"Interesting."
"What is?" John asked. Sherlock had taken his laptop hostage again. He hoped the remark had nothing to do with his recent Google search history.
Come to think of it, no. Chemical compounds and ballistics reports were fine. Ferry tickets to Dublin were fine. And Sherlock had outright demanded he trawl through pages of women's footwear based on the strange imprint they'd found in the mud outside the victim's window (Fluevog Grand National, as it happened).
"I've found a site that uses algorithms to determine gender based on text samples."
"Oh." John returned to his novel. The hero had just discovered the headquarters of the terrorist cell. Things were looking up.
"I've run your blog through it."
Oh, for fuck's sake. The author had clearly never spent any time in Afghanistan or even bothered to do proper research. Disappointing, really. Wait. "What?"
"I've run The Aluminium Crutch through gender analysis."
"And what gender is the crutch?"
"It's inanimate, John. Gender not applicable in English." Sherlock smirked. "You, on the other hand, appear to be a woman."
"GIVE ME THAT!"
Notes:
Try it for yourself - Google Gender Genie
In John's defence, it is frequently wrong. But it really does think his blog is, well, feminine.
This story, on the other hand, is dead butch.