The Baker's Detective

| The Betrayal and the Boredom |

"Why can't people commit any interesting crimes?" Sherlock laments to John as they ride back to 221B in a cab. Lestrade gave Sherlock yet another obvious case, which took him about five minutes to solve, though he drew the whole experience out to twenty minutes — including his explanation — to try and get some fun out of it. It hardly worked. "I'm starting to think Graham is slipping," Sherlock adds when getting out of the taxi.

John follows with incredulity. "Graham?"

"Is that not his name?"

"It's Greg!"

Sherlock laughs to himself, then stops when he sees the straightened knocker on the door. He frowns, skews it again, and unlocks the door before he marches back towards Mrs. Hudson's apartment to get Rosie. John is right behind him, after he closes the door.

Mrs. Hudson opens her door, sees Sherlock and John, and calls back to Rosie, who says, "Coming!" Sherlock knows she's probably running around, gathering her things, which he will undoubtably have to carry upstairs.

"Did you not tell that Lily woman not to straighten the knocker?" Sherlock asks.

"Well, no, it doesn't bother me, so it slipped my mind," Mrs. Hudson replies with a hint of snark. "Talk to her yourself — although don't be mean about it. She's very sweet, and I'd hate to think of you driving her away so soon."

Sherlock sighs deeply, ignoring the last bit. "I haven't seen her to talk to her. I've started avoiding the place when she's here due to all the noise." Rosie conveniently runs out right then, shoving her bag, blanket, teddy bear, coloring book, and crayons in Sherlock's arms before going to her dad.

John pick her up, saying to Mrs. Hudson, "You have no idea how much he complains about the noise. It's ridiculous."

"Rosie agrees with me," Sherlock argues. "Right, Rosie?"

"No," she says.

Sherlock turns to her in surprise. "No? You're telling me the noise isn't annoying anymore?"

"No," Rosie answers simply.

"Well, see if you say that tomorrow when all that noise starts up again."

"I won't," Rosie declares stoutly. "I like her."

"Oh, yes, they met today," Mrs. Hudson says. "She came in asking if she could take out a wall, so I went to look for some blueprints, and she talked to Rosie for a bit."

"She's a flower," Rosie says to John. "Like me."

"A flower?" John asks, amused.

Mrs. Hudson laughs. "That's certainly one way to describe her."

"I always thought flowers were quiet," Sherlock says wryly before stalking up the stairs. John laughs and rolls his eyes with Mrs. Hudson before following, asking Rosie about her day.

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The noise continues, especially when, Sherlock suspects, someone starts taking out whatever wall it is that this Lily woman wants gone. Lestrade is, conversely, quiet, providing him with no cases, and boredom begins to set in, though there are days when he hangs out with Rosie while John is gone.

She won't return to being a sympathetic listener, even during the loudest of noises, defending her new friend loyally, once even saying, argumentatively, she's sure that "Lily knows the fairies." Sherlock eventually gives up and changes the subject, soon being subjected to having his hair messily braided.

Meanwhile, for at least a week, not a case — not even an easy one — comes in for him, and his boredom becomes so pronounced that John proposes, "What if I find you a mystery to solve?"

Sherlock sighs deeply, lamenting while he's dramatically draped sideways over his chair, wanting a cigarette but knowing there are none in the flat. "It would be too easy."

John returns to preparing his cup of tea, shrugging. "I guess you don't know want to know how the diver killed the pilot, then..."

Sherlock sits up. "What?"

"The diver killed the pilot with a... an unknown weapon. You'll have to figure it out."

Sherlock stands, walking over to John, peppering him with questions, some of which John doesn't even answer. And the answers he does give at times contradict each other. It keeps Sherlock busy for a couple days, which he chalks up to the noise making thinking difficult. Finally, when he has his answer — it was with a shovel, at an airport close to the ocean due to jealousy over a woman who was secretly dating the both of them at the same time — he tells John.

"That seems as feasible an answer as any," John says.

"But is it the right one?"

John shrugs. "I guess."

"You guess? Is it the right answer or not?"

"Sherlock, there is no right answer — or, well, the right answer is whatever story you come up with. I only gave you that little conundrum to cure your boredom so you'd stop wanting to shoot the wall."

Sherlock frowns. "I can't believe I spent two days on nothing."

"Don't know what to tell you. You got the answer right, though, I guess."

The noise subsides for the next two days, allowing Sherlock to go into his mind palace much more easily, though it starts back up again soon after. Luckily, Lestrade gives him a case — this one more interesting — which takes he and John out often, and they manage to avoid meeting anyone in the hall except a professional worker occasionally walking back and forth from 221C to outside. It's clear Lily isn't there everyday anyway, as the knocker is only sometimes straightened.

"I have to admit that I am curious to know what a person who knows the fairies looks like," John says one day after Sherlock irritatedly brings her up again. Rosie repeated her sentiments about Lily to her father recently.

"So am I," Sherlock replies, hailing a cab.

"You just want to rant at her about the noise."

"Oh, I won't rant." Sherlock's smile is a mischievous smirk. "I think I'll deduce a bit, though."

"Absolutely not," John argues as a cab pulls up. "I'm sure she isn't that bad — especially with the way Rosie talks about her."

"I suppose," Sherlock mutters, glancing back at the knocker before getting in the cab. Thankfully, it's still crooked.