Slow. There are close to none. A small one, per week. I need problems, I need work.

John, hungry.

What’s the word?

Hungry.

No. But yes, poor John. Poor, poor, John who has to take off work to make sure his flatmate doesn’t harm small animals or infiltrate the street. I’ll kiss him when he says the word.

Hungry! Food! Oh… oh. John, it could be anything. Really, it could. Gun, couch, soldier, asphyxiation, Sarah, wall, window, London, 221B-

It’s easy, Sherlock.

NO. I’M HUNGRY.

Hold off the caps, there. Please.

Oh. You’re clever, clever. Very clever. You just said it now, didn’t you?

I’m hungry. Please.

I fix you a sandwich. Tea?

Please.

I don’t even know how to respond to some of these anymore.

Then don’t.

Where did you put my book?

It's nonexistent.

You burned it?

I may have.

You burned. My. Book.

You know I hate repetition.

It was for the case!

And so was the experiment. Buy a new one- it’s not that difficult.

You’re a sodding prat.

We’re out of milk.

Don’t.

But we are so come over here.

Yes, certainly. Most times it’s the only reason why I would watch such things unless John was present.

If I’m not actually interested in the show it doesn’t bother, but if I am it’s bloody annoying. Last time he did it we were watching the House at the End of the Street. He made up for it nicely, though, so it wasn't all terrible.

I wouldn’t allow it to be.

Eat your food. I didn’t put it in the microwave for nothing.

Yes, Mummy.

That’s disgusting.

It would never happen anyway.

Anderson is a-

No. We’re not doing this again.

But he is!

Just watch the telly and shut the bloody hell up.

Shut me up yourself if you want me to.

Fine.

Pity my leg is busted- I would be willing to get the milk right now.