“Come in, Stanley,” John Watson said as he opened the door at Baker Street. “It’s good to see someone relatively normal.”

“Why, what’s happened?” Stanley Hopkins asked.

“Sherlock’s been rushing in and out as if he’s got ten cases on the go at once, which I know isn’t true. And Mycroft has just phoned to tell me to dissuade Sherlock from going to the zoo. Quite how I’m supposed to do that I have no idea, even if I knew why he was thinking of going in the first place.”

Stanley laughed and said, “Have you got any beers in your fridge? It’s going to be a long evening.”

“Yes, but don’t tell me you’re involved in this bizarre behaviour too!”

“Certainly not. I’ve had Mycroft on the phone telling me not to let his brother go down river to the barrier. I replied stating that these are police vessels and will only be used for police purposes, but that if we are called to the barrier and Sherlock is involved, he will come with us. It appears they’re having some sort of competition, and both are determined to win. I happened to speak to Anthea, and she said it was a three-dimensional general knowledge crossword.”

“So, until one of them finishes it, we’re going to have Sherlock rushing around and Mycroft issuing orders.”

“Something like that. Although with that pair there’ll then be the prolonged argument as to who cheated.”

“Very true! I’ll get the beers.”

Ten minutes later, Sherlock rushed in. He looked around wildly and John took the opportunity to say, “Mycroft phoned to tell you not to go to the zoo.”

“The zoo! Of course. I’ll be back!” With that, Sherlock rushed off again.

“I’m not sure that was quite what Mycroft had in mind,” Stanley said.

John shrugged his shoulders. “Another beer?”

When Sherlock returned again somewhat later, he stomped in. “Mycroft’s finished it,” he complained. “And I was so close. I had one clue left and he beat me to it. He must have cheated. I’ve a good mind to…” He sighed. “Oh, give me a beer!”

John went into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of beer and a glass. They watched as Sherlock started to pour the beer, filling the glass with froth.

“Here, give it to me.” Stanley removed the bottle from Sherlock’s hand and tipped the glass to reduce the froth. He poured half the bottle and stopped, doubting Sherlock would drink even that much. “And what was the prize for the winner?” he asked.

“There wasn’t a prize,” Sherlock replied. “There was a penalty for the loser.”

“Which was?”

“Taking Mummy for a birthday tea at the Ritz.”

“Why don’t you both go?”

“Mummy said it was her birthday, and she was going to enjoy it, without having us both there, bickering.”

At this, John and Stanley burst out laughing.

“I don’t see there’s anything funny about it at all!”

Sherlock’s complaint was drowned out by the laughter.