Sometime later, Sherlock heard footsteps coming upstairs from his position on the couch. Sure enough, Watson came up and while taking his coat off looked somewhat nervously out the window.
“What are you doing?” he asked in regards to Sherlock’s right sleeve being rolled up and his frankly alarming breathing.
He opened his eyes. “Nicotine patch. Helps me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brainwork.”
“Good news for breathing.” Watson tried.
“Ugh; breathing. Breathing’s boring.” Sherlock scoffed, closing his eyes.
“You asked me to come; I’m assuming it’s important.” John said, getting to business.
Sherlock popped his eyes open again after a pause. “Oh! Yes; can I borrow your phone?”
“My phone?” Watson asked in disbelief.
“Don’t want to use mine; it’s on the website. Always the chance it’ll be recognized.”
“Well why didn’t you try the landline?” Watson seriously doubted how living in the same flat was going to turn out.
“I tried shouting; Mrs. Hudson didn’t hear me.”
“So you couldn’t even be bothered to get up?” definitely a bad idea. What purpose would he serve; Sherlock’s footman?
“I was at the other side of London!”
“Oh well; there’s no hurry.” Sherlock answered coolly.
It always confused John when telling this story afterwards how when he took out his phone he did not smash it on Sherlock’s skull; but nevertheless he handed it to him; literally, he put it into Sherlock's palm.
“So is this about the case?” he asked as he moved away towards the window.
“Obviously; there’s a number on the table, I need you to send a text.
“You brought me…to send a text?” Watson queried, exasperated.
“Tex, yes; the number, on my desk.”
Watson sighed, and walked to the window with the phone.
“What is it?” Sherlock asked.
“I met a friend of yours today.” Watson answered coolly.
“A friend?” Sherlock asked in disbelief.
“An enemy.” Watson corrected himself.
“Oh. Which one?”
“Said he was your arch-enemy. Do people have arch-enemies?” Watson wondered.
“Did he offer you money to spy on me?” Sherlock asked quietly.
“Yes.” Watson answered slowly.
“Did you take it?”
“No.”
“Pity,” Sherlock opened his eyes. “We could have split the fee; think it through next time. Now on my desk; the number.”
Watson went over to the desk and saw the number.
“Send exactly this: what happened at Lauriston gardens? I must have blacked out.” Sherlock said slowly.
Watson punched in the keys, and typed in the message.
Sherlock suddenly got up, went over to the desk chair, pulled out a bright pink case and opened it.
Watson sent the message, turned, and saw the case. “But that’s…that’s the pink lady’s case.”
