A/N: hi guys!

Wowie, thank you for over 600 views :o It may not seem that much to some, but it's a lot for me - so thank you! I'm really happy about that ^^

Also, i added a short part to the last chapter, so feel free to read it. Not that much happens, buuut anyway.

Hope you're good and hope you enjoy!

- jawn

A nudge. That was the first thing John noticed. The second was something bigger, warmer and a bit damp, which settled on his arm.

Alarmed, he opened his eyes and turned his head in the direction where he had felt the nudge and the patchy something on his arm.

The dull London morning light illuminated the room and John noticed that somebody was sitting on his bed. Somebody small who was obviously quite fascinated by his left forearm. Rosie.

His lips twisted into a smile.

Slowly he sat up and when he carefully pulled his arm away from under her hands, she looked up in surprise. In her curls, crooked and bright pink, sat a hairband with a pink plastic flower stuck to the side.

"Good morning, love," John greeted her softly.

"Dada," she said, which presumably should have meant Daddy, and he had to laugh. For some time now, she had been able to understand Sherlock and him without any problem, and even spoke herself - but the word Daddy still seemed to be difficult for her. No matter. He thought it was cute.

John flung the covers aside and heaved himself out of bed before grabbing Rosie by the hips to take her in his arms. Sherlock was probably still as engrossed in his work as he had been last night and Rosie had become so bored that she had come to him.

"Morning," he said as they turned the corner into the living room.

Again, the windows cast dull light into the room, but Sherlock had already turned on a couple of lamps, which created a reasonably cosy atmosphere. More cosy than in his room, at least. He himself was sitting, how could it be otherwise, at his desk, in a brown dressing gown and purple shirt, lost in his work on the laptop that stood in front of him. John didn't even ask if it was his own.

Sherlock glanced briefly in his direction and then refocused on whatever it was he was doing.

"Morning."

John set Rosie down and glanced at the clock. It was just before eleven- good thing she'd woken him.

"Has Rosie eaten anything yet?" he asked and Sherlock shook his head absently.

"Well, let's go make something," he muttered and headed towards the kitchen.

His own stomach was growling like hell - maybe it hadn't been such a good idea not to eat anything yesterday after all.

When John opened the fridge, he had to stifle a groan - there was no milk. Of course there wasn't. No one had bought new. And that meant no morning coffee and no porridge. Great.

"Can you go and get some milk?" he called out to Sherlock, although he actually already knew his answer.

"No."

Of course not.

"Why?"

"Because I'm thinking."

"But yes, of course you are. How could I forget..." mumbled John, taking a glass of yoghurt from the fridge instead of the, non-existent, milk. They probably only had three grams of sugar left, too, and instead of cereal, they only had pappy oatmeal. Delicious.

"Why don't you just go shopping or to Mrs Hudson's?"

Yeah, right. In pajamas. Sure.

When he'd finished the mess of breakfast and set Rosie in front of it, he ran his hand apologetically through her hair when he saw her suspicious look and went back into the living room.

Sherlock was still sitting in front of the laptop with a furrowed brow, seemingly reading something. His curls hung tangled in his forehead and his purple shirt was wrinkled. There were dark shadows under his narrowed eyes and his skin looked unhealthier than usual today. He had probably worked all night.

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked him as he settled into his chair, and Sherlock remained silent, which John interpreted as a no.

He sighed.

"What did you find out?"

"Not much."

His voice sounded rough and John could see how much this answer bothered him- frustration reflected in every crease of his brow. It was as if his own words disgusted him.

"Pretty much nothing, actually."

Sherlock sighed as well and leaned back.

"I was hoping that if I had more news, more evidence, it would be easier to decipher these males. But if anything, it's only going to get more confusing."

"And you're sure it's a code? Letters?"

"Quite sure."

John furrowed his brow. Perhaps it had been naïve to hope that Sherlock had already solved the riddle of the dancing men tonight. Perhaps it had even been naïve for sure. But still, somehow he had hoped so.

"And how will we get on?"

When Sherlock laughed quietly in response, there was no amusement in it.

"That's what I've been trying to figure out all along," he replied.

"How we'll get on."

He straightened up again and rummaged around in a few sheets scattered on the desk until he found the right one and lifted it up to show John. It was yesterday's sheet. The one with the circled male that obviously meant the letter "E".

"You see this male?" he asked John and John nodded.

"As I explained yesterday, that was the one that was used the most. So logically it must also mean the most commonly used letter in English- E.
But the frequency of the other letters in English is not exactly fixed- the second most common could be t, a, o and i and it would take far too long to try all the possible possibilities and then take the most plausible.
So there must still be some clue as to which of them it is...," he folded his arms, "the only question is where!"

"And what if we only try the trial and error on the shorter messages?"

John, disgusted by the taste, had put his bowl on the floor and now looked questioningly at Sherlock.

"That way we could more easily guess the letters and put them in the longer ones, as a sample."

"Yes," Sherlock replied, "but the problem is that we only have one goddamn letter so far, and even with the shorter messages it would take us goddamn time, too much time, to decipher them-not to mention correctness."

He leaned forward again and propped his head on his hand.

"Where's that clue?" he muttered, more to himself than to John.

"Where?"

John didn't answer. He had no idea.