"Sherlock, are you any good with acronyms?"

Sherlock looked up from his experiment and leaned to one side on the kitchen stool so he could see John through the doorway. "What exactly do you mean by 'good' with them?"

"I mean, do you know what they mean?"

"Some of them, I suppose. What is it?"

"Well, somebody left a funny comment on one of my blog posts-"

"Which one?"

John, sick of talking around the door frame, picked up his laptop and came into the kitchen, propping the computer on the work top as he reached to switch on the kettle.

"The Essex Vampire," he replied, glancing at the slight sneer that appeared on Sherlock's face upon hearing another of John's 'fanciful' titles.

"Do please explain further," Sherlock said dully.

"You remember, surely," John teased. "All those girls with the babies?"

"Oh! And they all said the same boy was the father."

"And they said the babies were being fed on by a vampire..."

"But it was the boy's older brother trying to take blood samples for DNA tests..."

"Because he wanted to get on the telly..."

"And all the girls had been reading romance novels about teenaged vampires. Yes, I remember. That's actually one of your more pragmatic titles, I think John."

"Well, there's a comment after the post, where the commenter copied in a bit of my article's text – they do that sometimes, if they want to make a point about a specific bit – and...Sherlock, are you listening?"


John kicked the leg of the stool and Sherlock turned to glare at him.

"As I was saying, they copied and pasted the bit about when I had to rugby tackle the older brother to get the syringes off him, and then wrote 'Watson you Bee Ay Em Eff'. And...that's a new one on me. Have you heard it before?"

Sherlock racked his brains but was forced to admit that he had no more knowledge on this than John did, and told him so.

"Hmm," John murmured, sitting at the table with laptop and tea in hand. "Brilliantly Agile, Modest Fly-half?" John tried, looking pleased with himself.

"Bloody Awful Meandering Fantasist?" Sherlock suggested innocently.

"My writing isn't that bad!"

Sherlock wordlessly turned his attention back to his stack of Petrie dishes.

"I'm going to Google it," John muttered and began stabbing away at the keyboard. They both looked up as Sherlock's phone chimed a text alert and John, sitting nearest to it, picked it up.

"Shit," he said abruptly, jumping to his feet. "Sherlock, they found another note. Lestrade wants us there right away."

They both grabbed up their coats and rushed out of the door.

Presently John's laptop would go into sleep mode and when, several days later, he finally had opportunity to log back in, he would go straight to his email account, ignoring the blog post he had been looking at with such curiosity. The acronym and its meaning would go forgotten by the two men for some time.