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By John Watson

Really, I don't know how this all started, or who in their right mind would think of something this…odd, but it is my duty to describe the cases we come across.

This one, I regret to say, was one of the strange ones. It was so out of the ordinary that I don't even have a name for this case. And if I did, Sherlock would ridicule it even more than the names of the other cases.

It began at breakfast about three weeks ago. I wondered into the kitchen, surprised to see all the cupboards opened, their contents either smashed or rearranged. It was a miracle I had slept through this.

"Sherlock?" I asked, wondering if this was another case of "boredom".

As I stepped into the living room, I was met with quite the unusual sight. Sherlock was seated in his chair a box of strawberry poptarts in one hand, two of said pastries in his other. Crumbs covered the entire floor.

"Wh…what is the meaning of this?" I asked. "Why are you eating all my…?"

"They are not only yours, Watson." Sherlock mumbled around a mouthful of food. "I was the one who came across these. They have the most peculiar taste."

"Well…can I have one before you've eaten the whole box?"

"Absolutely not. These are not regular pastries you find on the store shelves. These have been…modified."

"What do you mean? More sugar? Caffeine?"

"They have been injected with an addictive substance." He proceeded to shove another one into his mouth.

"So you really like them." I shrugged.

"They have traces of a white, powdery substance inside the jelly filling."

"That's sugar."

"Sugar does not make you depend on it for your survival."

"So you're saying that someone put drugs in it." I sighed.

"Precisely. I was wondering when you were going to catch on." He stuffed another into his mouth.

"And…you're eating them…"

"Why let something this sweet go to waste?" He licked his fingers. "Head down to the nearest grocery. Look for anything blaringly suspicious even you can't miss. I'll be right behind you."

With another sigh, I headed out of 221B and began my trek down the street. I found the nearest shop, a small party store, and headed in. I quickly located the pastries, all stacked across from the cashier, and examined them.

All strawberry. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary upon sight.

"Can I help you?" The cashier asked.

"No, I'm…just looking." I straightened up and waited by the door, every now and then glancing outside.

After what seemed like a year, Sherlock finally stumbled into the shop, crumbs still decorating his front.

"Have you got any pastries? Strawberry? Oh, good!" He didn't give the cashier a chance to respond before he pulled a box of said items off the shelf and tore them open.

"Hey…!" The cashier demanded.

"Um, sorry…" I handed him at least twice the posted price for the breakfast treats. "He has a bad habit of…eating before buying."

"I do not." Sherlock's voice was muffled from the pastries.

"So are those the same as the others?" I asked.

"Yes, the same distinct taste, the sweeter scent…even you can't miss this." He held out a half-eaten poptart. "Try it."

"Excuse me? You said yourself they are addicting."

"Not in small quantities."

I accepted the food item and took a hesitant bite out of the non-bitten side. He was right…it did seem sweeter…and more satisfying. The smell was at least twice as sweet as the taste.

"There is really only one logical solution." Sherlock stuffed another into his mouth. "Someone wants their items to be sold." He pointed to the cashier, crumbs falling from his mouth. "You opened these packages, injected these pastries with this addictive drug, and re-sealed them. Your cashier is directly across from these items, proving that you could easily modify these poptarts and then retreat to the safety behind the desk if someone so much as walked in."

The cashier glanced guiltily away. "I was gonna get fired if business became any slower! I had no choice!"

"You're lucky no one else got ahold of these before us." I said.

"I'm sorry…" the cashier sighed.

"I'll let you off the hook on one condition." Sherlock said.

"What?" The kid's eyes brightened.

"Give me all your 'modified' poptarts."

"Sherlock, no…" I moaned. "The last thing you need is another drug. You already have nicotine patches. You don't need more."

XxXxXxXx

That is –thankfully—the ending of this story.

I hope you enjoyed this crazy case. (Remember to review!)

Until next time, (Hasta la Vista, Readers!)

John Watson (Lordoftheghostking28)