The Yellow Skittle Sociopaths

Chapter 8

As I stroll down the lamp-lit street away from Anthoni's flat, I hear someone run up behind me.

"Hey John." I say casually, not slowing my pace.

"Hey." he says, keeping my pace evenly.

"Lost Sherlock huh?"

"What? Oh, no. We split up."

"Split up, hmm? Why, I wonder?" I ponder out loud to myself. "Ah, but I suppose you won't tell me."

"You'd be correct." he clarifies, and we fall into silence. There really isn't that much to talk about; considering all my thoughts were on the recent mass murder I had witnessed.

After several minutes of awkward silence, John and I find ourselves in front of my apartment door. I fish around in my trench coat pocket for the key.

"Now where did I... Oh! Here it is." I exclaim as I slide the silver key into it's lock and turn it, listening for the click. As I push open the door, I feel my phone vibrating in my jeans' pocket, and slide the red thing-a-ma-jig to answer.

"Now, who on God's green earth could this be?" I think sarcastically.

"Yes?" I say impatiently, while waving my arm to indicate John should make himself comfortable. He kicks off his shoes so he doesn't trod mud on my rugs (I have hard wood floors you see) and hangs his coat on a chair. I close the door behind me a slip out of my coat to hang it on the peg behind the door. My boots I leave on; fight or flight mode you know.

"Helloo," I hear Anthoni's voice through the speaker. "You aren't busy on that case thing-a-ma-bob are you?"

I scoff. "Just thinking about it actually." I said, facing John and rolling my eyes. I point at the phone and mouth; 'This girl.'

"Sherlock won't stop raving about it ever since I mentioned it. He's actually trashing my flat as we speak."

I laugh heartily. "Figures." I finally manage after a moment. "John seems to be 'inspecting' the leftovers in my fridge.... Hey! That pizza is a two month old experiment, don't disturb it!" I say as John scours one of the drawers. He pulls a face and carefully sets it back down where it had been.

"You're as bloody bad as Sherlock!" he exclaims, throwing his hands up.

"Oh ho, not that bad." I muse to myself. I mean honestly. The man might be brilliant, but he's a bloody slob.

"Why didn't Sherlock follow you?!" Anthoni exclaims from the other end of the phone. "Sherlock, I told you! I threw the crochet needles at the chair, those are not claw marks!"

This makes me double over in laughter. "You sure about that, Anthoni?" I say, looking around my tidy apartment. I didn't spend much time in my flat.... so how could it be otherwise?

"I'm coming over," Anthoni states bluntly.

"Oh great. Just when I thought this night would be getting better."

"Why?" I ask. "A little chaos might be good for you!"

John, who has moved to the navy blue three-seater couch to flip through channels on the television, laughs. "She needs more chaos like she needs a hole in her head. Trust me, I've lived with Sherlock long enough to know."

"True, very true." I answer. And it is.

"Why do you think I'm coming over there?" Anthoni said, and I hear her hang up.

I resist the terrible urge to throw my phone into the wall. "They're coming here." I state, and plop onto the couch beside John.

"Just when I thought I'd get a moment of peace." John sighs, and pushes the power button on the remote to turn off the tele, but I stop him.