Part 2

John sighed and placed an ice pack on his ribs, getting rather annoyed with geniuses lately.

ALL of them.

Sherlock was in a rather large huff due to Moriarty and a lack of cases, Mycroft was still forwarding e-mails with increasingly enthusiastic and desperate sounding publishers, and Moriarty would just not bugger off.

This was the fourth kidnap attempt that week, and though they hadn't tried to tranq him this time (probably learning from how confidently and quickly he was to use it on his attackers), he was feeling rather tired of fending off hired thugs.

It happened often enough with the usual cases with Sherlock that he didn't need the increase of thuggery in his day-to-day life.

He didn't need it at all, but he'd long since resigned himself to the fact that Sherlock had a special skill in pissing off people, and used that skill regularly.

The fact that he somehow managed to get this attention himself was frustrating.

It didn't help that anything that might be considered 'interesting' had slowed to a lull, and while John was happy to see that the police force wouldn't have to resort to Sherlock's particular brand of genius, it meant that Sherlock was going stir crazy.

John was going Sher-crazy.

Certainly crazy enough to think of something like that in the first place.

Crazy enough to finally break down and make the brownies (which yes, he also changed the recipe to), and now Sherlock was hovering over them protectively like he thought that perhaps Moriarty would pop out of the pantry and steal them during the day.

John was almost worried that Sherlock would stay up the whole night to protect them.

Almost, because he wasn't feeling particularly worried for Sherlock in his annoying stages of boredom, and also because Sherlock had slept the previous night out of sheer boredom, and so he could go a good couple of nights without sleep without hallucinating again.

On top of the kidnapping attempts, there had also been a string of murders, all with only two things connecting them. Six so far.

One being that they all lived in, or within easy driving distance to London.

Two being that they're all chefs.

Will Hoyte.

Avery Tate.

Sam Younge.

Oscar Ubeski.

Rachel Reachmont.

Esker Carrow.

Sherlock blamed Moriarty.

John didn't want to believe it, but Sherlock had written out the names for him, first and last names in list format.













Sherlock thought that the next chef targeted would be Igor Palinkov. And then someone whose name started with an E.


What's your recipe?

John sighed and tried his best to imagine a life where this wasn't possible. Where this was likely only a bad plotline from a low grade mystery novella, where a killer targets chefs to prove just how desperate he is to figure out a secret recipe.

He tried, succeeded, and then imagined that regardless of how nice it seemed, he would also never be able to live that life, if only because he'd pull his hair out for the boringness of it all.

Later, when they catch the killer, James Morrissey, before he gets at Palinkov, John thinks that wasn't it convenient for Moriarty to sign with his initials.


At least this note didn't end with xxx.


John: If I take this down again, you're just going to repost it, aren't you?

Anonymous: Your passwords are so predictable, Johnny Boy ;)

Harry: What the fuck?

SH: If you'd let me choose your password, he wouldn't be able to get in.

John: Neither would I.

SH: I would let you onto you blog.

John: Now you aren't even putting any effort into lying right now.

SH: :(

John: Really, Sherlock.

Anonymous: Trouble in paradise, boys? :D

John: Why are you bothering to hack into my blog anyway?

Anonymous: You know the reason, Johnny Boy :)

John: What?

SH: :D

John: What?

SH: You mean you haven't figured it out yet?

Anonymous: I would, but I'm rather too busy to go on a cooking expedition.

John: It's still about the stupid recipe? I told you it already!

SH: Not all of it, John.

Harry: What the hell?

John: Seriously?

Anonymous: So why don't you tell me already?

SH: If all possible explanations are disproved, then the impossible must be true.

John: Sherlock.

TheImprobableOne: this seems a bit much for a recipe.

Anonymous: You haven't tried it.

SH: And aren't likely to, either. And you aren't likely going to try it again.

Anonymous: That sounds like a challenge. I will.

SH: Won't.

Anonymous: Will.

SH: Won't.

Anonymous: Will.

SH: Won't.

Anonymous: Will.

SH: Won't.

Anonymous: Will.

