Summary:

John's trying out a new writing style. No slash, Irenelock ignorable because crack.

A/N:

I got the idea from watching a Castle episode. I couldn't resist a crack parody in this style okay. Unbetad, unbritpicked. Crack, just crack. Hope you enjoy! Also, some of the sentences are purposely built to run on, with purposely ridiculous descriptions - just a warning. :)


The detective was like viagra walking on legs, but for women. I watched him throw his coat back and raise his collar, making him look a little more mysterious especially under the dim streetlights.

I tried my best to catch up, holding the gun like my lone lifeline in this dark night.

His informant met us in the dark alley. Her dark hair was swept in the wind, billowing in the night breeze, and her lips were as red as cherries you can find in a smooth cocktail in an American bar.

Irene Adler.

One could see her almost swoon as my friend approached, and she gave him a peck on the cheek. "Oh, Sherlock, I was worried!"

"Why?" Sherlock asked, his smooth baritone echoing down the darkness like a spark of light. "I see you have no cause to worry. You seem to have escaped the criminal just before he caught you, and judging by the slight tear around your fur coat - given to you by the same criminal, no doubt - you just got away from his knife in time."

The woman sobbed anyway, falling into Sherlock's arms. Sherlock wrapped an arm awkwardly around her, like a tree which didn't know what to do with its own branches.

"They knew who I was, Sherlock, they knew what I know, and I cannot divulge my secrets. I need your help!" She held her hand up to Sherlock's face, her fingers stretched lovingly on his cheek. "Please, help me, and I will give you whatever you ask for!"

Sherlock looked down at her with the intense, piercing blue eyes rivalled only by the night sky, and she raised her own ocean eyes into his. "You are safe with me, and I will help you, doll."

As Sherlock reassured his jane, I hung back in the shadows, keeping watch. I heard silent footfalls against the pavement, and I whistled quietly to Sherlock. I cocked the cool metal of my gun, and held it up straight, ready for anyone who would come our way.

And I would not miss.

"Sherlock, they are coming." I told him quietly.

He pushed the woman behind him. "Call Lestrade."

"Done."

And so we stood there, half-hidden in darkness, waiting for the greasers to descend upon us. The sounds of their shoes on the pavement grew louder in the silence of the midnight. I signalled for Sherlock and for Irene to move back a little further.

"Five men." Sherlock murmured. I nodded, trusting what he observed. The footfalls did sound like there were plenty of men, and even if I was packing heat and Sherlock certainly can handle his own, we couldn't take on five while trying to protect kitten.

"Oh Sherlock, save me!" She whispered with a small gasp, and Sherlock turned to look at her.

"You can take care of yourself dollface, I know you can. Your dress slit is cut too low for a dish like you. You're heeled."

Irene raised her eyebrow, and slowly drew apart the slit of her silver dress, slid a hand behind her thigh. She levelled a look at him, her lips full as she gave the small iron she pulled out a kiss. She winked at Sherlock, who merely raised the roscoe that he had in hand to one side.

Fog descended upon us with the loving embrace of a cloud's kiss upon a mountain, and we were grateful for the cover.

The steps we were hearing slowed and went down to a halt, and I stepped out under the shafts of moonlight and into the path of the thugs' boss. "Everyone drop their bean-shooters or I squirt metal into your boss's button."

"Do what he says!" The man ordered with a slight growl, and everyone moved to slowly put down their weapons, metal scraping against the rough London pavement underneath the eerie glow cast by the streetlights into the mist enveloping the streets.

Sirens reverberated throughout the lone streets. The Law had arrived.

We'd caught the men, we'd saved the damsel, and we completed the case. Not a bad day for gum-shoeing.


John looked up at Sherlock with a twinkle in his eye and a wide grin on his face. "Trying out something new here, yeah? Since you're a private dick and all, I thought the genre fit."

"John, if you publish that I will see to it that your blog will be filled with advertisements and viruses and I will set your laptop on fire." The detective walked away with a swirl of his dressing gown, and headed back into the kitchen with his beaker.

John erupted into small laughter as he hit save on the document.

Maybe he should e-mail it to Greg instead. The copper might get a kick out of it.


Gift to Shwatsonlocked because this is the only way she can read Irenelock. Ha, ha, ha. Also because she's awesome. Anyway, R&Rs are appreciated, thanks!