I've given the ad to the newspaper I texted Sherlock, It should be in tomorrow's morning paper. Why'd you put an ad in the NEWSPAPER anyway? No one reads that anymore.
We have proof that our killer does. -SH
Of course. I should have guessed. Proof is all that mattered to Sherlock Holmes. Proof and staying out of boredom. That was basically his life.
Well, the killer might show up as soon as he sees the ad, so you'll want to be over as soon as possible. I told him. The truth was that I was hoping that he'd keep me from being bored out of my mind. My flat was really boring most the time.
I'll be over in just a few minutes. Do you have a couch? If so, I'll sleep on it. -SH
No, sorry I texted My flat is practically empty.
That's fine. I don't usually sleep on a case, anyway. -SH I wondered what else Sherlock stopped doing whenever he was on a case.
Alright. Well, come over soon. I'd rather not be home alone when the murderer, who you sent to my house, appears.
I'm coming over now. Should be there in 2 minutes. -SH
I'm sure my heart beat sped up a little bit. I tried to slow it down, but it's one of those involuntary things. I was trying my best to ignore my little crush on Sherlock, but I could help it. Him staying at my flat for the next few days wasn't going to help, either. Oh well, I just couldn't turn him down.
Sherlock estimated the time correctly. Exactly two minutes after he texted me, my doorbell rang. I opened the door to exactly who I expected it to be.
I had really expected for Sherlock to have a suitcase with him, or at least a change of clothes for the next day. But he didn't it. He showed up with a pistol and the clothes on his back, like he was going to stay for just a few minutes, and leave.
"Hello, Bridget." Sherlock said, stepping into my flat, "We've got two suspects that we can't narrow it down between, and this will probably help get some evidence about who it is. Whoever it is will probably send a henchman or whatever here in the next day or so, and that will probably tell us a bit more about our killer."
"Like the famous Sherlock Holmes couldn't figure it out without interrogating a henchman."
"I never said anything about interrogating." Sherlock said, rather surprised that I would even consider the idea, "No, I can probably just figure it out by just looking at the person."
"Oh." I said. A lot of the time when you're talking to Sherlock Holmes, that's all that you can say without sounding like an idiot. But even if you do sound like an idiot, don't worry. In Sherlock's mind, every one - except for himself, of course - is already an idiot, and will always be an idiot, unless they prove themselves otherwise.
Sherlock laid his pistol down on my kitchen table. "I'm only going to use this if I have to." he said, "I can't learn as much from a dead body."
Of course. He wouldn't be bothered by the fact that he would have just killed someone. He just doesn't want to use the pistol because he can't learn as much from a dead body. Somehow, I wasn't surprised.
"Do you mind if I make myself a cup of coffee?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh, go ahead. The coffee machine is right there." I pointed to the coffee machine on the counter. "And here's my pot of coffee." I pulled the red, plastic cylinder off the top of the fridge, and handed it to him. He muttered something, probably saying that he prefers a different brand, but it was inaudible, so I can't confirm that.
Moments later, we were sitting at my kitchen table, Sherlock with a cup of coffee in his hand, me with some honey tea (mm, honey), just staring at each other.
"Have you tried going to the park and just staring at people. I've heard it helps." Sherlock said suddenly. He really confused me there, and he obviously knew it, because he sighed and shook his head. Then he started to explain.
"Writers block, Bridget. You're stuck."
"Oh. Yeah, I am. How did you guess?"
"I didn't guess, I knew." Sherlock said. And then got that look on his face that said he was about to tell me exactly how he knew. I got ready for some fast talking. "Your fingernails have less pencil lead under them than usual. A lot less. That easily tells me that you haven't been writing as much, but that doesn't give me a reason why. You've been staying up later than usual. Your eyes are red, you're slouching a bit, and you are yawning occasionally, if you want a few examples of how I knew. Of course, those could be completely unrelated, but I doubt so. Really, the only other explanation of you staying up later would be if you were trying to finish your first draft quicker, or something, but you have less pencil lead under your fingernails than usual, as I said earlier. Now you could have just cleaned them, but I doubt it. You aren't the sort of girl who cares too much about clean fingernails. Too much of a nuisance to you. So, lack of sleep: possibly because you are trying to find some inspiration to get out of your writers block, and nearly spotless fingernails that show that you haven't been writing as much, reinforcing my idea that you have writers block. Sufficient?"
I was speechless for a moment. I think that everyone is after Sherlock does, of course, but I suddenly felt really stupid.
Sherlock's phone beeped. He glanced at it, and immediately groaned. "What?" I asked.
"Lestrade says 'Lay off my case'." he replied in a mocking tone, "What he doesn't know is that he can't solve it without me."
"He probably can." I said, but then Sherlock shot me that Shut up look that he uses on John all the time. It's pretty affective.
"No. Of course he can't. He drops a lot of cases because I refuse to help him. He couldn't find the most obvious criminal without me."
"And you refuse to help him because?"
"They are boring. Obvious."
Right. A case that has come all the way to Scotland Yard is obvious. Only Sherlock Holmes would say that.
Sherlock typed in a response. Probably something like you are helpless without me. I help with the cases I want to help. Leave me alone. Oh, and he'd have to add his initials at the end, of course.
"So could you tell me a bit about this case?" I asked Sherlock.
"No, sorry. Top secret, which I find ridiculous, of course, but my opinion doesn't stop the law. So no, I can't tell you, but I can tell you that our two suspects are a very respected banker who has fallen into deep debt, and a rising actor who is known to have a long-boiling grudge on the victim. Both helped in the theft of an important painting, the one that you helped solve. The owner of the painting - I'm afraid I'm not allowed to tell you who it is, or what painting it was - was found dead soon after we figured out the team of people who stole the painting. We know that only one person did this murder, and we've narrowed it down to those two who I told you about a few minutes ago. And hopefully, we will meet someone who he will send here tomorrow morning. He won't come himself, of course, but this henchman, or whatever you want to call him, will tell us a bit about our killer. Now," he glanced down at his watch. "It's going to be about nine more hours until the paper runs, and we can expect at least another hour wait after that, before our killer appears. I'll stay up, but you-"
"No, I don't think I can sleep knowing that a killer is sending someone over to my house." I told him. "I'll stay up. Keep you company."
"Good." Sherlock smiled, "Only ten more hours."
