Eye Contact *ON HOLD*

The Case

They waited for almost half an hour, Maggie choosing a random book from one of the shelves at one point and beginning to read in Sherlock’s chair. Sherlock never moved from his spot on the couch. As she read - the book was about some studies done in Africa on the Malaria virus - she found herself growing exhausted. The day had worn her down more than she realized, due to the adrenaline she felt at the crime scene. She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but she awoke to Sherlock’s voice some time later.

“Nicotine patch,” he was saying. “Helps me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brainwork.” He clicked the k in the word.

She opened her eyes slowly to see John standing in the doorway, staring at Sherlock. “It’s good news for breathing,” he said, walking further in.

“Breathing,” Sherlock said with a sigh. “Breathing’s boring.”

Maggie sat up a bit, rubbing her eyes, when she realized there was a blanket on her. It was the same blanket that Mrs. Hudson had put on her earlier that day. Also, the book she’d been reading was sitting on the coffee table nearby, a piece of paper marking her place.

“Is that three patches?” John was asking. Sherlock must have put on another while she was sleeping. Sherlock moved his hands, steepling them into a prayer position under his chin.

“It’s a three patch problem,” he said, closing his eyes.

John looked around the flat, seeing Maggie there.

“Hello,” he said. She gave a weak smile and a small wave. John looked back to Sherlock. “Well?”

Sherlock didn’t answer.

“Sherlock, you asked me to come. I’m assuming it’s important,” John said.

Sherlock still didn’t respond for a moment. John looked as if he were about to give up on trying, but a few seconds later Sherlock’s eyes snapped open.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he said, still staring at the ceiling. “Can I borrow your phone?”

“My phone?” John asked.

“Don’t want to use mine,” the other man answered. “Always the chance the number will be recognized. It’s on the website.”

“Mrs. Hudson’s got a phone,” John said, annoyance plain in his voice.

“Yeah, she’s downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn’t hear.”

John scoffed. “I was on the other side of London!”

“There was no hurry,” Sherlock said calmly.

John looked at the ceiling, sighing before digging in his jacket pocket and holding out his phone. “Here.” Sherlock put up a hand, but didn’t reach for it. John gave him a look that could kill before slamming it into the other man’s hand, who slowly steepled his hands again, the phone now in between them. John walked around a bit before turning back.

“So what’s this about? The case?” he asked.

“Her case,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Her case?”

Sherlock opened his eyes. “Her suitcase, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase - first big mistake.”

“Okay,” John said. “He took her case. So?”

“It’s no use,” Sherlock said quietly again, as if he were talking to himself. “There’s no other way. We’ll have to risk it.” He suddenly held the phone out to John, raising his voice to the normal level as he spoke. “On my desk there’s a number. I want you to send a text.”