Chapter 4

John bust into the flat, gun blazing. "My gun is on fire!"

"Throw it out the window," Sherlock said very, very calmly.

He did. Then John looked over at the detective, where he was lying on the sofa. "What are you doing?"

"Nicotine patches. They help me think."

John leaned over. "That's just crack cocaine taped to your arm."

"Whatever. Anyway, I need to borrow your phone."

"My phone?"

"Your phone."

"My phone?"

" E," Sherlock roared, causing an 8.7 earthquake on the metric table, or whatever them Brits use.

"Fine, fine!" John threw the phone at him.

Sherlock stroked the phone, then handed it back. "On my desk, there's a number. I want you to send a text to it."

"A text?"

Sherlock gave him a look. "Don't do this."

"Fine." John took the phone. "By the way, did you know a man resembling a potato is stalking you?"

"Yea. Alright, here's the text you're gonna send. These words exactly: 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'"

John had only typed 'What happened at Lauriston Gdns? I must have b' before he accidentally sent it. "...Oops."

Sherlock parkoured over his coffee table, did a triple flip, walked on the ceiling, then landed in the kitchen. "Did you send it?"

"Uh...yeah." John inconspicuously threw the phone out the window. A roar of pain was heard down below.

Sherlock walked over to a bright pink suitcase sitting on one of the chairs and unzipped it. There were a few books, clothes, and some women's underwear in it. Sherlock flinched visibly upon seeing the latter and carefully removed it to another part of the flat, setting the whole contaminated area on fire.

"Wait a second…" John looked at the case, then at Sherlock, then at the case.

"Oh yeah, I should probably mention that I didn't kill her," the detective said.

"Whatever." John shrugged and sat down. "How did you find this?"

"I went looking in the trash," Sherlock said, and gaze pensively out the window. "My second home."

"Same!" They high-fived.

Unfortunately this very bro-ly scene of very friendly platonic bromanship was broken by the phone ringing. Neither of them questioned how it had ended up back in the flat.

John answered it. "Hello?"

Sherlock shot the phone out of his hand, consequently deafening him in one ear. "Idiot! You're not supposed to answer it!"

John punched him in the face. They became locked in another VERY PLATONIC wrestling match. Then they went out to dinner.

A waiter greeted them when they walked into the restaurant. "Everything's on the house, for you and your date!"

"Thanks, Billy!" said Sherlock.

"My name isn't Billy," said the waiter. He was ignored.

"And I'm not his date," John told Not-Billy.

"Yeah, and I'm not an emotionally stunted sociopath with a high intelligence," Sherlock scoffed. Then he looked out the window and said in a smoll voice, "Soon They Will Learn The Truth."

They sat down and some guy named Angelo brought them a menu.

"The only item on this menu is 'Sherlock's Ass'," John said.

Angelo winked.

Sherlock changed the subject. "By the way, the potato man is my brother who is in charge of the government."

"Yeah, whatever, so, are you single?" John asked.

Sherlock jumped up. "A taxi! Time to go!" He karate kicked through the glass window...or tried to, since it was made of bullet proof glass. "Plan B!" He ran out the door. John followed him and they started chasing the taxi. Sherlock's spaghetti noodle legs allowed him to run at like 20 mph while John struggled to keep up.

"Sherlock, wait u—" The words ALTERNATIVE ROUTE popped up in a big font and clotheslined him.

"Come on, John!" Sherlock was on a roof. He reached into his fanny pack and pulled out the Power of Rainbow Magic to help him onto the next roof. "Weeeeeeee!"

John stared at the sparkling rainbow. He took a running leap. Surprisingly, nothing horrifying happened. Soon both gays were back on the sidewalk chasing the cab. They had almost intercepted it but it passed them.

"Son of a bitch!" Sherlock threw his hat on the ground.

"When did you get a hat?" John asked.

"Screw this!" Sherlock took a grenade launcher and blew up the cab.

John, panting, finally caught up and full body tackled another cab. "I've got you now!" The cab driver screamed and gunned the engine, John hanging onto the roof the whole time.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Sherlock took a picture. "This is going on Instagram."

-Back at the Flat-

Sherlock opened the door and stepped into the landing of 22 lbs whatever. "Well, that was fun."

Mrs Hudson ran downstairs. "Sherlock, what did you do?"

The cab with John crashed into the front of the building.

"You mean that?"

"No, the goddamn cops upstairs!"

John slowly slid down the front of the cab. "My head is killing me…"

Upstairs, the cops were doing a drugs bust on his flat.

John scoffed at this. "Sherlock's not a junkie!"

Lestrade deadpanned. "Literally everyone in this fic is a junkie. I ate a whole marijuana today."

"We're in a fic?"

Sherlock broke a window. "Stop breaking the fourth wall!"

"No, that's a window."

"Hello everyone!" Anderson the dinosaur man appeared. No one cared.

Sally appeared as well. She held up a bag of eyeballs. "Are these human eyes?"

"Yes." Sherlock did not elaborate further.

"Well, we found out who Rachel was," Greg said.

"Who is Greg?" Sherlock asked, breaking the fourth wall again.

"Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, who died fourteen years ago," Lestrade continued.

John patted the DI on the shoulder. "That must've been rough, mate."

"Wha—no! Rachel, not me!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "That's what they all say...Groot. If that is even your real name..." he said in a detective-y voice.

Lestrade went back to not caring. "...k."

"But why would she scratch it into the floor?" Sherlock wondered. He turned to John. "If you were dying, what would you say?"

Anderson adjusted his dinosaur nose. "Well, I would say—"

"SHUT UP, ANDERSON!" You can guess who said that. "Your face is putting me off!"

Sadly, Anderson took off his dinosaur nose.

Suddenly, Sherlock had a eureka moment! "Of course! Why didn't I think of this before?" He ran over to Anderson, threw him out the (not broken) window, then returned to the problem at hand. "Now, why would she write Rachel on the floor…"

"Maybe it's her password?" John suggested. "For her e-mail?"

And finally, the plot began to move once more.

They logged into Jenye West's email account. Anderson poked his head through the now-broken window.

"We can read her e-mails now. So what?"

Sherlock didn't look up from his laptop. "Anderson, stfu. You lower the IQ of the whole street."

"But wouldn't that mean—" The dinosaur man ducked as a heavy-duty printer was launched at his head.

"Anyway, the GPS will show us where the phone is." The location showed up on the screen. It was 221b.

"Maybe the phone is still in the case, or something," Lestrade said.

"Or maybe…" Sherlock dramatically pointed at a random cop. "It was YOU, ROGER! I should have know it all along!" The cop screamed, his guilty conscience finally overwhelming him Edgar Allan Poe style. Sherlock laughed. "I'm just fucking with you, man." 'Roger' was on the ground foaming at the mouth.

The remaining cops started looking for the phone.

Sherlock shrugged. "I should probably help them, but…" He jumped out one of the windows, landing on the old cabbie outside.

"FUCKING OW."

Hello friends! It's been a while! I'm finally on break now and I finished my other parody on ao3 (The Hobbit: An Unexpected Parody; go check it out) so I should be updating more frequently. Feel free to leave a comment telling me what you think or what you would throw at Anderson's head!