Cushing slinked across the dressing table, gradually turning mahogany as he went. Mycroft was preoccupied with the scrawny human who was in his bed. Cushing thought this most unfair. After all, the scrawny human couldn't change colour to match, say, Mycroft's favourite overcoat. And the scrawny human would never love Mycroft the way he did. Cushing was sure Mycroft liked him, quite sure, but he wasn't entirely sure that was the same thing.

Mycroft obviously liked the scrawny human as well. Cushing experimentally turned himself a pale colour and tried to emulate the scrawny human's hair. He looked in the mirror. Nope. Not a good look. From the bed Mycroft laughed. And smiled. At something Scrawny had just whispered in his ear. Cushing turned an unattractive maroon colour and went and sat on the radiator.

There was a great deal of noise and some enthusiastic boinging of bedsprings and then Mycroft rolled over and reached for the biscuits. He offered one to Scrawny. Cushing, from his radiator vantage point saw this. The lizard's eyes narrowed, or at least swivelled in an attempt to narrow. Those were his and Mycroft's special biscuits. That would not do at all.


"The Second one in three days?" Sherlock peered at Molly's report.

"Yes. How do you know that?" Molly waited for the sneering explanation.

"Your Rat sent Huggins an email." Sherlock spoke without looking up from the report. Molly glanced over to where Rathbone's cage was. The rat was doing a good job of trying to hide under a pile of sawdust.

"Rathbone!" Molly said disapprovingly. Rathbone buried himself further, until only the tip of his pink tail was sticking out. "Come out of there at once."

Reluctantly the rat wriggled out and then sat looking nervously at his paws. Sherlock gave the rat a nod.

"It seems your rat smells...well something that isn't a rat I suppose." There was an agitated squeaking from the pocket of Sherlock's jacket. "Yes, I was just coming to that. Have you got a lab analysis of the Jaffa Cakes?"

"Yes, actually. They aren't the standard recipe. The ingredients seem to be much higher quality. They're also bigger than a normal Jaffa cake."

"Interesting!" Sherlock was having a hard time adjusting to the fact Molly was no longer swooning and dropping things in his presence. Tony LeStrade must be good.

"I've narrowed it down to an exclusive Bakers and Confectioners in Piccadilly, but they also supply to Fortnum & Mason and Harrods."

"hmm. Bespoke jaffa Cakes? What else. I need data. Let's see..." Sherlock flicked through the papers and reports, moving his hands about, conducting the music of his mind palace. "Hmm, white males, mid to late twenties. Slim. Tall. Dark hair. Recently sodomised. But no DNA trace?"

"No. All except for this." Molly held up a slide and placed it on the microscope for Sherlock to look at.

"Is that a..."

"Yes. It's a pube."

"Ew...and it's ginger! Always reminds me of Mycroft. I hate my job sometimes." Huggins squeaked his agreement from the pocket.

"Actually Sherlock, it's not your job, it's mine." Molly's phone beeped as a punctuation of that statement. "It's Tony. I'm meeting him for coffee. Don't mess about with anything."

Sherlock stood alone in the lab for a moment, stunned. Rathbone rattled the bars of his cage and looked hopefully up at Sherlock. Huggins poked his nose out of the pocket and squeaked something to the forlorn looking rat. Rathbone squeaked back, a low, silky sound. If the rat could sing, he'd sing baritone. Huggins looked thoughtful for a moment before retreating into Sherlock's pocket where there was the distinctive sounds of hamster typing on Smartphone.

Sherlock extracted both phone and hamster and looked from one to the other.

"Oh!" He said finally. "Oh that's a lot not good!"