(221B BAKER STREET, Third Person View: )

 Mrs. Hudson picked up a mug and an almost empty bottle of milk from the mantelpiece and walked into the kitchen, tutting in exasperation at the mess in there. Putting the mug onto the table she took the milk across to the fridge door and opened it, recoiling from the smell emanating from inside. Putting the milk into the fridge door she picked up the offending smelly item and dropped it into the bin then pulled open the salad crisper at the bottom and took out a clear plastic bag from it. Peering at the contents, she cringed as she realized what’s inside.

 “Ooh dear! Thumbs!” She cried out. She dropped the bag back into the salad crisper, then turned as an overweight man stumbled into the kitchen through the side door and stared at her wide-eyed and confused.

 “The door was... the door was...” He stammered, breathing heavily. He dropped to the floor in a faint. Mrs. Hudson stared at him in terror for a moment then called out.

 “Alice! Boys! You’ve got another one!” She bent down to the unconscious man. “Ooh!”

 Later, the man – whose name was Phil – had regained consciousness and was sitting on one of the dining table chairs in the middle of the lounge. He was staring rather blankly in front of him. John was sitting on the sofa behind him and Sherlock was pacing, Alice in his chair, as usual.

 “Tell us from the start. Don’t be boring.” Sherlock said sternly.

 “About fourteen hours ago somewhere out in the country my car had broken down. I tried to start the engine countless times but it just whined and refused to start. I got out again and tweaked a few connections hopefully. I looked around but there was no sign of any other traffic on the road. I looked into the field at the side of the road. The field stretched down to a river some distance away and a man wearing a red jacket was standing at the edge of a stream which led down to the river. He had his back to the road. I looked at him for a moment but he was too far away to have even noticed what was happening. Eventually I got back into the car again and tried once more to start the engine. It whined and then backfired. I looked across towards the river and realized that the man was lying on the ground. I got out of my car and stared. I called out to see if he was okay, but he didn’t respond or react. I kept asking, heading down. But he had fallen onto his back with a lot of blood underneath him.”

 Many hours later a crime scene had been set up at the riverside. A young police officer brought a mobile phone over to Detective Inspector Carter.

 “Sir. A phone call for you.” He said, handing him the mobile.

 “Carter.” The DI started.  Lestrade was at the other end of the line, sitting in his car at Baker Street.

 “Have you heard of Sherlock Holmes? Or Alice White?” Lestrade asked him.

 “Who?” Carter asked, shaking his head a bit.

 “Well, you’re about to meet them now. This is your case. It’s entirely up to you. This is just friendly advice, but give Sherlock five minutes on your crime scene and listen to everything that he has to say. And as far as possible, try not to punch him. And don’t mind Alice... she doesn’t really talk much.” As Lestrade had been speaking, a car had driven up and stopped near the crime scene. Carter looked down in bewilderment at the phone as Lestrade ended the call. The young police officer had been leaning into the car speaking to the person in the back seat.

 “Okay.” He said, turning to Carter as he approached. “Sir, this gentleman says he needs to speak to you.”

 “Yes, I know.” He walked closer to the car. “Sherlock Holmes.” He guessed.

 “John Watson. Are you set up for Wi-Fi?” John said, getting out of the car and shaking Carter’s hand.

 (221B, Earlier that morning. Alice’s POV: )

I woke up on the couch to a surprisingly silent 221b. I sighed, rubbed my face and sat up, looking around. John was gone; his coat wasn’t hanging up and it was considerably chilly this morning. I assumed John, Sherlock and I were going to be going to check out that crime scene, but Sherlock’s coat was still here. I got up and went into the kitchen, grabbing a jar of peanut butter that, thankfully, didn’t have any liver in it. I got a banana out of the fridge and when I closed it, there, straight in front of me, was Sherlock. Naked. The only thing covering him was a newspaper.

 “Bl**dy h*ll, Sherlock!! Go! Now! And don’t come out till you have bl**dy cloth on!!” I shouted, closing my eyes and pointing at his bedroom door. He shuffled to his bedroom and slammed the door. I cursed under my breath and went into the den.

 (Later, where Sherlock comes in the episode in the real one, Alice’s POV still: )

 Alice had changed her clothes (she kept some there) after that into dark blue skinny jeans, a crisp white blouse and converse shoes. She had white eye makeup on –white everything- and the usual coat.

 I closed my eyes as soon as I heard Sherlock’s door open.

 “Are you wearing clothes, Sherlock?” I demanded.

 “No.”

 “Are you covered?”

 “Yes.” I opened my eyes. Yawning, Sherlock had wandered out from the hallway behind the kitchen and strolled into the kitchen wearing only a sheet wrapped around him. I rolled my eyes and put my mobile away, getting up to check on the Skype on the notebook computer.

