Greg had closed the pub down with John. The two of them were wandering along the street looking for a taxi when John's phone chirped at him.
"Hold on, Greg," John slurred, pawing at his pockets before managing to retrieve his phone. He peered at the bright-lit screen. "Ugh. You'd best get your own taxi. I need to pick up some chloroform."
Greg blinked a few times, thinking that over. As an officer of the law, he had to ask. "Why exactly do you need chloroform at 2am?"
"Sherlock needs it for … something. You know how he gets between cases."
Greg started to laugh, and quickly found himself falling against the brick wall of a shop, unable to stop.
"What's so funny?" John demanded.
"You sound like a man," Greg whooped, trying to get the breath to explain, "catering to his wife's pregnancy cravings!"
"Oh, I wish," John said. "I mean, pickles and ice cream, I'd just drop into the nearest all-night Tesco. But where am I meant to buy chloroform at 2am?"
John suddenly pictured a very pregnant Sherlock Holmes stomping his foot and demanding that John fetch him some chloroform right this instant. He burst out in a quick spate of giggles, then another, and ended up leaning against Greg, both of them roaring with laughter and clutching at their sore stomachs as John's phone chirped, and chirped, and chirped again.