Author's Note: I'd like to thank all of you reading this. Thanks for giving a rather radical and ridiculous fanfiction a chance. I know the idea sounds a bit crazy, but this tale has been brewing in my mind for months. I hope you enjoy it. By the way, I'd like to thank ANGST…. ANGST and ANGST. Enjoy.

Mrs. Hudson had set tea out on the table, in the center of the living room as a peace offering for the quarrelling flatmates, but it turned cold and stayed untouched. The army doctor merely stared at it, glaring over the paper he pretended to read. The detective, sprawled out on the sofa, plucked the strings of his violin anxiously. Though silence was usual between them, John still found this lack of conversation awkward. After all, Dr. Watson had heard the news from Molly, the news of Sherlock's new romantic interest.

Of course, John was happy for his flatmate. Sherlock needed someone. Everyone needed someone. The detective hadn't shown a great interest in anyone since Miss Adler, and that was now six years in the past. He needed to move on.

But John did feel a bit jealous. The doctor had been happily married for four wonderful years, or so he thought. Then he found Mary with another man, and everything fell to pieces.

Now Sherlock had someone, and John had no one. In many ways, the world felt unbalanced, tilted much too far off its proper axis. It was practically flip-flopped. The detective John had known for so many years wouldn't fall into any ridiculous relationships, so something must be wrong. That's it . . . something's terribly wrong with the workings of the world. The worst part of it all was that Sherlock refused to admit his real emotions. He claimed this new relationship was like one of his drugs, just for recreational use. But John knew otherwise. John could tell that something about his flatmate was changing, and he didn't know if it was for better or for worse.

Several days earlier

Sherlock, seated in the darkened lab at St. Bart's, stared at a tiny object in a clear Petri dish through his favorite microscope. He didn't take notice to the young man who had just burst through the door. The bloke coughed, loudly. The detective looked up.

"Uh . . . Excuse me sir, but are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" The man stuttered.

Sherlock set down the dish and replied, "Yes. Why?"

The man held out his hand and said, "I'm Flynn, Flynn Cantrell."

Sherlock examined him. The man was tall, well built, extremely bleach blonde and bright blue-eyed. Telltale signs showed that he was clearly a scientist, and a tag on his white coat gave his name and position. He was a chemist intern at a local research laboratory. The detective, ignoring the man's gesture of a handshake, barked, "I asked you to tell me why you came here, and that didn't imply that you needed to introduce yourself." He turned back to his Petri dish slipping it around underneath the microscope.

Flynn grabbed his shoulder in an effort to gain back his attention.

Sherlock, still looking down, growled, "I have a lot of work to do, so if you have no real business here, please dismiss yourself quickly and quietly."

Mr. Cantrell responded, "I came here for a reason. I've got a case for you."

With the mention of a possible case, Sherlock's eyes brighten and a smirk flashed across his face. He contained his joy and turned back to look at the young man.

The detective asked, "What kind of case? Does it involve the research lab where you work?"

Flynn explained, "Well, until yesterday I was working as an intern for a chemist at Gold Research Laboratory…"

Sherlock mumbled, "So it was the lab. Yes. Continue."

The intern continued, "Yesterday morning, out of the blue, the chemist I worked for didn't show up and my advisor told me I was being assigned a new mentor here, at St. Bart's. She said not to worry about it, that Dr. Gordon had gone to do research at an American university. That just seems very out of character. I have reason to believe he went missing under suspicious circumstances."

The detective replied, "Why is it so unlikely that Dr. Gordon would go to America? It seems possible that he would take an opportunity like that, especially because Gold is reputable for being a terrible lab to work for."

Flynn hesitated, "You see, Dr. Gordon… he hated the United States. He'd talk about Americans sometimes, and he'd refer to them as 'bloody yanks'. He made a strong point of not allowing one of the American scientists to work with him on a special project last month. I can't imagine he'd enjoy being around them all the time. Of course, that's not all. The day before he disappeared I overheard him arguing with someone on the phone. I could only hear him, not the other person, but from what he said it sounded like he was very angry. He threatened the person he was talking to."

Mr. Holmes inquired, "Threatened with what?"

The other man frowned and murmured, "To kill his or her family, sir."

Sherlock couldn't contain his smile. He grinned and said, "I'll take the case. Come by my flat tonight and we will discuss the details." He wrote his address, 221B Baker Street, on a slip of notepaper and handed it to the intern.

"Thank you very much Mr. Holmes," The young man declared.

"Please, call me Sherlock," the detective corrected.

Then, the intern headed out the door.