"Look, and now all you have to do is shake your hand and..."

Plop. The rattle was on the floor again. John suppressed a groan and tried to smile.

"Okay," he said, stroking his daughter's cheek.

"It's no big deal. Let's just play something else then, shall we? Um, what about-"

"Oh!"

A loud exclamation interrupted his sentence and astonished, John looked up. That had been Sherlock, no doubt . What was going on now? Had he found out something?

"John!" his voice rang out again.

"John, come here! It's important!"

"Be right back," he said, and got up to go into Sherlock's bedroom, where the call had come from. He'd been stuck in there for hours and John had given up trying to help him. Or even being able to. It was pointless. Sherlock's head was thinking along for three, at least. But if he'd figured something out...

As he pushed down the knob of his door, it struck John that he had never actually been in his room before. At least not just like that. The last time had been when...gee, when Sherlock had been given that sleeping pill by the woman. And that had been ages ago.

The door swung open and hesitantly he entered.

Actually, Sherlock's room was quite similar to his room - mostly blue-grey and plain. A few clothes, jackets and shirts, were lying around, but that was all. The only thing that was really different was the desk, which stood against the wall on the right, piled with books and all sorts of chemical utensils, almost like in the kitchen most of the time.
And that was exactly where Sherlock sat, with his sleeves rolled up and his arms folded, staring at the wall in front of him, where there were as many sheets of paper as there were on his pinboard in the living room.

"Yes?"

He turned his head away from the wall in surprise and dropped his arms into his lap when he saw John.

"Oh, John," he said.

"I hadn't realised you'd already come in. Lost in thought."

Of course.

John just nodded and braced his arms on his hips so they didn't just hang down uselessly.

"You called me?"

"Oh, yeah. Right."

Sherlock tapped his forehead.

"I was wondering if you could hand me my phone."

John blinked. He wasn't serious now, was he?

"Are you serious?" he asked.

Confused, Sherlock's eyebrows drew together.

"Why wouldn't I?"

John found this sentence all too familiar and he sighed. What had he been expecting again?

"Where?"

"It should be here somewhere in my room. Look on the bed."

John now lowered his arms as well and glanced at the pale blue duvet lying neatly folded on the mattress. And there it lay. Black and shiny and not ten feet from the desk.

Snorting, he turned away, catching Sherlock's puzzled gaze at his back.

"Call your brother. Or ask Mrs Hudson," he muttered.

"But she's not our housekeeper!"

John left the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a loud bang. Jesus, what was he? A baby that couldn't walk properly yet? Rosie could do better than that.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said as he returned to the living room and dropped back down on the play mat beside her.

"Some people here are having their period today."

Rosie looked at him questioningly, but at three she didn't need to know about hormones and periods yet either. John smiled half-heartedly and ran his hand through her curls. What luck that Rosie, even though she was still so young, wasn't as demanding as other babies. Okay well, that wasn't entirely true. When she was younger, she had been quite demanding and of course she still was at times. But when it came down to it, she was an angel.
No wrong. John shook his head. She was always an angel, even when she was demanding. She was his angel.

"Dada," she said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

She had his Lego brick in her hand and was holding it out to him expectantly. At three, John had decided, Rosie was old enough to play with Lego bricks in his, or Sherlock's, or Mrs Hudson's, supervision.

"You want to build something?" he asked her and she nodded, making John smile again.

"Okay," he said.

"Then let's build-"

"John!"

A loud voice interrupted him again and John flinched. His startlement lasted only a short time though- after a nanosecond it gave way to an eye roll and he sighed. Sherlock's voice. Maybe he should just ignore-.

"John!"

He groaned in exasperation and gathered up the few Lego pieces lying on the blanket to put them in the play box in the cupboard where Rosie couldn't reach them.

"Like I said. Period," he muttered, trudging towards his room.

"I swear to God," he said as he yanked open the door to the room.

" If your going to tell me again I have to get your bloody mobile phone-"

"John."

Sherlock sat in exactly the same position at the desk as he had 5 minutes ago- leaning back, arms folded, purple sleeves rolled up, dark curls falling into his pale forehead, looking at him.

"Come here," he said.

"And look."

Sighing, John stepped into the room again and stood beside him.

On the top of the desk, how could it be otherwise, was the sheet with the stick figures on it, all too familiar to him. Under one of the stick figures, which Sherlock had already deciphered, was written a thick 'E'. But this was not new. No, something else was new.
Underneath all the stick figures, there was something drawn that hadn't been there before - a series of different males, three of them. Probably a message from Juliet's mobile. And underneath them was something written- the letters 'N' and 'V' and 'R'.

John gasped and jerked his head up.

"You got something decoded?" he asked, befuddled, even though it was pretty obvious. Within five bloody minutes?

"What one man can invent, another can discover," Sherlock replied simply, he didn't quite manage to keep the pride out of his voice though- it sparkled in his emerald eyes.

John blinked and shook his head in disbelief. Incredible.

"Fantastic," he murmured, looking back at the sheet of paper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock raise his eyebrows.

"Your first question isn't how?" he heard him ask, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

"That would have been my second question."