I UPDATE!! The final vote was Ruffles 3, Alonso 4, and Sheet 5 so I'm starting A Scandal In Boehemia!! =)

(221B BAKER STREET, MAY 30. Alice’s POV: )

After the pool, John and Sherlock’s little non-profit business began booming. I was often there, per Sherlock’s request. I thought that after what we all had been through, even though it wasn’t much, I might as well stay in contact with the two. I was rarely at home, and thankfully we all had been busy the day of Mycroft’s silly get-together and we had been excused. And in case you’re wondering, yes. Sherlock got my pistol out of the pool for me.

Anyway, at 221b one morning John was sitting at the table in the living room updating his blog on his laptop. Sherlock, wearing a blue dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, was standing at the other side of the table drinking from a mug while leafing through a newspaper. I sat in Sherlock’s chair, reading John’s blog on my mobile.

 “What are you typing?” Sherlock asked.

 “Blog.” John replied simply.

 “About?” Sherlock continued.

 “Us.” John said, still typing.

 “You mean me.” Sherlock corrected.

 “Why?” John asked.

 “Well, you’re typing a lot.” Sherlock reasoned.  The doorbell rang and I sat up happily, putting away my mobile.

 “Right then.” He walked towards the door. “So, what have we got?” He said, opening the door.

Over a period of many weeks, people were coming to 221B to consult with Sherlock.

 “My wife seems to be spending a very long time at the office-” A man began.

 “Boring.” Sherlock immediately said, cutting the man off.

 “I think my husband might be having an affair.” A woman said, distressed.

 “Yes.” Sherlock said, making the woman pale.

 “She’s not my real aunt. She’s been replaced – I know she has. I know human ash.” A man said creepily. I wrinkled my nose.

 “Leave.” Sherlock ordered, pointing to the door.

 “We are prepared to offer any sum of money you care to mention for the recovery of these files.” A business man said, sounding a lot like Mycroft.

 “Boring.” Sherlock said tiredly.

 “We have this website. It explains the true meaning of comic books, ’cause people miss a lot of the themes.” A young man said. Sherlock was already walking away, disinterested. “But then all the comic books started coming true.” He continued. Sherlock came back and I looked at them with interest.

 “Oh. Interesting.” Sherlock said, standing in front of them. 

 After that case was done, John was sitting in his chair and updating his blog again. He had entitled the entry “The Geek Interpreter”. Sherlock leaned over his shoulder.

 “Geek interpreter. What’s that?” Sherlock scoffed. From my seat across from John I answered,

 “It’s the title, Sherlock.” He looked at me.

 “What does it need a title for?” He asked.  John and I just smiled. Sherlock straightened up and walked away.

 On another case, we were at the morgue at Bart’s. Sherlock was using his magnifier to look at a woman’s body lying on the table. John was standing at the other side of the table and Detective Inspector Lestrade was nearby. I looked at the body from the other side of the table with Sherlock.

 “Do people actually read your blog?” Sherlock asked John.

 “Where d’you think our clients come from?” John retorted.

 “I have a website.” Sherlock said proudly.

 “In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash. Nobody’s reading your website.” John said sarcastically. Sherlock straightened up and glared at the doctor, then pouted momentarily (And adorably in my opinion... well, as adorable as a grown man could be...) as John continued to look at the body. “Right then: dyed blonde hair; no obvious cause of death except for these speckles, whatever they are.” He pointed at the tiny red marks on the woman’s body but Sherlock had already turned and flounced out of the room with me at his heels.

 Back at the flat, John was updating his blog again. Sherlock walked past eating a piece of toast. He stopped and looks at the title for the entry, me coming up behind him.

 “Oh, for g*d’s sakes!” He exclaimed, his mouth full. I laughed and looked at the crumbs lining his lips.

 “What?” John asked innocently.

 “’The Speckled Blonde’?!” Sherlock asked incredulously.  John pursed his lips as Sherlock walked away again. I laughed and took a sip of my coffee.

 A couple days later, two little girls were sitting together on one of the dining chairs in the flat as Sherlock paced with John in his chair and me in Sherlock’s.

 “They wouldn’t let us see Granddad when he was dead. Is that ’cause he’d gone to heaven?” One of them asked.

“People don’t really go to heaven when they die. They’re taken to a special room and burned.” Sherlock answered blatantly. The two girls looked at each other in distress and I gaped at Sherlock, my eyes wide.

“Sherlock...” John said reprovingly.

 After a bit again, Lestrade was leading Sherlock, John and I across some open ground on a sunny day.

 “There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday. Everyone dead.” Lestrade informed, looking over to me. “So you three a thing?” He asked.

 “Suspected terrorist bomb. We do watch the news.” Sherlock said, sounding offended and ignoring the question.

 “You said, ‘Boring,’ and changed the channel.” John corrected. Lestrade lead us to a car which had its boot opened. There was a body inside the boot. As Lestrade continued to speak, Sherlock looked all around the rear of the car, and me the front.

 “Well, according to the flight details, this man was checked in on board. Inside his coat he’s got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even one of those special biscuits. Here’s his passport stamped in Berlin Airport. So this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday but instead he’s in a car boot in Southwark.” Lestrade said, looking inside an evidence bag.

 “Lucky escape...” John suggested.

 “Any ideas?” Lestrade asked again.

“Eight, so far.” Sherlock bragged. He straightened up and looked at the body again, then frowned momentarily. “Okay, four ideas. He corrected. He turned to Lestrade and looked down at the passport and the ticket stub of the passenger, John Coniston, who was meant to be travelling on Flyaway Airways. Standing up, he gazed up into the sky. “Maybe two ideas.” He corrected again. The shadow of a passenger jet passed overhead.

Okay, vote, comment, and enjoy fun peoples! Thank you! =D