It was an equally boring day at 221b baker street. This was the one hundred and seventeenth breath Sherlock had taken since lying on his favourite sofa.

"Boring!" Then, still the same, Sherlock punctured the wall of the flat again with a bullet from his pistol. Which once again caused Mrs Hudson to scream loudly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and growled, "what do I do? I'm bored now!"