There was an anonymous guest who informed me that last summer they were struggling with suicidal thoughts and depression, and that Tea Leaves gave them something to look forward to.
I really don't have words to tell you how much that meant to me, my friend, and that I hope you're doing all right now. And if you aren't, I hope that you continue the fight to stay with us. Thank you for your hard work. I used your prompt, but I bent it a bit.
You all as readers have been so incredibly supportive and considerate of me over the past few months. You all really give me the drive to go on. If I can make one of you smile with a new chapter, my job is complete. Thank you all for taking such good care of me.
In a Haystack
"Password-locked, huh?" mused Lestrade. They'd just finished dusting down for prints— none but Sherlock's were present on the phone. Now, handling it with gloved hands, the detective inspector had turned the phone on only to encounter a barrier.
"What? No," said John in surprise. "He never passcoded his mobile."
Lestrade held it up for proof. There it was— a four-number passcode.
John felt irritation and panic surfacing. "So he sneaks— or waltzes, God knows— into this flat, locks his phone, and leaves it for us to puzzle over?" he said. "Knowing Sherlock, a passcode of his is like a needle in a haystack."
Prompt was from Guest, and it was: hay