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Zyair sits drawing when his dad walks in, stopping just inside the living room and slamming the end of a harpoon gun on the ground. John looks round at him, his eyes widening at the Sherlock who is wearing black trousers and a white shirt; his arms, face and shirt covered with blood "Well, that was tedious." Sherlock tells them, breathing heavily. "You went on the Tube like that?!" John exclaims. "None of the cabs would take me." Sherlock responds irritated. "Hm, wonder why?" Zyair asks John sarcastically as Sherlock turns and leaves the room. "Heard that." Sherlock tells him making the teen grin.
Later the same morning Sherlock paces back and forth, holding the harpoon still but in a clean shirt and trousers with one of his blue dressing gowns over the top. "Nothing?" Sherlock asks John impatiently. John doesn't look up from the paper "Military coup in Uganda." he responds. "Hmm." Sherlock responds. John chuckles "Another photo of you with the, er..." he trails off pointing at a photo of Sherlock in the paper wearing the deerstalker. Sherlock makes a disgusted noise and continues pacing as John moves on to another newspaper "Oh, um, Cabinet reshuffle." he tells Sherlock. "Nothing of importance?" Sherlock asks furiously, slamming the end of the harpoon onto the ground "Oh, God! John, I need some. Get me some." he begs, looking at the Doctor. "No." John responds calmly. "Get me some." Sherlock repeats. "No. Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what. Anyway, you've paid everyone off, remember? No-one within a two mile radius'll sell you any." John responds as Sherlock leans the harpoon against the dining table. "Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?" Sherlock asks. John looks at him and clears his throat, Sherlock looks towards the door "Mrs Hudson!" he yells.
Zyair rolls his eyes, moving as his dad starts hurling paperwork off the table "Look, Sherlock, you're doing really well. Don't give up now." John tells him. "Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me." Sherlock pleads. John doesn't respond making Sherlock look at him with puppy dog eyes "Please." he says. "Can't help, sorry." John responds. "I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers." Sherlock tries. John chuckles "Zyair already offered for his." he tells him. "Oh, it was worth a try." Sherlock responds before hurls himself to the floor by the fireplace. Mrs Hudson walks in and knocks on the door "Hoo-ooh!" she smiles. "My secret supply. What have you done with my secret supply?" Sherlock asks, still looking round the fireplace. "Eh?" Mrs Hudson responds. "Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?" Sherlock asks. "You know you never let me touch your things! Ooh, chance would be a fine thing." Mrs Hudson remarks, looking at the mess. Sherlock stands up and faces her "I thought you weren't my housekeeper." he says. "I'm not." she responds. Sherlock stomps over to the harpoon and picks it up again as Zyair carries on drawing in his sketch book.
John looks at Mrs Hudson and makes a drinking motion with his hands "How about a nice cuppa, and perhaps you could put away your harpoon." Mrs Hudson suggests. "I need something stronger than tea. Seven per cent stronger." Sherlock responds, glaring out the window before looking at Mrs Hudson and points the harpoon at her "You've been to see Mr Chatterjee again." he deducts. "Pardon?" she asks. "Sandwich shop. That's a new dress, but there's flour on the sleeve. You wouldn't dress like that for baking." Sherlock continues. "Sherlock..." John starts. "Thumbnail: tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don't we? Mmm: 'Kasbah Nights.' Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn't you agree? I've written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It's on the website, you should look it up." Sherlock tells her. "Please." Mrs Hudson says exasperated. "I wouldn't pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr Chatterjee. He's got a wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about." Sherlock continues. "Sherlock!" John exclaims. "Well, nobody except me and Zyair." Sherlock corrects. "I don't know what you're talking about, I really don't." Mrs Hudson says upset, storming out the flat and slamming the living room door behind her.
