Mrs. Hudson took my skull.

Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Food Critic

John had grown accustomed to Sherlock starving himself on a case. When asked about it, his lips would quirk into an indulgent half-smile and he’d say, with a one-shouldered shrug and a blasé flick of his hand, “Yeah, he does that.” And it would be dismissed as one of the detective’s many unusual quirks. 

In actuality, Sherlock just didn’t like the food.  

And therein lay the reason why such a level of animosity existed between the two Holmes brothers; Mycroft would literally eat anything. Sherlock abhorred the elder Holmes’ unrefined palate, and Mycroft found his brother’s fussy eating intolerable. You can imagine the Christmas dinners.

It wasn’t long before Lestrade learned the truth. He never confessed his knowledge in words, as such, but the officers at Scotland Yard noticed that the detective inspector liked to gorge himself on shop-bought muffins whenever Sherlock stopped by at the office demanding case files.

And Anderson? The forensics specialist had made the unfortunate mistake of offering Sherlock a Tesco Value chocolate biscuit when they were first acquainted. A food crime that, in the detective’s eyes, was wholly unforgivable. They have been enemies ever since.

And while Jim Moriarty was a mass-murdering psychopath, Sherlock mused as he stood on the roof of St. Bart’s hospital, at least the man chewed a respectable brand of gum.