(BAKER STREET, Alice’s POV: )

 I was reading in Sherlock’s chair as usual, and John was in his chair doing the same. Suddenly the living room door burst open and Sherlock charged in, stopping just inside the room and slamming the end of a long pole down onto the ground. My eyes widened and as I scanned him up and down. John looked round and his eyes widened too at the sight of his flatmate, who was wearing black trousers and a white shirt and whose arms, chest and face were covered with blood – far too much blood for it to be his own – and who was holding a harpoon. He looked round to us, breathing heavily.

 “Well, that was tedious.” He said nonchalantly. I held in a laugh and put the book back on the shelf.

 “You went on the Tube like that?!” John nearly shouted.

 “None of the cabs would take me.” He answered, sounding irritated. He walked out of the room.

 Later he was back in the room, having cleaned himself up and changed into a clean shirt and trousers with one of his blue dressing gowns over the top. He was still carrying the harpoon and was pacing rapidly between the door and the window, looking round repeatedly at John as he sat in his chair flicking through the newspapers.

 “Nothing?” He asked impatiently.

 “Military coup in Uganda.” John offered. I looked up at the harpoon in Sherlock’s hands. I wanted to see how heavy it was.

 “Hmm.” Sherlock replied. John chuckled in amusement as he saw something in one of the papers.

 “Another photo of you two with the, er...” John explained, pointing  to a photograph of Sherlock wearing the deerstalker hat and me in the bowler hat. I didn’t mind because I rather liked it. Sherlock, however, made a disgusted noise. John moved on to another newspaper. “Oh, um, Cabinet reshuffle.” He continued.

 “Nothing of importance?” he asked, furious. He slammed the end of the harpoon onto the ground and roared with rage. I jumped up and put my hand around the harpoon, trying to take it from him. He didn’t even notice.  “Oh, g*d!” He complained. He looked round at John intensely. “John, I need some. Get me some.” He demanded. I immediately backed away from him, knowing that irritating him may not be the best decision.

 “No.” John said calmly.

 “Get me some.” Sherlock ordered intensely.

 “No.” John repeated, a bit louder. He pointed sternly at him. “Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what. We all did.” He explained, emphasizing ‘all’. I gave him a glare. Irritated, Sherlock leaned the harpoon against the table. “Anyway, you’ve paid everyone off, remember? No-one within a two mile radius’ll sell you any. And Alice added an extra four miles.” He added. I glared at him again for including me.

 “Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?” Sherlock demanded. John looked round at him and cleared his throat pointedly. Sherlock looked towards the door.  “Mrs. Hudson!” He shouted. He started hurling paperwork off the table as he searched desperately for what he needed.

 “Look, Sherlock, you’re doing really well. Don’t give up now.” John encouraged.

 “Yeah, John. He is. So well!” I said, every word dripping with sarcasm. He gave me a terrifying look and I just returned it with a snarky glare.

 “Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me.” He begged frantically as he continued his search. As John remained silent, Sherlock straightened up and then turned his most appealing puppy-dog eyes on him, hesitating before he spoke and almost forming the word a couple of times before actually speaking it. “Please.” He begged.

 “Can’t help, sorry.” John said, completely unaffected from his flatmate’s eyes.

 “I know where they are!!” I shouted, raising my hand. John’s eyes widened as he spun round to face me. Sherlock did the same and he leaned down into my face.

 “Where are they!?” He demanded, his eyes scanning my face wildly. I looked back into him, a bit surprised at his desperation. He suddenly backed up, looking at John again. “I’ll let you know next week’s lottery numbers.” He offered. John chuckled. “Oh, it was worth a try.” Sherlock replied, exasperated. He looked around the room, then got inspired and hurled himself to the floor in front of the fireplace. Unearthing a slipper from the pile of papers in front of the unlit fire, he held it up and scrabbled about inside as Mrs. Hudson arrived at the door and came in.

 “Ooh-ooh!” She exclaimed, surprised.

 “My secret supply: what have you done with my secret supply?” He said, panicking almost and rummaging about in the fireplace as he spoke almost sing-song.

 “Eh?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

 “Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?” Sherlock shouted.

 “You know you never let me touch your things!” They landlady exclaimed. She looked around at the mess. “Ooh, chance would be a fine thing.”

 “I thought you weren’t my housekeeper.” Sherlock said, standing up and facing her.

 “I’m not.” She said, almost defiantly. Making a frustrated noise, Sherlock stomped back over to the harpoon and picked it up again. Behind him, Mrs. Hudson looked down at John, who did the universal mime for offering someone a drink. She looked at Sherlock again. “How about a nice cuppa, and perhaps you could put away your harpoon.” She offered. I went up and stood behind Sherlock, for some reason wanting to flick his head repeatedly until he shouted out in anger and tacked me. I smiled at the thought. Or I wanted to pull his hair, or pinch him, or tickle him. Oh! Sherlock Holmes, getting tickled. Now that would be fun.

