I had no idea what time it was when I awoke. I was grateful it was my day off from work, but I knew Sherlock would be forcing me to do something. I opened my eyes and stared up at the wall. How strange Sherlock had acted the previous night. Then again, he was strange all round. I sat upright on the edge of my bed and yawned and stretched. I looked up at the clock. 9 am. Not too bad.
Sherlock was lying on the sofa when I wandered into the lounge room. Well, not exactly lying. He was upside down with his feet resting on the wall. His eyes were closed and his arms were crossed.
"Morning," I said.
"Morning John," Sherlock replied.
"Oh good you are alive," I smiled.
"Of course I am John. Don't be foolish," Sherlock replied. I shook my head and ran my head through my hair. I walked into the kitchen. Sherlock mess was everywhere. I glanced around the place, hoping to find something decent to eat.
"Anything in the house?" I asked.
"I went out shopping earlier," Sherlock answered.
"Really?" I looked at him. His eyes were still closed.
"Yes. Bought some milk, jam, bread, beer," Sherlock replied, "We have a little bit of bread left. I fed most of it to the ducks."
"The ducks?" I asked.
"Yes John, of course. I went to the park out of boredom and fed the ducks," Sherlock said, "Did you know only female ducks can quack?"
" I mumbled.
"I thought so," Sherlock said. I opened the fridge and sure enough there was milk. I grinned.
"Is the toaster working?" I asked.
"Yes," Sherlock replied.
"Want anything?" I asked.
"Already had breakfast thanks," Sherlock answered. His tone was strange. I brushed it off and made myself some toast.
I sat down at the desk and opened up my laptop. I bit into my toast and opened up my blog. More hits. I smiled.
"What is it John?"
I jumped. Sherlock was right beside me. I didn't even hear him move. I heard him swallow.
"Jesus Sherlock, you scared me half to death," I said. His eyes shifted, looking at me. He made a 'hmm' noise and walked away.
"Apologies then," he said.
"Wait, you're apologising?" I asked. Surely he must be joking, I thought.
"It doesn't happen often John, enjoy it while you can," Sherlock answered. I grinned. Score.
"So, any cases today?"
"No, it's dull," Sherlock said with a long sad sigh.
"That's a shame," I replied.
"I updated my blog, if you wish to see," Sherlock replied. I turned my head to him. He was just standing in the middle of the room looking sad and bored. I looked back to my screen. I typed in Sherlock's blog address, and sure enough it had been updated. Most of it was 'bored.' How original of him. I scrolled through. I stopped when something caught my eye.
"Huh," I said, leaning back into my chair.
"What is it?" Sherlock asked.
"You're doing experiments on blood types," I said, looking at him. I frowned in confusion at what he was doing. He had his arms out and was spinning around in circles. "Uh, Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?"
"Just keeping myself stimulated John," Sherlock answered. He put his foot it.
"Stop it, you're gonna hurt yourself or damage something, or both," I replied, looking back to my screen. Sherlock grumbled something.
"And back to what you said before John. Yes, blood types," he said.
"Why?" I glanced at him. He has stopped spinning and was lying across the coffee table.
"Boredom John, it's dangerous to me," he said.
"Yeah, I know what it does to you, I've seen it first hand," I replied.
"No, you haven't," Sherlock mumbled. Before I could say another word I heard a knock on the door. Sherlock jumped off the table. I heard muffled voices of Mrs Hudson and Lestrade.
"Maybe you won't be bored after all," I said.
"We can only hope dear John," Sherlock said. Dear John. Why did those two simple meaningless words have such an effect on me?
"Ah, Lestrade, what brings you here?" Sherlock asked. Lestrade was standing in the lounge room looking flustered and tired. He had bags under his eyes and dark circles. I feel sorry for the poor bugger. He had been through a tough divorce and work was killing him.
"Hello Sherlock, hello John," he said, nodding to me.
"What's up?" I asked.
"There have been reports of prostitutes being attacked in London," Lestrade answered. Sherlock made a face. He was always making odd faces, especially around Lestrade.
"I don't mean to sound harsh, but that's not exactly new," I said.
"One was murdered this morning," Lestrade replied.
"Oh?" Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow. My heart squeezed. Strange feeling.
"Yes. In a sort of gruesome throat-being-ripped-out kind of murder," Lestrade said.
"It could've been an animal," I suggested.
"Don't be foolish John, Lestrade wouldn't have come to me if it was an animal attack," Sherlock said.
"Oh, foolish me," I replied.
"Don't feel bad John, practically everyone is foolish," Sherlock said,
"Will you come Sherlock?" Lestrade asked before I could reply to Sherlock's remark.
"Might as well. Where is it?" Sherlock asked. Lestrade gave us the address. "We'll be there. Go ahead."
Lestrade nodded and left us. Sherlock sighed and grabbed his coat, scarf and gloves. "Coming John?"
"Oh, yeah sure," I replied. I grabbed my jacket and followed Sherlock outside. Sherlock hailed down a cab and we jumped in. We were silent on the ride to wherever the hell we were going. London passed by us. Loud but peaceful. We went past a small park. Kids were playing on the playground, giggling and laughing. Moments passed. Then more. Then more.
"What is it John?" Sherlock asked. I hadn't realised I was staring at him. I blinked and looked out the window.
"Nothing Sherlock, nothing
" I replied.
"You seem uncomfortable," Sherlock pointed out. I sighed and relaxed my clenched fists.
"It's nothing, I'm fine," I said.
"Are you in pain? It seems unlikely, but your leg?" Sherlock asked. His voice was the closest thing to sympathy he could get.
"What? No, no. It's fine. Everything's fine," I said. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I rested my head against the cold glass window. Sherlock made a 'hmm' noise. And that was it. We were silent for the rest of the trip.