SH: Won't.

Anonymous: Will.

SH: Won't.

Anonymous: Will.

SH: Won't.

Anonymous: Will.

SH: Won't.

John: Why is this even remotely acceptable?

Anonymous: I don't know, why don't you give me the full recipe and I'll just leave you two to your domestic bliss? Hmm?

SH: John, Don't.

SH: He won't stop if you do.

Anonymous: Yes, I will.

SH: No, he won't.

Anonymous: Will.

SH: Won't.

Anonymous: Will.

SH: Won't.

Anonymous: Will.

SH: Won't.

Anonymous: Will.

SH: Won't.

Anonymous: Will.

SH: Won't.

Anonymous: Will.

John: This is ridiculous.

TheImprobableOne: john, i see even your influences haven't cured sherlock of his childishness.

John: Says the man still sending me contracts even after I said no.


TheImprobableOne: persistence is key. you should reconsider.

Anonymous: I'll be waiting, Johnny Boy.

SH: Bugger off Moriarty!

Anonymous: Ooh, Johnny Boy, changed your password to something tricky then? Surprising. Hope you didn't hurt yourself thinking it up.

SH: Trying to get in to delete that comment? :)

Anonymous: Did you help your little chef then, Sherlock?

SH: Surprisingly, No. John won't let me.

John: I wonder why. And no. No. And no.

Harry: No. Seriously. What the fuck?

COMMENTS TO POST "I Have a Doctor's Note Against Being Kidnapped" (60)

Anonymous: No. ;P xxx

SH: Bugger off already.

Anonymous: Those brownies are delicious. ;) xxx

Harry: No way! U made brownies for ur stalker and not for me?

John: Should it be worrying that THAT'S what you focus on, and not the repeated kidnapping attempts?

Harry: Why won't u give me the recipe? And I know ur kickass, u've kept from being kidnapped so far, keep up the good work, bro :D

Anonymous: You have managed rather well, but you'd stop having to go through this if you'd surrender the recipe. xxx

SH: Never!

TheImprobableOne: dramatic as always.

This comment was deleted by the administration.

John: Harry, I know you've been good these past couple of posts, but I'm getting tired of deleting your comments.

Harry: Bugger that! You're getting food-stalked by some crazy foodie and this IMPOSSIBLE one is being a right arse! Do you know this guy, John? Let me meet him and I'll punch him like I punched Jimmy Carlson in fifth grade.

John: The only reason why I'm keeping that one up is because the massive amount of e-mails I've been getting from him/people he works with are getting irritating. So I'm curious about the response. Also, :)

TheImprobableOne: your spelling gets more legible when incensed

This comment was deleted by the administration.

John: Sherlock tells me I should send you to what he says to call the D Club. I'm going to assume that's nothing sexual, because I really don't want to know about your sex life, and you haven't met Sherlock yet, so.

Harry: Tell me the address I'll find you, you pompous arse. What's the club called then?

SH: i

TheImprobableOne: really, sherlock.

SH: o. Really.

Anonymous: :D

SH: g. Bugger off. They're all mine.

John: Sherlock.

SH: e. John. Look. I'm eating.

John: That doesn't work now that I know you've been pilfering my leftovers.

Harry: You won't share? And address please. Let's see how probable it is that he's as smarmy in person as he is online.

SH: n. John, I like your sister.

Harry: ;P

Anonymous: Jimmy Carlson, John's fourth grade classmate… I wonder how well he does with food poisoning? Perhaps we could continue to test until Johnny Boy here gives up his recipe?

Harry: That's creepy. You're a creep. And threats work better when they're on people you give a damn about, and when you don't threaten to do harm to a creep.

SH: e. John, you and your sister are similar in some ways and different in others.

SH: 's. And you could punch a different Jim, Harry, and it would solve John's problem here. No, John, you may not feel guilty over either Jimmy's.

Anonymous: Don't go giving me away, Sherly.

SH: M.

John: Let's not taunt the psychopath, hmm?

SH: o.

SH: r.

Harry: :D

SH: i.

