Okay, chapters are getting shorter. This is the awkward filler story, A THIRD ONE IS ON THE WAY! I just thought that, as it's Sherlock, I should probably to a case. But y'know. Sorry. I'll try to make the next couple of chapters a bit longer, and then I'll write the third one ASAP. I've drafted most of it, anyway.

ENJOY!

And review? If you like? Ta.

Even taxis were getting boring. Adele had no idea of where Sherlock wanted them to go, but he was glancing out of the window every few seconds, instead of being absorbed by his phone. Adele didn't know which was more annoying: An anti-social Sherlock, which was admittedly his general personality, or a paranoid Sherlock. Paranoid Sherlock was also cigarette-deprived Sherlock. Which meant stupid Sherlock. Which meant running around London like idiots. Which was actually pretty fun.

John was being very Johnish. Adele had never exactly been able to describe John. He was nice, most of the time, except for when he was being annoying, inquisitive, stupid, unintelligent, or willing to forgive Sherlock for everything he did wrong. Adele was sure that there was something going on between them; everyone else thought so, after all. It'd probably be quite fun to try to get them to admit it, but it would also be time consuming. But the evidence was all there. John was way too protective over his heterosexuality.

Sherlock stopped the taxi at Cavendish Square. He jumped out, glanced left and right, and walked on ahead, looking around every corner, and into each alcove. He kept glancing back, presumably thinking that he was being followed. The route didn't appear to have any particular destination, as they kept turning corners and doubling back. Sherlock was muttering, either to himself, or under the impression that Adele and John were actually listening. Sherlock obviously still remembered London perfectly; he strode confidently through the network of streets, most of which Adele didn't know existed.

They emerged onto a small road, full of old, gloomy houses, leading on to Manchester Street. From there, they found themselves in Blandford Street, and turned down a narrow passage, passed through a wooden gate and into a deserted garden, and for some strange reason, Sherlock opened the back door, leading them into the house. He closed the door behind them.

'Are you going to tell us why we've broken into a house?' John's voice pierced the silence.

'When I've found that blasted torch.' Sherlock tore through cupboards, pausing every so often. Finally, he found a torch, and led them into what was apparently the front room. He peered through the curtains, into the relative darkness. 'What can you see?'

It looked exactly like 221B. Adele had never been across the road, because it was boring and pointless, but it was fairly obvious. But hadn't this place been blown up a couple of months ago?

'Didn't Moriarty blow this one up?'

'No, next one down. I'm surprised you didn't notice.'

'This side of the road bores me.'

Sherlock seemed satisfied with that explanation. He and John exchanged a look (again, definitely something going on), and Sherlock looked out of the window again. 'Look closer.'

Adele had to squint, but it was easy to make it out. What appeared to be a life size dummy of Sherlock was silhouetted against the window. It was pretty obvious that it was him; the fact that the thing had perfect posture and the features were sharp. Adele could here Sherlock laughing to himself happily.

'What do you think?' He actually sounded pleased.

'I think... It's... accurate.' Adele didn't really know what else she could say. John, on the other hand, did.

'Bloody brilliant.'

'Once again, John, expressing your views in every variation of the English language. Now! Guess why!'

'You've already told us; someone wants you dead, and you want to trick them.'

'Yes, but whom?'

'Any one you've ever insulted, made look stupid, and generally annoyed. I mean, it is quite a wide field, but I'm sure we'll get there.'

Sherlock scowled, obviously not in the mood for messing around. Which was pretty contradictory, because he was being incredibly hyper today. Hm.

'Just tell us, Sherlock.' John

'Right. Moriarty had friends.'

'No shit, Sherlock.' Adele repeated.

'Shut up. Now, I said I took out his web. I didn't get through all of it.'

'Idiot.'

'Look, he's after me, tonight, and we're tricking him. Then we can carry on with Lestrade's case, it's incredibly easy. Got it?'

'No one ever gets you. But yes. Sort of.'

'Good.' Did he ever listen?

The room fell silent again, minus the noise of Adele's penknife flicking in and out, and Sherlock's fingers tapping the window ledge. Adele soon took to flicking the knife in front of John's face, to see his reaction.

'Oi!' John leapt back in shock as the blade swished passed his face. Sherlock didn't find this amusing.

'Shut up, both of you!'

'She just flicked a knife in my face!'

'Adele, don't mess around, John pay attention and stop being scared of a child.'

'I'm not a-' Adele whined, only to be cut short by Sherlock.

'Drop it.'

Adele went back to flicking the knife into thin air. It was incredibly boring, and Sherlock was still drumming his fingers and tapping his foot. You could see the occasional passerby, but they were all boring, and Sherlock was muttering his own deductions under his breath.

'Accountant. Banker. Three dogs. Affair. Hiding something. That something is the affair. Idiot. Bored.'

'This was your idea, you know. You can't exactly blame us if you're bored.'

This continued for several hours, with the occasional yelp from John as the knife flicked past his face. Sherlock was still muttering, which was annoying.

'It moved!'

John was right. The waxwork had indeed moved, so that it was not his profile, but instead his back.

'Of course it moved, people move. It's supposed to be realistic.'

'Who moved it?'

'Mrs. Hudson, I told her that I'd stop melting the kettle.'

Adele frowned. 'She believed you?'

'Of course she believed me. Who wouldn't?' Adele chose not to answer that question, and went back to playing with the knife.