 “You realise this is a tiny bit humiliating?” John said before I could even get a glimpse of the screen. Earlier, John had called Sherlock, setting up a web chat so he wouldn’t have to leave the flat. He had called from the bedroom for me to set it up.

Still yawning as he picked up a mug of tea from the side table he said,

 “It’s okay, I’m fine.” He walked over to the laptop on the work surface, picked it up and looked into the screen as he carried the laptop to the den where I was. “Now, show me to the stream.”

 “I didn’t really mean for you.” John complained. I smirked and stood up, heading over to the table.

 “Look, this is a six.” Sherlock reasoned.  He sat down at the table in the living room and put the laptop onto the table. Just then the doorbell rang, but we both ignored it. Adjusting the screen so that his face could be seen by the laptop’s camera, he added,

“There’s no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed. Now, go back. Show me the grass.” I sighed and stood behind him, not putting a hand on his shoulder like I usually did. He looked back at me, halfway pouting and I sighed again, putting my hand on his shoulder. He smiled and turned back. John had walked down to the stream now. He pointed the camera on his laptop towards the grass at the stream’s edge and squatted down.

 “When did we agree that?” He asked.

 “We agreed it yesterday.” He said indignantly. “Stop!” He leaned closer to the screen and looked at the mud on the ground. “Closer.” He commanded. Instead of following his instructions, John swung the laptop around so that he could look into the camera.

 “I wasn’t even at home yesterday. I was in Dublin.” John argued.

 “Well, it’s hardly my fault you weren’t listening.” Sherlock complained. The doorbell rang more insistently. Sherlock briefly looked round in the direction of the stairs. “Shut up!” He shouted angrily. I winced at his volume.

 “D’you just carry on talking when I’m away? Does Alice have to listen to you?” John asked again.

 “I don’t know. How often are you away? Now, show me the car that backfired.” Sherlock answered, shrugging.

 “Most of the time, yes. That’s why I sleep so much!” I exclaimed, answering John’s question. Sighing, John stood up and turned the laptop and its camera towards the road to show Phil’s car.

 “It’s there.” John said tiredly.

 “That’s the one that made the noise, yes?” Sherlock asked.

 “Yeah. And if you’re thinking gunshot, there wasn’t one. He wasn’t shot; he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument which then magically disappeared along with the killer. That’s gotta be an eight at least.” John said, swinging it round to face him again. Sherlock leaned back in his chair and is ran his finger back and forth over his top lip as he thought. I removed my hand and folded my arms, shifting my weight onto the right foot. As John was walking back towards the road, Carter was following along behind him.

 “You’ve got two more minutes, then I want to know more about the driver.” He said.

 “Oh, forget him. He’s an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?” Sherlock advised, waving his hand dismissively. Carter caught up to John and leaned over to look into the camera.

 “I think he’s a suspect!” He claimed. Sherlock leaned forward angrily.

 “Pass me over.” He ordered.

 “All right, but there’s a Mute button and I will use it.” John warned. I snickered behind Sherlock. John tilted the laptop at an angle that Sherlock was not happy with.

 “Up a bit! I’m not talking from down ’ere!” Sherlock exclaimed, irritated. John had had enough and offered the laptop to Carter.

 “Okay, just take it, take it.” He commanded. Carter took the laptop as Sherlock started talking at double the usual speed.

 “Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play...?” Sherlock explained.

 “He’s trying to be clever. It’s over-confidence.” Carter reasoned.

 “Did you see him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy – and you think he’s an audacious criminal mastermind?!” I shouted, waving my hands in exasperation and leaning over Sherlock’s shoulder to get closer to the screen and make a point. Sherlock turned around to John’s chair, where Phil had been sitting all the time. I winced and mouthed, ‘sorry’ to him, turning red. Sherlock looked up and me and said, seemingly to both of us,

 “Don’t worry -- this is just stupid.”

 “What did you say? Heart what?” Phil asked anxiously, looking at me. I winced and looked away, promising myself I would fix it later.

 “Go to the stream.” Sherlock said, ignoring Phil.

 “What’s in the stream?” Carter asked.

 “Go and see.” Sherlock said. As Carter handed the laptop back to John, Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs and into the living room followed by two men wearing suits.

 “Sherlock! You weren’t answering your doorbell!” Mrs. Hudson said as she always did. One of the men looked at his colleague while pointing with his thumb in the direction of the kitchen.

 “His room’s through the back. Get him some clothes.” He told.

“Who the h*ll are you?” Sherlock and I asked at the same time.

 “Sorry, Mr. Holmes, Miss White. You’re coming with us.” He said sternly, not sounding sorry at all. He reached forward to close down the lid of the laptop as John called out in alarm.

“Sherlock, what’s going on? What’s happening?” The laptop lid closed, leaving John unanswered. I thought. Knowing Mycroft he had sent for John, too. Maybe a helicopter. Yeah, probably a helicopter.

Third update! =) Vote, comment, and enjoy fun peoples! Thank you! =D