"John, I didn't realize you liked chocolate on your waffles," the detective asked his flat-mate.
"Geez, Sherlock. I didn't hear you come in," John said with a start, "It is not chocolate, it is this new thing Molly suggested. It is called Nutella."
"Nutella? I have not heard of such a thing."
"It is a hazelnut spread. It is actually quite good. Molly let me try some of hers, and when I liked it, she told me where to buy it. So I picked up a jar for our flat. It is in the cupboard next to the fridge if you would like to try some."
"No. John, you know I don't eat when I am on a case," Sherlock muttered.
"You're on a case? That was quick, what is it this time?" John asked surprised.
"The Porter Street Case."
"I thought you finished that one," John looked confused.
"I did. But there is still something that doesn't add up…there is no way Mrs. Turner could have dumped that body on her own. She had an accomplice. I know it!" Sherlock smacked his hand on the table in frustration.
"Well, good luck with that," John said taking his now empty plate to the sink. "Meanwhile, I will be out this afternoon on a date with Jane."
"Who?" Sherlock looked at John, momentarily distracted.
"You know, the one with several cats."
When Sherlock continued to look confused, John heaved a large sigh and continued, "You criticized the way she tied her shoes and buttoned her coat."
"Oh, yes. The one with poor grooming," realization dawned on Sherlock's face.
Rather than respond, John finished washing his plate and walked over to the door.
Grabbing his jacket, John turned to Sherlock, "I will be back around seven."
And then he was gone.
Now it was time to figure out his little mystery.
Sherlock changed into a sheet-his best problem solving outfit-and laid down on the couch, his hands clasped on his stomach.
Sherlock melted away from the couch and into his mind palace.
When he finally came to, John was just walking in.
"Ah, hello John. You're back early," Sherlock said noting the time.
"Yes. It seems lunch has decided not to agree with me. I'm not feeling well, so if you need me, I will be up in my bedroom." John grunted and disappeared back onto the landing and up the stairs.
Sherlock got up, still frustrated with his unsolved case.
He walked into his room to grab his violin and picked up his bow from the mantle in the living room.
Walking to the window, Sherlock looked out.
Look at all those boring peoples leading their boring lives, he thought.
He put the bow up to the violin, and began playing.
He had gone through the entire first movement of his own design when he stopped playing.
He looked over to the kitchen. He would never admit to John that he was curious to try that hazelnut stuff.
He slowly walked over to the kitchen and set his items on the table.
Of course he didn't eat while on a case, but it wouldn't be considered eating if he just tasted the stuff. Plus maybe he needed the new taste to stimulate his sensory nerves. Maybe it would help him with his case.
He walked to the cupboard and pulled the jar out.
If he had just a small amount, John would never even notice.
Opening the jar, Sherlock grabbed a spoon and scooped a small amount onto it.
He closed the jar and stared at the small, light brown dollop on the spoon.
And here I go…
Sherlock opened his mouth and put the spoon in.
The instant his lips closed over the spoon, his taste buds were rewarded with a delightful, creamy sensation. It was like pure joy, and filled him with a sense of euphoria that only a solved case had ever given him.
He was tempted to have more, so very tempted. But he knew if he had more, John was sure to notice.
Sherlock carefully placed the container exactly where he found it, cleaned the spoon, and put it back.
He picked his violin and bow up from off the table and walked back over to the window.
He needed to focus on his case.
He had been playing for two hours when he began to feel ill.
"Great," he muttered. "If John brought something into the house, so help me."
He tried to continue playing, but in half an hour, it became impossible.
Frustrated, Sherlock put his bow back on the mantle and walked towards his bedroom.
He put his violin away and flopped onto his bed.
He was shocked to find his body was tired within moments.
That was odd, since he could go days without sleep when on a case.
Before he could think on it with a more serious light, he was out.
When Sherlock awoke, he felt weird.
His body felt large, yet not puffed up. His skin felt incredibly hard and his face felt stretched.
Next he noticed his senses. His hearing was unbelievably sharp and the smells…an overwhelming smell of metal and something foul permeated the air.
Sherlock opened his eyes to find himself in a large chamber. It was massive, and piled high with gold and other precious jewels.
I must be dreaming, he thought groggily.
He tried to move his hands, only to find a large claw rise out of a pile of gold to his left. It looked like the claws to a large lizard. A dragon. But there was no such thing.
Sherlock began to panic, but was distracted by a clanking of coins behind a parapet to his left.
He moved to look behind it, only to see John. An exceptionally small John. He was dressed very oddly, and his hair was in brown curls.
"He – hello , Smaug," he stuttered.
Smaug? Sherlock was confused.
"John, John it's me," Sherlock spoke, and his voice came out as a deep, growly rumble.
John looked terrified and pulled out a sword.
"My – my name is Bilbo Baggins," he stammered.
"John, it is me. It is Sherlock."
"John dropped his sword. "Sherlock?"