Sadie: Greg Lestrade sat in the large, plush chair in Mycroft’s home office,  delightedly watching the small screen glowing in front of him. All he needed was a large bucket of popcorn dripping with melted butter, and he would have been all set. “Well, you shouldn’a brought it up, should’ya?” he thrilled. “Oh, wait wait wait! What’s he doin’ now–oi, he’s crawlin’!“  He flopped back and slapped his knee with a  loud, cackling laugh as Sherlock Holmes…THE Sherlock Holmes!…crawled across the floor of his flat in nothing but a nappy and one sock while John Watson held down a bottle, waiting for him. “J-j-jay’sus, d’you think John’d let us babysit?!“ he stammered, wiping at his eyes.

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his temple…he really should know better than to exceed more than one drink around people; he was too ‘open’ after that. “I think he’d just as soon shoot you,” he muttered.

“Well, yeah, might do,” Lestrade said, sitting back up so he wouldn’t miss a minute of the scene playing out. “But y’know, in a non-fatal place…do y’think he’d accept the offer, after he cooled off a bit?”

“Don’t count on it being non-fatal, Gregory…especially not if Sherlock had anything to add.”

Sadie: John stared down at the clump of mottled, partly-dried clay that was now matted down with carpet fibers, his hands on his hips. He didn’t yell, his face didn’t turn colours…and that terrified the little detective. At least he knew how to react accordingly when John yelled–cry and look pitiful, and the sentence would be reduced to a mere time-out.

But the quiet…that’s what you had to watch out for.

“…That had better be gone by the time I get back home,” was all the doctor said, and then left for work.

After looking up tips online and trying everything from ice, rubbing alcohol, peanut butter, and scissors, Sherlock finally had to resort to taking a box cutter and replacing that sole patch of carpet all together.

When John arrived home, Sherlock was sitting in his chair calmly, as if he hadn’t nearly worried himself to death all afternoon. His eyes were closed, but he could hear the other man walk over and stop, and could imagine him staring down at the carpet, hands on his hips.

“…You never said it still had to match the rest, John.”

(Edit: Okay, so that’s more than 5, but I got caught up :P)

Sadie: “I’m sorry, what was that?” a disembodied voice purred at him from the dark.

John chewed furiously until it felt as if his teeth finally severed the rubber nipple in his mouth from the leather gag buckled behind his head. He struggled to work the strap away from his mouth and spat the remnants on the floor; “I said, you’re a dead man if Sherlock gets here before the coppers do…and he will.”

Moriarty steps into view, clucking his tongue and wagging his finger at the bound man. “Now now, Joh-nny, that’s not appropriate language for someone of your stature…” He brings his other arm from around his back, and John’s blood runs cold as he sees the heavily studded leather belt doubled over in his hand.

“Daddy’s had enough now.”