For the first time ever, Sherlock couldn't get into John's laptop. He couldn't deduce it. He sat in front of the laptop, elbows on the desk, fists under his chin, staring at the password box on the screen. Over the last two hours he had tried everything from john's mother's maiden name, to "password", although if that had been correct, John's IQ was being reduced by 20 points. It was slowly maddening him, his entire john floor of the mind palace had been combed for obscure references John might have used; his favourite jam, childhood memories, serious relationships, all for naught.
John came home from the surgery, sighed as he saw Sherlock on his laptop – he really thought this password would hold out – and made himself tea. When he came out of the kitchen to find Sherlock still sat in front of his laptop, completely motionless, he wandered over to see what had captured his attention, and was delighted to find himself looking at the password screen. He had done it; he had managed to outwit the genius. One minor victory in years of being viciously outgunned. Admittedly it had taken him 39 attempts and to anyone else the password was obvious, but Sherlock didn't know it. John settled down and read the whole paper in a happy bubble.
