John shook his head over his laptop screen. "All that drama over a spider."
Sherlock didn't look up from where he sat on the sofa with his own computer. "Arachnophobia can cause all sorts of irrational behaviour. Although I admit this fellow had a fair reason for his extreme reaction."
"You really think what he did was reasonable?"
"No. I said it was 'extreme,' but he couldn't control himself. Small-minded people simply don't have the capacity."
"I agree with you there. Sort of."
"Ah, but you do not have a fear of spiders."
"And as such, how would you expect to respond in the same circumstances?"
"With a shoe, probably. Or a rolled-up newspaper. Certainly not with an improvised blowtorch."
Sherlock looked at him quizzically. "What are you talking about?"
"Some idiot in Seattle who nearly burned down his house with spray paint and a lighter just to get rid of a spider in the laundry room. What are you talking about?"
"A man who, in 1897, was trapped in a tarantula-filled train car and driven mad. He woke in a hospital in Portland, Oregon, where he was 'recovering from an attack of insanity.'"
"That's not nearly as ridiculous as this one." John fell to musing. "Was there anything else in that train car with your bloke?"