A/N: This chapter... I don't even know guys.

Chapter 22

I forced out an awkward laugh to let him know how unfunny I thought he was being. "Well, would you mind going now?" I looked around my dilapidated flat. "As you can see, it's quite gross down here and I'm highly embarrassed by that fact. I wouldn't want to stain your umbrella or something equally disastrous."

He looked around too, then lifted his umbrella off the floor every so slightly. "Yes, I'm afraid you are right. What did posses you to rent out this abysmal place?"

"Necessity," I replied. I side stepped him and made my way to the exit. "Please do excuse me. I'm going to annoy Sherlock some more. Be sure to close the door on your way out." I thought I heard him chuckle as I left, and it made me smile. At least he didn't think I was a threat. Well, that's what I assumed. I began running up the steps when I saw Sherlock about to come down them.

"Ah, there you are," he said. "We're about to head out. Something has turned up." He looked at me intently.

"Calm down," I said. "Don't give me that look. I'm coming willingly. See?" I made my way up. "No need for drastic measures."

"I'm afraid you don't get to make that decision," he said, pulling out the cuffs from inside a chest pocket.

I stopped in my tracks and groaned. "Honestly Sherlock, are those really that necessary?"

"Yes Sherlock," a voice said from behind me. "Are they really necessary?" I turned to see Mycroft standing at the bottom of the steps. "Seems a bit excessive on your part."

Sherlock eyed his brother in disdain, then walked a few steps down and took my wrist. "I'm afraid that that's nine of your business, Mycroft." He sneered. "Do tell the queen I give her my deepest regards." He looked himself in, then held both of our arms aloft. "Good day, Mycroft." He turned around and walked, forcing me to follow him.

But I wasn't done being me yet. "Whenever you feel in the mood for another round of hot, quick sex, stop by. My door is always open." I winked at him. "Have a good day Mycroft. I must say you're better then I expected." I'm pretty sure he rolled his eyes, but as Sherlock jerked me forward particularly hard I couldn't make out for certain.

The second we made it into the cab, me squished yet again between John and Sherlock, he began to look at me funny.

"What?" I asked him. "Spit it out."

"Mycroft was in your flat," he said.

"He was also wearing a suit. Any more mundane facts you wish to enlighten me with?"

"Why was he in your flat?" He asked.

"I've already said why," I answered. He looked at me in puzzlement, so I sighed theatrically. "We were having rowdy sex, duh."

Sherlock put his hand on his forehead. "Of dear lord. It was enough to hear it the first time. If you insist on continuing with these bawdy and frankly libellous statements regarding yourself and my brother I may be forced to resort to drastic measures in search of- What are you staring at?" He watched as I gazed at him, unflinchingly, mouth open. "What? What is it?"

"You said the word bawdy..."

"Now who is the one stating the obvious. Yes, I just used the word bawdy. Is there some prejudice you have against it being used in polite conversation?"

"First of all, bollocks. Our conversations couldn't be considered as civilised, let alone polite. Second, I possess no prejudice against that particular word. Certain other words perhaps, but not that one. It just never occurred to me that I would be in a situation where you would have to classify an interaction I had with your brother as bawdy. I somehow feel as if the meta gods are telling me something, but I'm just not streets ahead enough to understand it. I don't like that feeling. It's as if someone is patting me on the head and saying 'patience is a virtue'. I don't know about you but I say damn virtue, life is short, so let's all eat dessert first."

Sherlock was about to say something, but stopped himself. He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. "So there are words you have a prejudice against?"

John chimed in for one. "Sherlock, out of that entire little speech she just gave, you fixate on that?"

We both looked at him like he was insane. Which he wasn't, obviously. I was just projecting my crazy onto everyone, and Sherlock was going insane trying to decipher some deeper meaning behind it all. John was the only sane one left. Poor sod.

Sherlock turned back to me. "So, the words you do have a prejudice against would be?"

I turned to him. "I call them no-no words. I don't like them at all. They are moist, panties, enter, and digits." I shuddered. "Disgusting vernacular. Please don't make me repeat myself."

Sherlock considered for a moment. "I understand moist and panties, which I'm assuming comes from their sexual connotation."

"Don't say them out loud," I said. "Actually all four of them have a distinctly naughty connotation of you think about it carefully."

His eyes widened. "Yes, I see now. The last two are a bit less obvious."

"Looks like Manchester United is going to win the Barclays Premier League again," John commented. We both looked at him incredulously. "Sorry, I just thought I change of topic was in order as we are almost at Scotland Yard, and I don't very much want to be heard around the both of you with that kind of conversation you two are having. If you can even call it conversation. Sounds more like the mating calls of dolphins, or something equally weird which I have yet to mock you for."

I laughed and punched John in the arm. "Aww, you do care."

He laughed mechanically. "Just don't talk about weird stuff in front of them. In the flat, go for it, talk all night if that's what it takes, but out here I actually have a bit of a reputation I'd like to uphold. So if you please," he said, opening the cab door me.

"You're so sweet," I said, sliding over his direction. Suddenly I was jerked back by Sherlock, who was attempting to get out from the other side in spite. "No. Don't you dare start this up Shirley. I can go all day." I yanked him towards my side.

