There was a place for everything in the kitchen except the kitchen. It was an office, a storage unit, a research lab.

Back from Sherlock's excellent Chinese restaurant John went through the drawers. The night's events left him much too wired for sleep. Although lacking himself in terms of possessions, being able to actually prepare and consume food in the kitchen appealed to John.

The police seemed to have put everything backā€¦ opening the microwave door seemed to indicate this. John hadn't memorized the items in the flat but each drawer was stuffed with items, every space filled. Except one.

Wondering idly if any drawer contained actual cooking utensils John stumbled upon an empty drawer. Empty apart from a sheet of paper.

I know you've been taking them. Stop. Please.


Utterly puzzled John stood there with the paper in his hands.

That is until a tall, thin man came up beside him, snatched the note, crumpled it, tossed it over his shoulder and deposited a new item in the drawer. Ignoring John's blank stare he swiftly shut the drawer and retreated to the sitting room where he resumed busily typing up something.

Cautiously, John opened the drawer. A crisp white badge lay inside. He turned it over and read the name before seeing the picture to confirm it: DI Lestrade.

John strode into the sitting room; "Sherlock, you are aware that you have to see Lestrade in the morning?"

Sherlock looked up for a brief moment before his gaze returned to his computer screen and his work, "I repeat, I pickpocket him when he's annoying. I told him I wasn't in shock. "