Hello, again, all! I just returned from my trip and, after much consideration, this became the result of my return. Hope you enjoy! Reviews are much appreciated!

The Case of the Disneyland Ripper

Prologue:

Why Would I Do That? Because…It's An Adventure!

One morning, upon unlatching the screen of his laptop to take stock of his blog and perhaps update a comment or two in their hiatus of cases in an unusually peaceful London-which, of course inspired Sherlock's boredom and all his unconventional, not to mention dangerous methods of avoiding said boredom—John Watson discovered a surprise there impatient for his attention, a very wonderful surprise. One so glorious and unexpected that his excitement was palpable, a living creature so bright and beautiful that it coursed through his blood like a natural drug and reverberated in the air about him like an earthquake, it even gave off a scent that was a blend of flowers, sweets, sun, and all things pure and good.

Of their own accord, his fists began to rap repeatedly on the tabletop, his legs making it so he could not sit still on his chair but rather bounced up and down, near to giggling like a child. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have felt foolish, ashamed at his immature response. For heaven's sake, he was not only a grown man but an ex-soldier, fought and shot in Afghanistan nonetheless! But who cared, really? He was much too delighted to care.

After reading the message over and over again, practically memorizing it and pinching himself to make sure he wasn't actually dreaming, he composed a quick and wholehearted response of the affirmative variety, trying not to sound too overly eager or unprofessional to the best of his ability which, granted, under the present circumstances was a challenge indeed.

Just as he came to the end of that heaven-blessed email, John's brilliant but arrogant flatmate strode into the sitting room, his pale lean body enshrouded in one of his white bed sheets and most likely nothing else, pants included. John cringed, deciding not continue on that rather unsavory course of his imagination. Sherlock yawned widely, the action a most unpracticed one to him, and scratched his head, mussing up his black curls even more, then drifted lazily to the kitchen where he knew a warm half-empty kettle of tea would be awaiting his consumption.

"Sherlock?" John called to him.

Sherlock grunted in begrudging acknowledgement.

"I have an announcement to make!"

"You've finally decided to give up on improving that atrocious muddle of words for your girlfriends that you deem poetry?" Sherlock asked with a sneer.

"No, I—what?" John glared at his colleague for a moment before realizing it was best to let that one go…for now. "You certainly are grumpy in the morning, aren't you?" he mumbled under his breath before elaborating upon his original claim. "You'll like this one so I suggest you be nicer to me or no dice. We have a case."

Looking uninterested, Sherlock sauntered toward the sofa and slumped down on it, somehow able to maintain both teacup and makeshift Grecian toga without spilling a drop or letting the latter flap open to reveal anything John would very much like to remain a mystery. "Oh? From that blog of yours? How promising."

"Bit not good. Your sarcasm isn't going to get you anywhere, Sherlock, especially not to a case that you wouldn't want to miss for the world."

"Oh?" Sherlock parroted his previous monosyllable, his blue eyes dubious and one eyebrow raised in evident skepticism. At least he was now peering over at the good doctor. It was a start, and a hopeful one at that. "And why are you grinning like an idiot? It's not another of your stupid celebrities gone missing, is it? I refuse to do that again."

"No, not that, I've been well-informed on your opinions on aiding celebrities by now, believe me. It's a murder actually." John mentally crossed his fingers. "In California."

The consulting detective scowled in disgust. "California? America? Please! Why would I ever bother? More than boring," he exclaimed then took a sip of his tea and averted his eyes to the Daily News sitting on the coffee table.

"That's not all, Sherlock. A murder has occurred in a very unusual and unlikely place…in none other than, drumroll, if you please…Disneyland."

Sherlock paused in mid-drink and probably midsentence of whatever morbid article he had chosen to peruse to refocus on his friend, his brow furrowed.

"It's an amusement park—"

"Yes, yes, I know!" Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

John couldn't have been more shocked if the detective had entered the room wearing a pink tutu and proceeded to perform solos from The Nutcracker. "You…you know about Disneyland? I thought you would have deleted that information a long time ago—"

"Doesn't matter. Still boring," Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock," John chided, the subject of his wrath rolling his ice-blue eyes. "We haven't had a case in more than a week, the least you can do is take a look to prevent further harm to the wall…or my sanity." After scrolling down to the original message, John uplifted a blonde eyebrow in mock reflection and took firm hold of his laptop, spinning it about so that the screen faced his companion, a temptation he understood all too well that the younger man could not resist for long. The latter was still for several moments, his eyes flicking between John, the displayed email, and the newspaper repeatedly and in quick succession, obstinately clinging to what John did not want him to do just to irk him but blatantly yearning what the mystery could be, whether dangerous, interesting, or merely a waste of his brain capacity. John could see the detective's eyes burning to know and the wheels of his mind desperate for a fix.

With a huff and a clink of his teacup as he discarded it, Sherlock moved toward his friend, stepping onto and over the coffee table along the way. It had taken all of ten seconds to break the will of Sherlock Holmes's legendary iron-fisted stubbornness, and Sherlock thought he was predictable. The tall man's hands splayed across the tabletop whilst he hunched over the keyboard, his irritated expression slowly melting into narrowed eyes and a frown then settling into a small devious smile of self-importance and…yes, of interest. That was what he was searching and hoping for.

John recognized that grin. The thrill returned to his veins with renewed vigor and less hesitation. Inwardly, he achieved a triumphant backflip.

Neglecting both tea and paper, Sherlock retreated down the hallway to his room, saying over his shoulder, "I'll begin the packing if you purchase the plane tickets."

John couldn't believe his luck on both the receiving of the request as well as Sherlock's acceptance of it, against all odds and his tendency to be the world's best killjoy. But he wasn't about to question the forces behind what granted him a chance to fulfill a lifelong dream, no, sir. His face lit up in sheer pleasure and anticipation.

"As you wish, Mr. Holmes," John replied with only partially-concealed glee. And John did exactly as requested.

Note: I will be going back and forth between this story and my other story entitled "Harpoon on the Tube" as well as perhaps a oneshot here and there so, please bear with me. And suggestions are always welcome!