The Science of Direction

I was forced into writing this, so I apologize if it isn't perfect.

Please review!

I don't own anything, so don't copyright kill me please!

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Sherlock, I know you're bored..."

BANG!

"...but that doesn't give you a right to take it out on the wall again!", John finished exasperated.

With a look that screamed "to hell with my supposed non-rights" Sherlock gave a dramatic sigh and collapsed in the worn chair; but not before finishing the angry face with one last shot.

"I'm not simply bored John," he grumbled. "I feel like every ounce of life in my being is being leeched out while those incompetent idiots who supposedly run our city finally find something INTERESTING for me to solve!"

Rolling his eyes at his sulking flatmate, John glanced hopefully out the window. With a smirk, he replied, "Well, be bored no longer. There's a-"

"Yes John, my hearing is just fine. There's a large amount of vehicles pulling up in front of the flat." Sherlock cut off wearily.

"So why aren't you more excited? I thought you would be happy about a high profile case!" John said confused.

"Think John!", Sherlock retorted while shifting into a sitting position. "Only two people would come here so ostentatiously: Rich old ladies who want me to find their tiny yapping dogs, or even worse, Mycroft coming to try and intimidate me!"

"Or a rich young man.", John replied worriedly as he stared at the obviously well to do teen climbing out of the "inconspicuous" car.

"This isn't good Sherlock, rich brats get into some serious trouble, the sort of messy stuff we wouldn't want to get mixed up with.

"Plus," he continued while squinting, "he looks very familiar; although I can't tell with those huge sunglasses covering half his face. I've probably seen him in some scandal recently, and now he wants us to cover up his tracks."

"So we are NOT going to take this case, alright?", he finished, looking sternly at his flatmate. But he was too late. Sherlock was already sitting crossed-legged in his praying mantis pose, looking the epitome of calm and intelligence.

Sighing heavily now, John simply got up and murmured "I'll go put on the tea."

Within a few short minutes, a hurried knock was rapped on 221b's door.

"Took him long enough, how long does it take to find us..." Sherlock muttered darkly while John shouted out "It's open!", from the kitchen. Tentatively, a handsome blonde teen slipped in the door, pulling off his sunglasses while he did.

"When did they go missing?" Sherlock said flatly, glancing at the lad once before shutting his eyes again.

"What? How did you know that already? I thought we were able to keep the media away from this, how did you find out so quickly?", the boy sputtered in a nervous garble of words.

Walking carefully out into an already familiar scene, John glanced up from the delicate teat ray he was holding to the distressed client.

And nearly dropped the tray in shock.

"Sherlock, that's-" he started shakily.

"Its really quiet obvious, you have it written all over you." Sherlock interrupted.

"Sherlock, shut up for a mome-"

"Really, just look at yourself! The way you are constantly glancing around, as if you keep forgetting that they are missing. Not to mention your clothes, extremely plain looking at first, but brand new and too well made to be just an everyday outfit. Probably a disguise then. But why hide?