Long A/N: Sorry for the wait, I've been very, very ill lately, but I won't ever forget about this story, so don't worry. Anywho, I've got a real story goal now, this chapter's just a little bittersweet thing while I get things going again. It does get a bit pre-slashy and odd, I'll blame that on meds I've been forced to take, Either way, I promise this story will start to have more direction! Please review, it makes my life!

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or it's characters, just the situation they find themselves i currently.

"Well Sherlock? Any theories yet?"

"A few, but nothing yet too promisisng. In any case, we should be gathering all the facts first. What do you think?"

John had been preparing for that question. The first 'case' Sherlock ever brought him on, he had been completely caught off guard by it.

Sherlock put down his phone, looking at the man expectantly. John took himself back from their flat and into room with the...body.

"Erm...well whoever did this is obviously sick in the head..." He started off rather lamely, unsettled by the memories. "But they probably wanted it to be so noticeable to catch people's attention, like a warning. Or it could be revenge." Though he would never show it, he desperately hoped he was right, so as not to make a fool of himself in front of his genius friend again.

"Well done John, much better than usual. Now all that's left is to connect the rather thinly spread dots and we should be on our way."

"You can't seriously solve this with what I've just guessed at."

"Well no, you've missed most of the important things, but don't worry, I'll make up the difference. I've got a considerable wealth of ideas, and clues from the crime scene. Shouldn't be more than a 1 patch problem."

John whipped around. "Sherlock! I thought you were done with all of that. We agreed-"

"Yes, John, we agreed on that, but nicotine is an entirely different matter. For one thing-"

"Sherlock, as your doctor-"

"It's not going to hurt me, you know-"

"As your friend! You need to trust me that it is not a good idea."

Sherlock stood up and strode over calmly but intimidatingly over to John. They stared at each other for a few seconds, neither quite knowing what the other was doing. Sherlock was the first to break the silence.

"Arm wrestle."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Have you gone mad?"

"Not in the slightest. If I win, I get a patch. Frighteningly simple."

John smirked and raised an eyebrow. "You can't be serious. You have to know that I can beat you. Easily."

But Sherlock was already clearing the kitchen table of the forgotten experiments from yesterday. Then he had a thought.

"Mrs. Hudson! We need you!" He slid a glance at John. "In case you cheat."

Now John was laughing, holding his sides. The poor landlady was being called in to judge an arm wrestling match. She came hurrying up the stairs. "What's all this shouting about?"

Sherlock didn't turn his gaze from John. "Make sure this stays fair."

She looked genuinely confused, but decided to humor them for today. "Alright then, dearies."

Dear God... John thought. What he must have done to get on her good side.

"Wait, wait, I haven't even agreed to this yet!"

Sherlock turned to his flatmate and looked very, very serious. John just laughed, the whole thing was so childish. "Alright then, but don't blame me if you lose." Sherlock stayed silent as the men got into position over the table (Oh God I can't even...sorry XD). Sherlock fidgeted around in anticipation.

"Three, two, one, go!"

John was surprised at how well the lanky man held up. That said, the strain was showing on his face. The back of his hand hit the table in under a minute. Sherlock looked truly livid for a moment, but got himself under control in a flash.

"Very well then, soldier. You've won. Now, would you mind going out to do the shopping? We've run out of tea again." John was visibly surprised that the detective changed the subject so quickly, but he was being amiable today.

"Sure, if you say you're alright. Don;t give me a reason to regret it. I mean it."

Thankfully. Now for the landlady. Of course, the smell of tomatoes.

"Mrs. Hudson, thank you for that. You'd best be going then, don't want your sauce to boil over." She walked out quick enough, muttering happily about "the little things that man does."

As soon as the doors closed, Sherlock flung himself to the couch, trembling. He murmured to himself, almost incomprehensibly.

"Not in front of him. Not now. Not in front of John."

Reader poll! Next Chapter: Flashback feat. Mycroft, or continue on with the mystery crime? Answer in the comments please, I really appreciate the feedback!