The typewriter sound was staccato as Holmes paced and I continually got distracted enough to stop my work and turn around to see what he was puzzling over. I had no gratification at any time—no letters clamped in his fists, not any difficult cases I knew him to be working, not any frustrated murmurings. My work was coming at the speed of a tortoise. In a half hour I had typed half a page. "What is it?" I asked at last.
He was slow to answer, but never stopped his circle around the room. "It's this Johnlock. I simply must know what it means."
"And you intend to deduce it," I smiled. "You only pace when you need to think something through."
He at last sat. "It is a fanfiction term. That much we know. It is something Wordwielder is aware off, but not something she approves of. Her body language said as much. She was curious to our reaction, which leads me to believe it is not something would most definitely please us—she would know— though it could be. It involves both of us. Our names together."
"If she disapproves," I suggested. "Then she has never written it."
"Correct, Watson. Let's see what she has written…" He jotted notes as he recalled. "Not a case. Not a friendship occurrence." His body went rigid with realization. He choked, and I rushed to my friend, concerned. He edged away from me, horror etched on his features. His voice was grim when he spoke: "I've gotten it, Watson, and I can say truly this is the first time I wish I hadn't solved a puzzle."
Hopefully you guys laughed as much reading this as I did writing it!