This came out of nowhere and insisted on being written.

Warning: This is crack strong enough for Sherlock to get high on. While not being entirely implausable, don't expect to ever be able to look at our dear detective in the same way ever again.

John sighed as his mobile rang. Just once, just once, he'd like to have a proper date with Sarah that didn't end in Sherlock summoning him halfway across London. Still, the fact that Sherlock had phoned rather than texting suggested that there was a genuine urgency to talk to him. Sighing, John took the call.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Ah, hello John." Sherlock sounded calm, but he was slightly out-of-breath, like he'd been running. "Can you pass me over to Sarah, please?"

"What? Why?"

Sherlock hesitated, which was immediately worrying. "I have a question regarding women's underwear, and as Donovan would refuse to answer and Molly would assume it was some kind of seduction attempt, Sarah appears to be the most likely candidate to ask."

"Oh. Right." That seemed reasonable enough. They had been working on a case where a suspect's alibi depended on the fact that she had only been wearing pants and a bra at the time of the murder. The police had found this tenuous at best, but Sherlock had clearly come to some brilliant conclusion and just needed to check with someone who would be slightly more knowledgeable on the subject. "He wants to talk to you."

Sarah was clearly surprised, but took the phone anyway. "Hello?"

Even though he could only hear one half of it, the following conversation would forever be one of John's favourite memories.

Sarah's eyes grew bigger and bigger as she listened to whatever Sherlock was explaining, and a blush spread slowly across her face. "You... Is this for a case, or is this normal for – Alright, alright, I was only asking. So what's the prob-"

John was fairly sure that Sarah's eyes would fall out of her head if they got any wider. "I – you – what – how?" She was grinning now, incredulous and very, very amused. "And how long have you been like this?"

John furrowed his brow. What had Sherlock got himself into now? Maybe he'd tried to sneak into the lingerie section of Marks and Spencers and was hiding from security. He was brought out of his musing when Sarah snorted rather loudly, and he looked back to see she was screwing her face up, biting her fist and trying really hard not to laugh. "No. No, not funny at all. So you've – you only have one arm?"

He what?

At this point, Sarah was probably risking an aneurysm from holding in her laughter. "Ok, look, do you need to keep this intact? This specific one? … Well, just – just cut it." Shaking with silent sniggers, she buried her face in her free hand. "No problem. Happy to help. Alright then, bye!"

As soon as she'd hung up, Sarah collapsed on the table in a fit of giggles. "That," she said, raising a hand, "made up for every single time he's called you away."

John waited patiently until she'd calmed down a little. "What did he want?"

"Your genius detective," she began, still laughing, "was testing a theory."

"Yes, I gathered that much."

"He decided... the only way was to... try it himself."

John groaned. He hadn't. "And so he put on women's underwear?"

Sarah looked like it was Christmas. "Yep."

"And why, exactly, did he call you?"

"Well, apparently, he's not too experienced with removing these things."

No. It couldn't be. It was too ridiculous.

Sherlock Holmes, world's greatest consulting detective, had got himself stuck in a bra.

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