"What, what is it?" John asked with concern and slight confusion flitting in his eyes.

"Is there anything else in the backpack?" Sherlock asked, his question directed mostly towards me.

"Why are you asking?" I played dumb.

"For God's sake, don't act stupid. It's very annoying," exclaimed the detective.

"Okay, yes, if you've been able to decode my notebook entries than you'll know about all of my remaining possessions,"

Sherlock jolted up from the chair and hurriedly crossed the room to where my pack lay. He had managed to find all the various technological trinkets that had been crammed in there.

"So, you just wrote it in there like a grocery list? Everything? What if you got caught?" the doctor interjected.

"It wasn't a matter of whether I got caught or not. If that happened, they'd already know what was in the backpack because I stole it from them. I just didn't want this information falling into the hands of any insufferable idiot that ambled along the streets. They would jump all over it. Especially the authorities though they have a bit of a larger beef with me than just that," I answered.

By now, Sherlock had hauled the contents of my bag and had placed them on the ground. The contents that were now strewn across the carpeted floor consisted of: a USB port, a small notebook laptop, and a few memory disks.

"Everything that you need is in there, all of it. Password protected, double, of course but that should be no problem for you." I said to Sherlock.

Sherlock said not a word though his emotions wear quite clearly written on his face for anyone looking: Concern, worry, fear, and basically any sentiments one has when they are anxious about the safety of a person they hold dear. Damn, maybe this Dr. Watson had changed our consulting detective more than I had first thought. The detective then dashed into the kitchen with the electronic devices in his arms.

"Sherlock, what's going on? Sherlock?" called Dr. Watson. He had now abandoned his tea entirely and attempted to follow Sherlock to the kitchen. I could now hear Sherlock climbing stairs to the upstairs flat, and then a few seconds later a second pair footsteps belonging to the doctor chased the first.

But Dr. Watson's attempts were in vain as Sherlock had beaten him to the flat and had closed the door, locking it behind himself.

Dr. Watson then knocked on the door.

"Sherlock, open the door. Sherlock! " John called.

But even to John's pleas the door still remained shut. Then, I could hear John retreat back down the steps and back through the kitchen.

"Must be something really bloody important if the door's closed. That only happens when it's a nine or higher," John commented.

"A nine?" I asked.

"Sherlock and I figured out a system that we use to determine how important a case is. A two is a I'm-only-taking-this-case-because-John-doesn't-want-me-to-smoke, a five is everything-is-boring-god-help-me-and-I-want-to-show-off-because-I'm-Sherlock-Holmes, and nine is don't-even-dream-of-bothering-me-or-I-will-dismember-you-and-use-your-eyeballs-for-an-experiment."

"And a 10?"I ventured.

"Ten is when he starts calling everyone "blankety-blanking-idiots-who-are-a-blanking-blanks-if-they-consider-themselves-intelligent"," John said, "Also, he once nearly experimented on the neighbor's cat because it was making too much noise."

"Well,…"I breathed, "let's hope it's not a 10."