Upon arriving back at the crime scene John noticed more than he had the previous time round. The front door was a chalky white, surrounded by sandy brown bricks. The garden represented that of a council property, the lawn was overgrown and dotted with bright yellow dandelions. To humans it represented someone who had no pride in their property; to wildlife it was heaven on earth. Sherlock wandered straight through the front door and into the living room where the body apparently once situated. Sherlock paused and gazed around the room. He ran his hand over the oak furniture and rubbed the royal blue curtains between his fingers. He scoured the property, glancing into each room one by one and headed out the door, all without letting a single word escape past his lips. The sun was once again hidden behind a curtain of dusty grey clouds that threatened rain. John didn't dare to speak. He knew Sherlock was probably currently in his mind palace and disturbing him could result in drastic consequences. They headed for the nearest main road however this time Sherlock made no effort to haul a taxi.
"Aren't we going to get a taxi?" John asked, clearly puzzled.
"No, I need time to think. Well you can if you want. Actually yes, get a taxi, I need to be alone", Sherlock stated almost immediately. John nodded; he attempted to haul dozens of taxis before finally climbing into the first available one. Sherlock watched as John was taken away. Despite knowing that he'd see him again in a few hours he felt a sharp pain form in his stomach and rise into his chest. This was something he'd never experienced before. He shook his head, he couldn't afford to be confused or in any way distracted right now. The air was becoming noticeably colder but Sherlock was not bothered by the drop in temperature. It was clear that his long thick coat and dark blue scarf kept him oblivious to the cold.
John arrived back at 221B, Baker Street was somewhat quiet and John could for once hear the calls of the few birds. He peered down at his watch, 6:00pm. He sighed and headed inside. He let himself collapse into the chair. He was just about ready to fall asleep when he was interrupted by the sound of a grumble. He sighed, rose from his seat and headed for the kitchen. He opened the fridge to find a bag of fingers. He carved a frown into his face. He turned to start complaining before it dawned upon him that Sherlock wasn't with him. He took a few deep breaths and allowed himself to calm down before closing the fridge. Maybe I should stop going straight for the fridge he thought. He opened one of the cupboards, which indicated that a food shop was long overdue. All John could see that was worthy of a meal was a tin of spaghetti. He grabbed the tin off the shelf and poured it into a bowl before placing it into the microwave. He tried to wait patiently but his stomach protested. The microwave began beeping and John set it for another 30 seconds. The second round of beeps reached John's ears; he smiled before tucking into his meal. Once he'd satisfied his stomach he glanced at his watch once more, 6:30pm. John began to wonder how long it'd be before Sherlock would return.
Sherlock was still wandering the streets of London, he hadn't realised he was this far away from Baker street however he didn't mind at all. It gave him plenty of time to think. He took note of where he was situated. I should be home in about 15 minutes, he thought to himself. Rain began to pelt the ground and this alone caused Sherlock to form a smile across his face. Night was beginning to close in, headlights were beginning to be switched on and one by one the streetlights burst into life.
John was watching something on the TV. What? He had no idea. He had left it on the channel it was on when he turned it on. After all he was only using it as a distraction. The room filled with the sound of his ring tone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile.
INCOMING CALL LESTRADE.
"Hello?" John accepted the call with the usual greeting.
"Hi John" Lestrade responded, his voice had taken a friendly tone. "Has it worked? Is he distracted?"
"Well he's been out on his own for a while now so I suspect so" John explained, willingly.
"Good-"
The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs reached John's ears.
"I've gotta go, I'll talk to you later", he hung up the call just as Sherlock walked into the room. Clearly not bothered by the fact he was soaking wet from the rain that was pelting against the window which John had only just noticed. His clothes and hair were sticking to his skin.
"Who was that?", asked Sherlock, curiously. John glanced at him.
"What? Oh, no one." He responded.
