This came to me just before I started getting ready for bed. It may be a bit silly, but hopefully it is also funny. Just some clarification: Xen's last name is Keller; and John has firemaking abilities because he has adopted a phoenix, and thus has been given the powers of one so he can look after her properly. Of course, you'd know this if you'd read what I've written so far in The Grinning Gargoyle (hint, hint).
One day, Tristan Wormwood and Calla Gardiner came to visit Sherlock Holmes and John Watson (and their dragon and phoenix, respectively named Fang and Stella). Interestingly, when they came down the stairs from John's room into the main part of the flat (Tristan had a habit of coming in through the upstairs window, because to him it was more fun that way), Calla was carrying a large bag of tortilla chips, and Tristan had what appeared to be a jar of salsa gingerly clutched in his claws.
"What's that?" asked John, indicating the food stuffs.
"It's something new that Xen made up today," Tristan said, referring to his fiancee back home in America. "It's an old family recipe, passed down from Keller to Keller, for one of the spiciest, most tongue-frying salsas in the history of the universe. I brought you a jar, because it might help with your firemaking skills." He held out the jar reverently.
John accepted it, and twisted the lid off. He peered in curiously; it looked like ordinary salsa at first: red, with hints of peppers and onions and a few other choice ingredients inside. But upon closer examination, he could see it was a bit brighter red than most types, and there were strange flecks of gold inside. He looked up at the gargoyle.
"Is it safe?"
"Yeah, sure. Got a bit of a kick to it, though." To demonstrate, Tristan opened the bag, selected a chip, dipped it into the sauce, and crunched it. As soon as the piece hit his tongue, he gasped, his brain seeming quite unable to comprehend the fire that had just been lit in his mouth. John could swear he actually saw wisps of smoke coming out of Tristan's mouth as he coughed and choked. But after a few seconds he stood up straight, wiping at his streaming eyes, and grinned at the doctor.
"I love this stuff!"
Sherlock snorted from the table, where he was sitting and looking at something through his microscope, with Fang draped over his shoulders lazily.
"I have yet to understand why people are stupid enough to eat something that causes that sort of reaction."
Tristan gave him a look. "Oh, like you never do anything dangerous, or that causes a reaction. Don't be a hypocrite. Besides, it's good."
"The negative reaction usually happens to other people. I personally would never indulge in a foodstuff that would make me look like a dying fish when I tasted it." He went back to his microscope. Neither he nor John was prepared for Tristan to shoot back, "Eh, that's just as well. You probably couldn't handle it."
Sherlock looked up at the gargoyle through narrowed gray eyes.
"Are you challenging me?" His voice was filled to the brim with incredulity.
Tristan shook his head. "I wouldn't dream of it."
"Good." Sherlock started to look away.
"...Because I would win claws down, and it would be a far bigger blow than your enormous ego could take."
Now there was no question in Sherlock's mind that he was being challenged. He slowly pushed back the microscope and stood. Tristan looked at him mildly, and bit into another chip. He only winced a little bit this time, probably because his taste buds had been so fried by the first bite that it no longer bothered him as much. The taller, older detective marched over, looming over him.
"I can handle as much of that mixture of tomatoes, cilantro, peppers and onions as you can. Much more, in fact."
"Yeah? Prove it." Tristan held out the chip bag.
"No, that's too simple, and you're already desensitized at the moment from eating some. I propose a challenge."
"You're on."
A few minutes later, when Tristan's tongue had recovered from the initial taste, he and Sherlock sat at opposite ends of the table, glaring at each other. Calla had sent a message to Xen explaining the situation, and a few minutes later two new jars of salsa had materialized in the room (along with a note from Xen saying that this was really stupid, and that if Tristan wound up hurting himself, he should remember that she told him so; but it was written in a tone that expressed more eye-rolling, affectionate exasperation than nagging); these sat on the table, one next to each man. There were also two bags of chips on the table, open and ready. Calla sat on the sofa, watching out of wide brown eyes, with the animals nearby. John stood at the side of the table, holding a stopwatch, acting as their referee. He personally also felt that this whole thing was very stupid, but the men's minds were made up, so he decided to indulge them, and offer medical assistance if necessary.
"Right, you know the rules. You have ten minutes, in which you are to eat as much salsa as you can handle. The first one to finish his jar, or at least who can eat the most without requiring water or anything similar to relieve him, wins. You can take small breaks from eating if you wish, but you must not leave the table. Understand?"
"Yes," they both growled.
"Last chance to back out, if either of you so wishes."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, John."
"All right." John pressed the stopwatch. "Go."
Feel free to vote on who you think should win the challenge! I plan for this to be only a two-part thing, so choose quickly. If you think anyone should win at all (jarring chord!).