"Sherlock, what's in that pot? Don't answer that, anything that colour and texture can't be good."

"Pass the thermometer, John."

"No, I'm not helping with whatever ghastliness you're up to."

"Suit yourself, you'll be sorry." Sherlock dipped a spoon into the mixture and held the dark red, coagulated mess in front of his eyes before dropping the spoon onto the counter with a clatter. "I accept apologies in many forms - not ties - monetary preferably."

Sherlock stirred, looking for all the world like a weird sister, with his hair stuck out at odd angles; he would regret rubbing his hands through it, when preparing the gloop, later.

John wondered whether it was more prudent to make a hasty retreat or to stay and keep an eye on proceedings. He wanted to make a cuppa and was gasping. Perhaps a quick jaunt downstairs to Mrs H's ... then again, could he leave Sherlock unsupervised, who knew what he'd do to their kitchen this time. One thing's for sure, he couldn't do anything in that room until it had been completely sanitized.

Sherlock dipped his spoon again, delicately placing a small amount onto a saucer. He waited and then pushed at it with the back of the spoon.

"It's set!" Sherlock exclaimed triumphantly. "Raspberry - your favourite!"

John scratched his head, dumbstruck. "That's Dumbledore, you berk!"