Congratulations on your promotion, brother. Are you getting paid in cake? It would explain all the weight you've gained.

Shove off or I'll tell mummy you blackmailed your teachers to cover your absences from school.

You do that and I'll tell her the real reason why you didn't visit for Christmas.

You do that and I'll tell her why your school's lab really exploded.

I'll tell her who dismantled her antique clock.

It was ticking too loudly.

I'll tell her why her oven "smelled funny".


Shall we call it even, then?

I think that would be wise.

Get me out of here Mycroft! I can't stand it.

How did you procure yourself a mobile, Sherlock?

This rehab clinic is a joke. Get me out.

No. It's for your own good.

I'm dying here.

Don't be melodramatic. You almost died out there. I'll take my chances with the clinic.

I hate you.

If that's what it takes.

I really really really hate you.

Do give Nurse Lodell her phone back when you're finished.

Call Mummy. She's worried about you and I cannot stave her off any longer.

What? Too busy staving off cake?



Why is your flatmate running around naked in the streets of London screaming bloody murder?

I did tell him not to drink the orange juice. It was an experiment.

What could you have possibly been experimenting on?

The decay of LSD in contact with vitamin C. Funny, it seems to have had the opposite effect.

How did you get your hands on LSD?

How did you find out about... Berny?

For God's sake, Sherlock. Can't you even learn your flatmate's name?


Not even close. It's Charles. Do keep up, Sherlock. The poor man was running across Piccadilly, flashing the tourists. Spotting him was hardly a feat.

CCTV. Of course. Is it a demotion or a promotion?

What do you think?

Congratulations, then. Shall I bake you a cake?

So you can lace it with LSD? No thank you, I'll pass.


Shut up.

Have you been using again?

Why would you make such a fallacious and ungrounded deduction?

Because you haven't left that hovel of a flat for a whole week. Get some fresh air, brother mine, or I'll smoke you out.


When you said you were going to smoke me out, that was just an expression, right?



Why do you ask?

I need a new flat.

I need access to your CCTVs on White Horse Lane. I know you have them.

Then call mummy.


There. I've sent her a text.

Don't be such a shmuck, Sherlock.

Then don't be such an insufferable prick, Mycroft.



Have you been using again?

How many times are you going to ask me that? And do you really expect me to answer in the affirmative if I was?

No. But I don't see another explanation for you crawling out of a manhole in the middle of Notting Hill. It's not exactly conspicuous.

I was mapping out the sewers. Perfectly reasonable.

You do know there are maps readily available to the public.

Use second-hand knowledge? That, Mycroft, is why you're not as smart as you claim.

I'm still smarter than you.

Interesting, that new flatmate of yours.

Don't touch him. He's mine.

Everyone can be bought, Sherlock. I thought you knew that by now.

He won't. He's not like the others.

We'll see.

I hate you.

Of course you do.

Told you. John is mine. You, can throw money at him all you want, you can't buy him.

He is very loyal, very fast. I wonder why?

Maybe he just likes me.

Thank you, brother mine. I needed the laugh.

Why is there an oversized cake in my kitchen?

How should I know?

It's cake. You seemed like the most likely suspect.

[picture attached]

Why are you sending me a picture of that cake?

Testing your resolve.

There's a special place in Hell for people like you.

A shame neither of us adhere to that abstract construct then.

I trust I have you to thank for the sabotage of my bathroom scale?

You have no proof I did or did not do such a thing.

You are so childish. Prepare for retaliation.

Why are you warning me?

To even the field. I am the smart one, after all.

You're a sick bastard, Mycroft. That was low, even coming from you.

I'm sure I don't know what you mean, brother dear.

Why would you get John involved? Why?

John is your soft spot. You shouldn't have messed with my diet.

But now John knows everything about me. Everything!

She does tell the best stories. I like the one about the time your burned your eyebrows off.

Oh, God. They exchanged numbers. I'm doomed.

You're being a drama queen again, Sherlock.

You do realize that when Mummy runs out of stories about me, she'll start on you?


Dear God. What have I done?