It's Not Real

Chapter Sixteen

"Affair, lost pet, robbery... Priceless brooch stolen–"

"Dull. Are there no proper crimes being committed nowadays?"

John had been at 221B for forty minutes now and not a single case in Sherlock's mailbox was deemed worth his time. The one about a possible murderous cat genuinely had the army doctor interested.

"I told you we should look at the missing brother–"

Sherlock tskd. "Took the sister-in-law's money and ran. Gambling addiction."

"How do you–"

"You read the email aloud, you just didn't pay attention."

John tried his best not to throw something at his big, cocky, arrogant, arsehole... head. "Why wouldn't the sister-in-law say anything to–"

"Dirty money." Sherlock ruffled his hair. "Augh! Nothing above a five, and that's at a push. I'm bored, John! Oh," he snaps his fingers. "We could see if there's anything happing in Urgent Care, maybe someone's been attacked!"

"Only you would sound overjoyed at the prospect of someone traumatised." John narrowed his eyes. "Is Eve working in Urgent Care today?"

Sherlock said nothing.

"Do you just call me over to entertain you while Eve is busy?"

Sherlock looked anywhere but at him. "No?"

"Brilliant. Thanks. Nice to know I'm wanted."

"We have cases to solve!"

"You literally just said they're all below a five."

"Well, never know what might crop up! Maybe a serial killer will spring into view."

"Just what everyone asks the wish fairy for."

Sherlock huffed, slapping his arms down in a motion not dissimilar to Rosie when she's told no. "Do you ever stop complaining?"

"You dragged me here away from my wife and child just to pass the time while your girlfriend is at work." That was not a sentence John Watson ever imagined he'd say.

"I never said they couldn't come as well. Actually, I think I'd prefer Rosamund over you right now–" The sound of his mobile ringing made them both freeze. John raised an eyebrow, Sherlock grinned. "See? Hopefully something interesting." Sherlock pulled the phone from his pocket and pressed it to his ear. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh, good," the voice started. "I'm calling from Barts hospital, wondering if you could update us on Evelyn Wilson's whereabouts? You're down as an emergency contact, hoped you might have an idea."

Sherlock felt his brows knit together. Not a case. Just an idiot. "Her shift started two hours ago."

"Yes, but she hasn't shown, and we can't seem to get ahold of her."

For an idiot, what they had to say suddenly made his throat feel like it was constricting. John was staring at him, trying to read the situation.

"I will go to her flat and see if there's a problem."

"Good, thank you. This is obviously very out of character for her–"

"Yes, I'm aware. I'll get Evelyn to call you."

"Thank–" Sherlock hung up before they could delay him any longer with never ending witless babble.

In that time John had stood up from behind the laptop. "What's wrong?"

"Eve hasn't gone into work."

John let out a small laugh. "Is that it? She's probably overslept or something–"