I wrote this for school and thought I'd post it because Why Not?

"That went well," Sherlock Holmes, a tall, dark haired man, commented as he and the short, blonde man Doctor John Watson walked out the front doors of the government building.

"We were supposed to be getting introduced to the Prime Minister, Sherlock!" John said with irritation.

"We were introduced to the Prime Minister." Sherlock said.

"They pulled guns on you!"

"They pulled guns on me post-deduction." Sherlock corrected with a smirk.

"That doesn't make it any better!" John smacked his forehead with his palm.

"Oh, relax, I knew you'd intervene."

John sighed. "Well, I wasn't going to let them kill you, was I? Your brother pays half the rent." The two walked down a semicircular path and then took a right. The tube was a block away. John had always thought it funny that Americans called the tube a "subway".

"I pay half the rent!" Sherlock protested indignantly.

"No, you clot, Mycroft pays the rent for you. Where do you think that money in your bank account comes from? I cure people's maladies, and you solve crimes, but only one of us gets paid. In return for keeping your impulsive arse out of trouble, your brother puts money in your bank and pretends it's your inheritance, and then you pay half the rent so I don't have to." John informed the tall consulting detective.

"Nonsense, John," Sherlock protested weakly, "Mummy's death provided me with enough money to-"

"Nope, you're wrong. Get over it." John strode ahead of Sherlock; an impressive feat for a man with shorter legs. "Now, did you remember to wash the bedsheets?"

Sherlock gasped as his brain went into overdrive. "The bedsheets, John, brilliant! The killer made his first mistake, ooh, we've got him now!"

John spun around, baffled. "What?"

"The Hartford suicides, John!" Sherlock said, seizing him by the shoulders. "First with an intravenous needle from the hospital the victim's brother was in, then the woman's self-hanging! But the killer made a mistake! Phone Lestrade. Tell him to meet us at the crime scene in an hour." Sherlock let go of John and ran past him, coat billowing behind him dramatically.

"You phone him!" John protested as he started running after the taller man.

"I prefer to text." Sherlock said when John was caught up enough that he wouldn't have to shout.

"I don't care what you prefer, phone him yourself." John muttered as they ran. The ex-captain of the army was pretty fit, so he could easily talk while running. Sherlock just skidded to a stop and hailed a taxi. John swore and phoned Lestrade. He was such a pushover.