We all got home, and leaned on the wall, panting. I looked at John, John looked at me, Amy looked at John, and I looked at Sherlock.
Everyone, except for Sherlock, exploded in laughter.
"Okay, that was ridiculous." John breathed.
"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done." He continued.
"And you been to Afghanistan." I mused
Sherlock stayed silent as I looked over at him.
"What Sherlock can't laugh at yourself?" I joked.
He stayed silent.
"Why aren't we back at the restaurant?" John questioned.
"Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway. Although you'd know that? Right Sherlock?" I asked as he continued to stay silent.
"So what were we doing there?" John asked.
"Passing time." He stated sharply. "And proving a point." He continued.
"What point?" John asked.
"You." Sherlock explained shortly.
"Mrs. Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs." He called out.
"Says who?" Asked John.
"Says the man at the door." He said. Their was a knock as John went to answer it. I felt a tap on my shoulder as I turned to Amy.
"I don't understand?" She said, she does this a lot when she's completely helpless.
"Oh, well, John is a war Doctor recently deployed from Afghanistan, you could tell by the slight tan on his face and hands and the absence of it on his wrists and the rest of his neck. You can't get a tan like that in England, not with this weather and no sane man would wear a long sleeve shirt with a high collar in the blazing heat, so he was in the army, but no visible wounds, steady hands, so, war doctor, he had some sort of trauma that made him believe he got his leg messed up, and when the topic is brought up, a.k.a when he's offered a chair or simply when someone talks of the matter he seems to forget that it exists or he doesn't take the seat, no truly injured man would forget about an injury or refuse a seat, so it's psychosomatic. And Sherlock just proved that statement." I explained to her as she made an 'oh' face.
"Sherlock, what have you done?" Mrs. Hudson blubbered.
"Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock inquired.
"Upstairs." She answered.
We all turned, hurrying up the stairs as Sherlock opened his room seeing Lestrade in an armchair, that annoying Anderson, and a bunch of other people.
"What hell are you people doing?" I asked, angry for not Sherlock's case of course.
"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid." Lestrade stated.
"You can't just break into his flat." I screeched.
"And you two can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat." Lestrade responded.
"Well, what do you call this then?" I questioned.
Lestrade looked around for a while while Sherlock looked at me, seemingly surprised.
