This is complete and utter nonsense.

John had been sitting at the table staring at the package for about 20 minutes.

I can move around. Sherlock isn't even here, he'll never know.

John made to get up.

Although, he could be with Mycroft and they could be watching the camera that the 'government' seems to constantly have in here.

John eyed around the flat.

Oh, fuck this.

John got up, grabbed his laptop, and sat on the sofa. It took all of 40 seconds on the couch for his phone to go off.

Go back to the kitchen, John. -SH

John sighed. How did he do that?

This is ridiculous. I'm not going to sit at the table and stare at a box. You know I won't be able to figure it out, you just want to prove that I'm not as observant as you are. JW

John's phone didn't have time to hit the sofa cushion before it went off again.

John, get back to the kitchen. Now. SH

No. JW

John didn't receive a text after that one. For now, at least.

That's one for Watson, then. Good. 'Bout time.

Suddenly John's laptop disconnected from the internet and began to act funny. He pressed keys in attempts to fix it, but nothing helped. Then his phone sounded off again.

There. Now your laptop won't work, mine won't work, and the telly won't work. Get back in the kitchen and make a deduction. SH

Not happening, Sherlock. JW

Please, John? SH

Fuck.

Why couldn't he resist Sherlock saying please? Absolutely unfair.

John sighed and went back into the kitchen and sat down in front of the package again. After about 3 minutes of staring, he took his phone back out.

Do I get a hint, at least? JW

No. SH

He groaned in irritation and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Alright, Watson. You can do this. It's a package that looks like it could hold an arm. It's not an arm, apparently. Could be a tie? Why would Sherlock get me a tie?

Is it a tie? JW

No. SH

Shit. Okay.. What the fuck fits in this sized box?

Sherlock, I don't know what it is. Can you stop acting like a prat and just tell me? JW

Where's the fun in that, John? SH

I don't strangle you in your sleep with whatever is in here. JW

You'd have difficulties trying to strangle me with it. SH

Prat. JW

Think. SH

Fine. Could be a gun that I could bloody shoot him with. Arrogant arse. Maybe it's a whip so I can tie him down and just -

John's phone went off again.

Forget the package, John. We've got a case. Meet at the address you're about to recieve. SH

And with a sigh of relief, John grabbed his coat. He left the flat, hailed a cab, and made his way to the scene.

As much as he'd like to deny it, he continued to think about what was in the box.

Damn him.

I guess I can keep asking him while I'm with him.

John wasn't prepared for what he was about to see. The cab pulled up to an extraordinary mansion. Or a rather large estate, as Sherlock would say. He could smell the rancid odor from outside.

"Ah, John," Sherlock said as he walked towards the doctor. "Nice of you to show up."

"Yes, well, better than sitting at the table."

"Why would you be sitting at the table?" Lestrade asked, handing John coveralls and shoe covers.

"Because, I told him to," said Sherlock.

"Why would he listen to you?"

Sherlock didn't answer, but they both turned to look at John.

"There was a package," John sighed, slipping into the coveralls. "I'm supposed to figure out what's inside it."

Neither of them replied.

"Right," John continued as he finished putting on the garments. "So, the case, then?"

"Yeah," Lestrade said. "Come with me. You're gonna want to find a way to not inhale in there. It's really unpleasant."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Sherlock said.

They bounded up the stairs to the intricate double doors that laid open. The display before them was like nothing John had ever seen. The floor was a pool of blood, naked bodies were hanging from the ceiling, there were blades of all sorts laying on the floor.

"Jesus," John muttered.

"Right," Lestrade started. "So, the house isn't owned by anyone, so there's no real lead there. No close neighbours, so they probably didn't see anything. Donovan is questioning them as we speak."

Sherlock didn't seem to be paying any attention to it, though that isn't all too surprising. He rarely does.

"There was a party here," Sherlock suddenly said. "There was dancing all inside this room, closely resembling a ritual, it would seem. The guests chose these weapons off of serving trays. When the band struck up-"

"Band?" Lestrade interrupted.

"Yes, a band. Obviously. Don't interrupt, Lestrade. When the band struck up, the guests began to dance circles below the bodies. When the music hit the crescendo, they began to slice at the flesh. They danced in the blood rain as it were merely water. They sliced until the bodies no longer screamed, and they sliced some more."

"Dear God," John said in disbelief.

"Who would do something like that?" Greg asked.

"We're going to find out," Sherlock exclaimed with a broad smile upon his face.

"Sherlock, we're in a pool of blood and there's bodies hanging from the ceiling. Might want to hold off on the smiling until we leave."

"Right," Sherlock said, letting his face go back to being unfazed. "Of course, John. Well, Lestrade, I'll begin working on this. I'll need samples to test, obviously. So, where is your irritating forensics worker?"

"Anderson is waiting outside. He was having a slight bit of trouble with all of this."

"Of course he was."

"Sherlock, look around. It's not really surprising that a lot of people are having problems with this. We can't all be.. well, you."

"I'd certainly hope not. Then again, there'd be a lot less stupid in the world."

"Sherlock," John warned.

The detective's mouth perked up in one corner, a micro-expression of a smirk.

"I'll just go get some things from Anderson, then. Maybe I'll just do his whole job for him."

"Be nice," John said with an edge to his voice.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked out of the house.

"I don't know how he does it," Lestrade confided.

"Nor do I, Greg."

"How do you put up with him?"

"One day at a time."

They laughed.

"Every day that I don't strangle him is a successful day."

"True. Though, there might be a lot of unsolved crimes in the world if you did. Then again, I suppose we wouldn't have as many headaches."

Sherlock took that moment to stroll back in through the doors. He bent over and took samples of the blood on the floor, swabbed a fair few of the blades on the floor, and a few metal flakes that were threatening to fall off of the rusting chains that held the bodies up. He even took a moment to sniff the bodies and weapons.

John didn't understand how the detective could stomach doing all of that. It's no wonder Anderson was having trouble coming in. Maybe Sherlock should just do the man's job.

"Ah, there we go," Sherlock said. "That'll be all for now, Lestrade."

The consultant started walking out of the house, already analyzing the samples.

"Come, John!" Sherlock exclaimed.

That was more than the doctor needed to high-tail it out of there. When they got outside, they shed their coveralls - or just shoe covers in Sherlock's case - and placed them in evidence bags to take with them as more samples.

"Can you smell the aroma of the case, John?"

"I'm not really sure I want to."

"Nonsense! Open up and let in the enticing fragrance."

"Are you high or something?"

"Of course not. You took my secret stash - even my cigarettes - I've hardly been out of your sight up until today. Where would I have gotten drugs?"

"Right. So, this is just.. Being married to your work, then?"

"Until something more exciting happens, yes."

"More exciting than your cases? What could possibly be so interesting?" John asked with a taunting tone laced in.

"Once you deduce what is in the box, you will know."

John sighed and groaned with irritation. This case and that package were going to be hell for him.