voice. Sherlock and I twisted around to see a young woman standing at the doorway. Her hair a beautiful shade of red, cropped around her ears. Her face pale and pert smooth and delicate. Her oversized shirt slung over a pair of tweed shorts and black braces that swung around her legs.

Sherlock's eyes widened. He stared at her. I got up and smiled pleasantly. "Hello," I said. "How can we help?"

The woman smiled over at Sherlock. "Hey babes." She said.

"'Babes'?" I asked. "Sorry do you guys know each other?"

Sherlock cleared his throat as the woman continued to smile. "John, meet Irene Adler."