"Oh really?" He replied, tugging me back over. "So you think you're the queen of England now?"

"Bitch I might be," I said, pulling on the cuffs. "Are you listening to me Benedict Cumberbatch?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, though I bet it would be fascinating, meeting this Cumberbatch fellow. Do you think we'd get along nicely?" We were at a standstill, both of us at either side of the cab and desperate to win.

"Marvellously," I grunted, arm aching from the effort. "You'd be like twins. Peas in a pod. Moffat and Gatiss. Bonnie and Clyde. Misha Collins and Jack Barrowmen. Hussie and Himaruya. Now I'm just resorting to ships, but whatever."

"I'm afraid I only recognised one of those pairs of names you rattled off," Sherlock said, muscles straining visibly. Not that I was looking at his muscles or anything. "Care to elaborate?"

"Not on your life, Bumblebee Candybatch." I looked around, noting John's disappearance. I could only wonder at the fate of the poor cabbie. "If you want to find out, you'll have to do some more research, Bandaid Chowderpants. It shouldn't be hard for someone as intellectual as you, right Blenderboob Wafflestick? Let's be honest shall we. I mean, you are the Great Cumbino for goodness sake. You should be capable of that much."

"Your attitude isn't helping the situation," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"At least I'm trying to get a laugh in, unlike you with your steely demeanour. I've got it!" I said mockingly. "Barbaduke Cuddleston. The most musical canine who ever ordered you to fornicate. Ah, et tu Loki?"

"This is getting ridiculous," Sherlock said.

"Really Sherlock?" I asked sarcastically. "Now you say it's getting ridiculous? I'm pretty sure ridiculous went out the window when you first brought out these accursed pieces of metal. Finally I know how Light im-a-gaY felt. Though I'm pretty sure being chained to his detective was far easier then being chained to the little old Beerbelly Compubitch that you are."

"I could easily start manipulating your name into insulting portmanteaus. Do not underestimate me." His eyes narrowed. "My own vocabulary is quite extensive and could make short work of your quickly scrapped together puns, which I might add aren't even of my own name."

"Come at me bro," I said.

"You are tempting fate, Hellspawn Risendead." He made an extra hard tug and nearly got me.

"Am I, Brandydick Catburgler?" I jerked back, nearly getting him.

"Yes, indeed you are Harpoon Raunchycakes."

"Harpoon Raunchycakes?" I spluttered. "Dear god, I think I've broken you. Nevertheless, this means war Belchburg Crepestains!"

Somewhere up in the offices of Scotland Yard, John was standing by a window with Lestrade, both of them sipping out of cups of coffee. They watched as a cab below them rocked back and forth every so slightly from the childish antics of it's half in, half out of the car occupants. The cabbie had long since abandoned his attempts at getting them to leave, and left them to it.

"So once again, describe this girl to me," Lestrade asked, turning back to John.

John took a breath. "Well, she's like Sherlock but not."

"Yeah, explain to me how that works again," Lestrade said. "I still can't wrap my head around it."

"She knows things about people, but doesn't point it out to be a dick to you, she points it out only if she wants to be a dick to Sherlock and show off how much she knows in front of him. Unless of course you're on her bad side temporarily, then she might let something slip. I don't even wanna know what she said to Donovan."

"Yeah, Sally talked about her. Said she was a freak just like Sherlock." He crossed his arms. "The idea of two of him is scary."

"Well, as I said she's like him but not." They glanced back to the cab, noticing the war was still on going. "She has tact, and doesn't mind telling him what for when he gets out of line. But she can get angry, just like anybody. Even had it out with me one time. She apologised later, which was unnecessary, but then again just proves how much more unlike him she is."

"And after all that," Lestrade said, making motions with his hands. John looked at him in confusion. "You know, none of the old," he moved his hips a little.

"Oh god no, this is Sherlock were talking about." John looked at Greg bemused. "No, no. He's just interested in her for the mystery. How does she know what she knows, stuff like that. Her knowledge was a little conspicuous of you ask me. I like her well enough, but I'm still not sure. I'll just wait and see what Sherlock turns up, and then see how it goes."

"From what you've said she sounds fantastic," he said. "Almost tailor made for him."

"Don't say that in front of her, or she'll have you out," John warned. "Nah, it won't happen. It at the very least not any time soon. She's dead set on not liking him that way, and as you know he's dead set on not liking anyone that way. Not to mention she argues with him constantly, trying to curb his arrogance. Sherlock doesn't like having anything about him curbed, whether it's good for him or not."

"Still, seems a bit of a waste." He looked down at them, seeing they'd finally stopped their bickering. "If I wasn't still married." He looked down at her. "She's, well, she's..." He looked at John, who shrugged his shoulders. "Eh, kinda average. Maybe not."

Before you ask, I don't know. I DON'T KNOW. It came out of nowhere and I don't wanna speak of it ever again. Unless of course you review. If you do then perhaps I'll consider it.

All the jokes from Cumbino on I came up with. The nicknames before that I found online, and partially inspired this chapter AS IS OBVIOUS. I need sleep. If I get 10 reviews or less for this chapter, I'll update in two weeks. If you want it sooner, then review. 20 gets you one week. 30 gets you four days. Until next time!