John Watson sat at his desk at 221B Baker Street, checking his email while half of his attention was on the telly. Over the last few days there seemed to be nothing on but coverage of the Karl Hunter case. He had to admit it was riveting, and it was hard not to be affected by the man's tearful pleas.

Every so often, a small black rubber ball whizzed by John's head and bounced off the wall, ricocheting back to the origin of its launch site…Sherlock Holmes, who lay on the sofa, still in his pajamas despite the fact that it was nearly noon.

John tried to ignore this irritation. He knew this was a nervous outlet for Sherlock's boredom. There had been no interesting cases for weeks and business had been very slow. Sherlock had been foraging for cigarettes again, checking and re-checking his favorite hiding places, but John and Mrs. Hudson, their land lady, had done an admirable job in removing the smokes. As the ball whizzed close by his ear again, John considered putting a pack back in one of the hiding places, just to let him vent his boredom in some other way.

"I wonder how Lestrade's making out on this one," ventured John, hoping Sherlock would stop throwing the ball.

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, although John suspected he was annoyed that Lestrade hadn't called him yet.

"Who cares?" snapped Sherlock taking up the ball and rolling over to face the wall. His curly dark hair was unkempt, and John wondered when the last time was that he ran a comb through it. He needed to find a case, if for no other reason than to pull his friend back into the world of the living.

As if in answer to this thought, John's phone buzzed. He was thrilled to see Lestrade's name come up on the display.

"It's Lestrade!" he shouted to Sherlock's back. He answered the phone and Sherlock listened to one side of the conversation.

"Hello? Yeah, hi. What? We were just wondering about that. We've seen it on the news again. This Friday? Really? Why, what's the problem?"

Sherlock had turned over to face John, now impatient to know what was being said. He threw the ball which landed in John's cup of tea.

"Jesus Christ! No, not you…Sherlock. Wait, what? Oh, he won't like that. Well, I'll tell him. Mmmm Hmmm. OK. I'll let you know. Bye"

He hung up the phone and looked sideways at Sherlock like he always did when sizing him up to tell him bad news.

"Well, what did Gavin want?" asked Sherlock in a surly voice.

"Greg," said John flatly. This man was a genius with a vast capacity to store information in his 'Mind Palace' but he refused to use Lestrade's first name correctly. John suspected he knew perfectly well, but it had become somewhat of a habit, perhaps even belying an undercurrent of general fondness.

"He wants us down at the Yard on Friday to sit and watch an interview with Karl Hunter…just to watch," stressed John. "We'll be in another room watching a live feed, so we won't be able to ask any questions."

Sherlock's steel blue eyes shifted back and forth as he took in this information.

"You said I wouldn't like it. You mean I won't like not being able to ask questions?" he searched John's features, impatient for an answer. John was clearly guarded, but his knowing look indicated he still knew something Sherlock didn't.

"Not…not exactly," stuttered John. "They've hired a company called VeriCorp to come in. He says they have some kind of deception training…and they want to train the Scotland Yard staff…"

Sherlock snuffed loudly at this, and then realized the incongruity. "Well, what do they want me there for then?"

John paused before answering, considering his friend's tendency to react violently to unpleasant news.

"They want to challenge you to solve the crime before VeriCorp does," said John quickly, rescuing his tea cup and his computer before Sherlock found something else to throw.

But Sherlock just sat perfectly still, his eyes unfocused as if far away in thought. They narrowed as he came back to the present. He took in a deep breath and said in his deepest most menacing voice, "Tell him we'll be there."

John blinked at him. "Sherlock, you don't have to do this. The Chief just wants to make you look like a fool. You know it embarrasses him that his own lot can't figure things out."

"You think I'll come out looking like a fool?" asked Sherlock, turning to glare at John.

"N-no. That's not what I…listen, I just mean that you have nothing to prove. You are the smartest and best detective they've ever had!"

Sherlock basked in the compliment for a moment, the barest hint of a smile forming on his full lipped mouth. Suddenly, he launched himself off of the sofa.

"Well, in that case, I'd better go and have a wash. The game is on!"