 “I need something stronger than tea. Seven per cent stronger.” Sherlock hinted, interrupting my mischievous thoughts. He glared out of the window, then turned back towards Mrs. Hudson and aimed the harpoon at her. She flinched and I reached out, but didn’t move. “You’ve been to see Mr. Chatterjee again.” He noticed.

 “Sherlock...” I warned.

 “Pardon?” Mrs. Hudson asked, glancing at me.

 “Sandwich shop. That’s a new dress, but there’s flour on the sleeve. You wouldn’t dress like that for baking.” He said, pointing at her with the harpoon tip.

 “Sherlock...” John warned, in the same tone as me.

 “Thumbnail: tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don’t we?” Sherlock continued. He sniffed deeply as he finally stopped aiming the harpoon at her. I relaxed a bit. “Mmm: Kasbah Nights. Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It’s on the website – you should look it up.”

 “Please.” Mrs. Hudson asked, exasperated.

 “I wouldn’t pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee. He’s got a wife in Doncaster-” He adopted a south Yorkshire accent to say the town’s name. “-that nobody knows about.”

 “Sherlock!” John and I shouted angrily.

 “Well, nobody except me.” Sherlock continued.

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t.” Mrs. Hudson insisted, upset. She stormed out of the flat, slamming the living room door closed as she went. Sherlock leapt over the back of his chair from behind it, and then perched on the seat, wrapping his arms around his knees like a petulant child. John slammed his newspaper down. I almost went up and slapped him.

“What the bl**dy h*ll was all that about?” John demanded.

 “You don’t understand.” Sherlock said innocently, rocking back and forth.

 “Go after her and apologise.” I ordered, pointing at the door and taking John’s command out of his mouth.

 “Apologise?” Sherlock asked, staring at John and ignoring me.

 “Mmm-hmm.” John confirmed.

 “Oh, John, I envy you so much.” Sherlock said, sighing. John hesitated, wondering whether to rise to the bait, but eventually asked.

 “You envy me?” John questioned.

 “Your mind: it’s so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine’s like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad.” He continued, growing. “I need a case!” He shouted frantically.

 “You’ve just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!” John shouted, equally loud. With an exasperated noise, Sherlock jumped up in the air and then landed in the seated position on the chair. I closed my eyes, letting my anger lessen.

 “That was this morning!” He whined. He started drumming the fingers of both hands on the arms of the chair while stomping his feet on the floor. “When’s the next one?” Sherlock demanded.

 “Nothing on the website?” John asked. Sherlock got up and walked over to the table, collected his laptop and handed it to John, who looked at the message on there while Sherlock stomped over the window and narrated part of it. “‘Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I can’t find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?’” He quoted.

 “Bluebell?” John asked.

 “A rabbit, John!” Sherlock exclaimed, irritated.

 “Oh.” John said, sounding sheepish.

 “Ah, but there’s more! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous...” He said sarcastically. He made his voice high-pitched for the next three words.  “...’like a fairy’ according to little Kirsty; then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry...” He stopped and his expression became more intense. “Ah! What am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there’s an escaped rabbit.” Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, sounding mad for the last bit.

 “Are you serious?” John tested.

 “It’s this, or Cluedo.” Sherlock warned. I perked up and grinned at Sherlock. The way he played was... different.

 “Ah, no!” John exclaimed, closing the laptop and getting up to put it back on the table.

 “John!” I whined, scowling.

 “We are never playing that again!” John announced, ignoring me.

 “Why not?” Sherlock and I asked at the same time.

 “Because it’s not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that’s why.” John argued. I put my hand on my hip and gave the doctor a sarcastic look.

 “Well, it was the only possible solution.” Sherlock said smugly.

 “It’s not in the rules.” John said, sitting down again.

 “Then the rules are wrong!” Sherlock said furiously. I rolled my eyes and flopped on the couch on my back. The doorbell rang. My head shot up and I looked at the two. John held up a finger thoughtfully as Sherlock looked towards the living room door.

 “Single ring.” John said.

 “Maximum pressure...” Sherlock began.

 “...Just under the half second.” I finished.

 “Client.” We all said simultaneously.

One chapter cos I am still behind. -.- I seriously need to catch up. BUT I LOVE MINECRAFT SO MUCH! *sigh* Enjoy, vote, and comment fun peoples! And thank you for the critisism earlier! =)