"Where is Sherlock? A woman has been murdered and I need him to analyze her socks!" Lestrade demands, bursting into the flat. John sits on the couch. staring at the telly with an expression of pure horror. "John? Are you all right?"

"He's holding up…a candy shop." He says breathlessly.

"…What?" John points to the TV, quivering. "Sherlock...he...candy...I..."

"The aura here is confused and shocked, Tom. Police are unsure what to do as a man holds up a candy shop. The supposed hostages do not seem the least bit bothered, but rather, are eating through the merchandise, with the clerk stuck to the wall with thousands of wads of chewing gum…"

Lestrade feels his way to the couch, keeping his eyes glued to the scene in front of him. A shaky camera zooms into a shop surrounded by officers. If he didn't know any better, he would say it was a riot. But no such luck. It was simply many children and a handful of adults attacking the thousands of cartridges of sweets, high enough on sugar to never notice the man with the gun. His eyes quickly locate his consulting detective sitting on the store clerk, sucking on a lolly. A hat made of spun sugar-ribbons rests on his head, chocolate circling his mouth like a beard. "Oh dear Jesus…" Sherlock waves his hand and a bag is dropped in his lap. Raising an eyebrow and smirking, he replaces the lollipop for a gumball, raising his gun and firing a shot at the smiley face drawn on an opposite wall. He stands to his full height, stretching quietly.

The man below him catches his breath through a jawbreaker gag, trying not to choke. John realizes that he looks rather like an overgrown child and snickers hysterically. Sherlock gives the camera a piercing glare, seeming to notice John's mockery. He discreetly shuffles closer to the DI for protection. They watch as Sherlock opens the door to the shop, dragging out the decorative statue from the back, holding a gun to its head, slapping the "ALL CHOCOLATE, HALF OFF WITH PURCHASE OF SOUR GUM PACK!" out of its outstretched hands. The clerk, who we'll call Steve for now, crawls out on his belly, jaws straining against the mighty balls bobbing in his mouth and throat.

"Now listen up! I demand to be able to take the remainder home or the bear gets it!"

"Is he threatening to kill a gummy bear?"

"I think he is."

An officer fires. The head explodes off the smiling statue, leaving plaster dust floating in the air like snow. Sherlock sends the remainder flying away with one strong kick. "Hey! That wasn't nice!"

"Neither is your mother!"

"Don't talk about my mummy like that!"

"What are you going to do about it!"


"Nothing! You wanna know why? Cause your momma so ugly when she was born, her mother said "What a treasure!" and her daddy said "yes, let's go bury it!", oh yeah!"

"Your mother is so ugly Moriarty wouldn't play with her!"

"Oh no he didn't!" John laughs. Lestrade gives him a dude-your-so-retarded-look.

"Your mama is so ugly people try to go as her for Halloween!"

"Your mother is so ugly, when she goes to the morgue, people think she's the corpse!"

"Your momma so ugly Bob the Builder took one look at her and said "I can't fix that!""

"Who the bloody hell is Bob the builder?"

"Learn American, damn you! Learn it you stupid Brit! It's called Democracy! Get used to it!"

"Well then, I suppose hostages will not receive the antidote after all!" There are cries of outrage from within the shop.


"You poisoned us!"

"Mummy! Help, I see the light!"

"That is correct." Sherlock's smile is slightly deranged. "I slipped my poison into your nuts." He tosses his head back in an evil scientist type laugh. Someone from the crowd takes this opportunity to tackle him to the floor. He is dragged away, kicking and screaming; "I will not be silenced!"

John facepalms. "I couldn't have just lived under a bridge?" He moans. "Found a cozy little alleyway to set up camp with a nice hobo? Nooooo, I had to be Mr. Bigshot and live in an actual house. Fuck me, I deserve this." Lestrade rolls his eyes.

"Donovan's going to have a field day with this."

Sherlock throws a chair through a glass wall, shattering it to raise his arms in celebration. "Viva la vida!"



"Call Mycroft."

"On it."

"Down with law and order! I declare anarchy! Viva la vida! Viva la raza! Veni, vidi, vici!"


"What is it, John? I'm busy winning."

"Sherlock's, wait what?"

"I'm winning."

"At what?"

"Everything, my dear Watson. I am Mycroft Holmes. Therefore, I win. At everything."

"Sherlock's in jail! He held up a candy store!"



"Stop saying that. It makes you sound idiotic. I'll get right on it. Anthea!"

"Yes sir?"

"To the Mycroft-mobile!"

"Yes sir."

They magically appear in the Bentley and cruise down the street at the speed of love. "But I must ask, Anthea, dear, what are you always doing on that thing?" He points his umbrella at her BlackBerry. She smiles.

"Nothing of importance." Her phone beeps as her boss goes back to stroking his precious rain-deflecting device. Her smile turns feral.

Sorry. Where were we?


No problem. A bottle of wine, two spools of thread, Mycroft's umbrella, a banana and cherry flavored condoms.

Of course. Thank you.


Not at all, lovely. Now, talk dirty to me.

Yes, Mr. President.