Categories > Books > Sherlock Holmes > The Battlefield
Boredboredboredboredbored.
The word echoed maliciously inside his head as he lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling with his phone clutched in his right hand, willing it to ring. He needed a case. He didn't care how mundane or easy it was, just something. Anything.
The boredom alone was enough to drive him half mad, but the absence of his flatmate to distract him was pushing his mind to whole new levels of frustration. John had decided it was time to try and repair his relationship with his sister, now that she seemed to be making some headway with her AA meetings, and so he was currently on the other side of London. Probably making small talk and hugging and engaging in a whole host of other dull, pedestrian 'bonding' activities. Sherlock found himself snorting and rolling his eyes. He knew John was going to find the whole trip uncomfortable and awkward, and he knew that John knew that too and yet he'd still gone. It made no sense. And it also meant that he wasn't there to take Sherlock's mind off the 'no case' boredom.
Boredboredboredboredbored.
Letting out a groan of frustration, he flung his arm over his eyes and promptly dropped his phone on the floor, having forgotten it was in his hand. Without bothering to move the arm blocking his sight, he started to feel around for his phone with his left hand, which had been resting on the floor anyway. When his fingers failed to encounter anything that felt like his phone, he just let his hand flop again and started running through a mental list of the experiments he had going at the moment. Maybe one of them needed checking, or turning, or microwaving.
...Nope.
He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. John had been gone for 1 day, 6 hours and 14 minutes now, and Sherlock had already imploded the TV and melted half the sockets in the flat. John wasn't due back for another 2 days. There probably wasn't going to be much to come back to if he didn't get a case soon. It would be interesting to see how John reacted to that. He no doubt expected to return to some damage, but how much would be considered too much? At what point did it become-
His thoughts were interrupted quite suddenly by the insistent trilling of his phone from somewhere under the coffee table. Leaping into action, he slammed his heel into the edge of the table, upending it and scooping his phone off the floor. He let out a small shout of triumph as Lestrade's name flashed up at him.
"Sherlock Holmes" he answered, his voice as smooth as ever, betraying none of the mingled frustration and excitement he was experiencing at the moment. A small smile crept across his face as he listened to what Lestrade had to say, "Yes, yes...no, don't be stupid. Get someone to contain the creatures separately. I'll be there shortly." He hung up the phone and immediately ran to change out of his pyjamas. Finally, something to do!
Five minutes later, he was outside hailing a cab. Theories based on the information he had been given over the phone buzzed around his head. He knew he would not be able to find the answer until he saw the body and whatever it was that the police had inevitably missed, but it didn't stop his brain presenting him with possibilities in the mean time. He glanced at the empty seat beside him and couldn't help but feel a slight dip in his excitement. Stupid John and his stupid alcoholic sister. Why couldn't he just stay here with him, then they could be heading off to the crime scene together and Sherlock wouldn't have to put up with the idiocy of the police force alone. Shaking his head slightly, he forced himself to think about the case. All that mattered right now was the crime scene he was about to see and the delightful puzzle it would hopefully present him with.
Little did he know, he was never going to see this particular crime scene.
The word echoed maliciously inside his head as he lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling with his phone clutched in his right hand, willing it to ring. He needed a case. He didn't care how mundane or easy it was, just something. Anything.
The boredom alone was enough to drive him half mad, but the absence of his flatmate to distract him was pushing his mind to whole new levels of frustration. John had decided it was time to try and repair his relationship with his sister, now that she seemed to be making some headway with her AA meetings, and so he was currently on the other side of London. Probably making small talk and hugging and engaging in a whole host of other dull, pedestrian 'bonding' activities. Sherlock found himself snorting and rolling his eyes. He knew John was going to find the whole trip uncomfortable and awkward, and he knew that John knew that too and yet he'd still gone. It made no sense. And it also meant that he wasn't there to take Sherlock's mind off the 'no case' boredom.
Boredboredboredboredbored.
Letting out a groan of frustration, he flung his arm over his eyes and promptly dropped his phone on the floor, having forgotten it was in his hand. Without bothering to move the arm blocking his sight, he started to feel around for his phone with his left hand, which had been resting on the floor anyway. When his fingers failed to encounter anything that felt like his phone, he just let his hand flop again and started running through a mental list of the experiments he had going at the moment. Maybe one of them needed checking, or turning, or microwaving.
...Nope.
He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. John had been gone for 1 day, 6 hours and 14 minutes now, and Sherlock had already imploded the TV and melted half the sockets in the flat. John wasn't due back for another 2 days. There probably wasn't going to be much to come back to if he didn't get a case soon. It would be interesting to see how John reacted to that. He no doubt expected to return to some damage, but how much would be considered too much? At what point did it become-
His thoughts were interrupted quite suddenly by the insistent trilling of his phone from somewhere under the coffee table. Leaping into action, he slammed his heel into the edge of the table, upending it and scooping his phone off the floor. He let out a small shout of triumph as Lestrade's name flashed up at him.
"Sherlock Holmes" he answered, his voice as smooth as ever, betraying none of the mingled frustration and excitement he was experiencing at the moment. A small smile crept across his face as he listened to what Lestrade had to say, "Yes, yes...no, don't be stupid. Get someone to contain the creatures separately. I'll be there shortly." He hung up the phone and immediately ran to change out of his pyjamas. Finally, something to do!
Five minutes later, he was outside hailing a cab. Theories based on the information he had been given over the phone buzzed around his head. He knew he would not be able to find the answer until he saw the body and whatever it was that the police had inevitably missed, but it didn't stop his brain presenting him with possibilities in the mean time. He glanced at the empty seat beside him and couldn't help but feel a slight dip in his excitement. Stupid John and his stupid alcoholic sister. Why couldn't he just stay here with him, then they could be heading off to the crime scene together and Sherlock wouldn't have to put up with the idiocy of the police force alone. Shaking his head slightly, he forced himself to think about the case. All that mattered right now was the crime scene he was about to see and the delightful puzzle it would hopefully present him with.
Little did he know, he was never going to see this particular crime scene.
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