Illness of a sociopath

chapter three spilt coffee

sorry this chapter is so short, homework has been piling up big time :( also i am very very lazy.

anyway, like rate and all that jam, love you guyssssss

third person pov

"Where to mate?" the cabbie asked pulling away from baker street. The cabbie had thin greying hair and a small beard beginning to grow. He wore gloves, but that was probably less suspicious than most would think, because of the time of year. After a study in pink Sherlock had less of a tendency to trust cab drivers, and even more so after he was given a lift by Moriarty without realisation. cant trust anyone now days.

"Scotland yard." The ill detective replied, much anger and impatience clear in his voice. sweat already dripping from his forehead due to feaver.

"Right okay. Hang on don't I know you dont i? You're that detective guy aren't you? the one with the hat" Sherlock sighed, clearly used to being recognised. Always the hat. "yes." Sherlock was clearly not up to more than one word comments, sickness starting to take back over his body. "Hey, you alright. You look a bit peaky."

"I'm fine." Sherlock was far paler than normal if that be possible. And starting to regret leaving the house. But no use going back now, couldnt admit defeat to john. That would be hellish. Two more minutes and he would be In Scotland yard.

John's pov

Damn that man. Sometimes I hate him "Sherlock come back!" I yelled down the stairs. I sprinted to the door only to watch the detective climb into a taxi. The one good thing about London is the endless amount of cabs roaming the streets. I hailed the cab and climbed in faster than I thought possible. I then yelled the line I believe every driver wants to hear. "Follow that cab." the cabbies eyes lit up and we sped of down the road. Sherlock could be going anywhere. Most likely to see the detective inspector. But its Sherlock so who knows.

"Do we stop here?" the cab in front of us stopped and Sherlock climbed out hastily running into Scotland Yard. "Yeah, how much do I owe you?" I asked handing over money. (I have no idea how much baker street to Scotland Yard costs. Sorry.) "Thanks, see ya around."

I leap out of the cab and run to catch up with Sherlock just a little too late and bump strait into Anderson who just happen to be carrying cups of coffee in both hands causing hot coffee to fly onto the idiotic man. "Sorry!" I yell behind me ignoring abuse shouted at me whilst i began running towards Sherlock. Why does Sherlock always have to be such a bloody nuisance? He never listens.

"SHERLOCK WAIT!!!!" the detective spins on his heels towards me

"What?" the detective retorts angrily.

"Go home."

"No."

"But you need to for god's sake."

"No." DI walks into the corridor clearly having heard our argument

"What are you two fighting about?

Lestrads pov

"What are you two fighting about?" those two normally get on like a house on fire. But when they don't its hell for anyone either side of the battle. Sherlock looked peaky to say the least, he was also swaying, seeming unsteady on his feet. I have worked with Sherlock for far too long, but I know what he is now. Ill. I do not have time to put up with an ill Sherlock Holmes. No one does, so god bless john.

"Nothing its nothing. What's the case?" Sherlock quickly snapped, throwing his arms bag in defence, only to smack Anderson in the face. Anderson was already soaked in coffee and had the foulest look possible on his face. Sherlock's drama caused Anderson's second round of coffee to go flying into sally who just happened to be watching the whole affair take place from the corner.

I did warn her not to eavesdrop. "You are not going on my case like this."

"What! Why not?"

"Because you're a wreck. Let john look after you, then you can have a case." Then something I did not predict happened. Sherlock collapsed onto his knees and started sulking like a small child would do. Pouting and on verge of tears. "Sally, put your phone away, all of you phones away!" I yell, attempting to hide giggles. Even john looked surprised at the events unfolding. "John, help." We lift the detective away from the floor and into my office, receiving many an odd look from anyone we walk past. Unfortunately, a glass door meant Anderson and sally spent the next ten minutes observing Sherlock's hissy fit.

"I'm not going home." Sherlock yelled, only to break into a coughing fit.

"Yes you are." John and I replied at the same time.

"does my brother know how much you like him, or should I tell him myself?" Declared sherlock