This comment was deleted by User SH.

This comment was deleted by User SH.

This comment was deleted by User SH.

This comment was deleted by User SH.

Anonymous: No more of that ;)

SH: How crass, hacking into my account.

Anonymous: :P

SH: Still can't hack John's then?

SH: Changing mine to his then :)

John: Sherlock.

SH: a

SH: r

SH: t

SH: y

SH: Hah.

John: And you were doing so well acting your age…

Harry: So where can I find him? Either of them, really. I broke Jimmy's jaw before I hit puberty, I bet I could do more damage now.

John: HARRY! Why is Mum calling me crying NOW?

Harry: Your blog is her home page now.

Turner: That nice Inspector is at the door again, should I let him up? This is still Mrs. Hudson by the way.

John: HARRY!

John was just pulling a batch of scones from the oven when he heard a muffled knock from the front door. Sherlock must've been tampering with the doorbell then, if whoever was at the door didn't ring it. There was a rattling noise and the soft murmur of Mrs. Hudson's voice carried up the stairs.

Fragrant steam from the scones wafted into his face and he sighed before setting the tray on a hot pad and went searching for a knife that hadn't been used to cut/dice/shift through/stab an experiment.

He could get Sherlock to agree to containers, yes, and to a cupboard and pantry space, yes, but cutlery was a hard battle yet.

He couldn't do much about it other than have a jar of alcohol for Sherlock to dump used cutlery into, but even ten Sherlock sometimes didn't put what he used in there to sterilize.

He settled for a steak-knife, and was part way through cutting the scones into triangles (his mum always said it was better to do it as a round on a tray than as squares in a dish—he'd experimented and agreed. Squares were nice, but they had a different taste, and it was more likely that part of the scone would stick to the dish), when Sherlock thundered into the kitchen, looking wildly around as his nostrils flared.

"JOHN! Hide the Scones!"


But Sherlock was already turning to face the doorway, arms outstretched to block the way, his coat open and blocking whatever—whoever—was there.

Despite his confusion, there was a lump low in his stomach, growing upwards with equal measure of dread and hysteria.

He didn't want to, but a snort of laughter escaped his mouth just as he heard the third stair from the top squeak.

"Really, Sherlock, even your pet chef thinks you're being ridiculous," an Irish voice drawled.

"Buuuut…. Then again, he's being ridiculous as well, refusing to tell me the recipe."

A huff of laughter escaped his throat.

"Honestly, that's what you're here about? I already told you what I used."

"Not the meat. And whatever you used wasn't at the local Tesco's."


Sherlock moved back, arms still spread, but lower, more likely to be more useful if someone were trying to run past him. John saw Moriarty over his arm, dressed in a silvery grey suit that most likely cost more than what John spent on groceries in a week. He saw him take a deep breath and look around the flat, eyebrows raised.

"Well now at least I know why you keep him around. Now why don't we all have a seat and have some scones?"


John closed his eyes and sighed. Sherlock was using the same tone of voice he used when he called Mycroft fat. He was in full on 5-year-old mode.

"Come now Sherly, what would your dear mummy say if she saw you like this?"

John raised his eyebrows.

He wondered how much childishness one kitchen could hold without having actual children in it.

"She'd say 'Don't let him take your scones!'"

John set the tray of cooling scones to the side, and dredged up patience forged from a childhood with Harry, and honed in the firey landscape of Afghanistan, and burnished in living with Sherlock Bloody Holmes and dealing with all that entails.

"Children, get out of my kitchen."

Their squabbling stopped for a moment, and both looked at him in confusion. John brought out what Harry called his Boss voice in their childhood, and later his Captain Watson voice when he joined the RAMC.


Moriarty opened his mouth, but paused when John gave him a look.

"D'you want scones or not?"


"Sherlock." Not now said his expression, and Sherlock huffed before flouncing out of the kitchen.

As they both left, John heard:

"Well now we know who wears the pants in the relationship, now don't we?"


"And what's your excuse?"

John sighed and wondered how his life ever came to this.

Hope you enjoyed, one more part to go!