John wasn't feeling great as he returned home on the Thursday evening. His stomach hurt annoyingly and he wondered slightly if he was starting to get ulcers from stressing about Sherlock's safety all the time. He could feel the muscles in his shoulder becoming tense as his body fought the slowly building discomfort in his stomach and he knew there and then that he would not get much sleep. He really hoped that he wasn't coming down with a stomach bug but he feared he may not be so lucky.
Sherlock who rarely ate if he could avoid it did not notice when John forewent dinner and retired to his room for an early night.
Next morning brought John no reprieve as he woke up from a fitful sleep feeling tense and slightly nauseous. Going downstairs he found Sherlock in the same position where he had left him. Only the change of clothes suggested that he had not spent the whole night in his chair with his laptop perched on his knees.
He didn't look up as John shuffled into the room, he merely held out his mug in silent anticipation. It had become something of a ritual and since John had let it he was hardly in a position to complain. He made the tea and handed the mug to Sherlock before sitting down in his own chair with a grunt.
'You alright John?' Sherlock asked but his eyes did not leave the laptop.
'Fine.' John mumbled 'I just have the mother of all stomach-aches. Probably ate something iffy yesterday.'
'Iffy?' Sherlock questioned with a frown. 'Interesting choice of vocabulary.'
John didn't answer. Instead he sat watching Sherlock type away at his computer while he himself sulked, feeling rather sorry for himself.
Sherlock bounced from his chair a few minutes later with a self-satisfied grin. 'I know where they'll go next. Come on John, we're going out.' He snapped and John was relieved that he had made the effort to shower and change before going in to greet his flatmate.
John breathed a sigh of frustration at the lack of information. 'I don't expect you to tell me how you deduced where the murderers will be going but would you at least tell me where we will be heading so that I can text Lestrade?' He asked as he got up and shrugged into his coat.
'British library, but you won't be texting Lestrade' Sherlock stated, already halfway down the stairs.
'You can't tell me who I can and cannot text. It's his case so we need to keep him updated' John argued, but Sherlock was not touched at all by John's snappy tone. He merely continued down the stairs stopping briefly at the bottom to wait for John to catch up.
'You are quite correct. But since I used your phone battery for an experiment last night you currently have no means with which to text.' Sherlock sounded almost cheerful which only increased John's frustration.
'Sherlock, why couldn't you use your own phone?' he protested as he fished the obviously dead phone out his pocket.
'I did…' Sherlock confirmed 'but I needed a second try to calibrate my result.' He held the door open to John as he waved at an approaching taxi.
They rode in silence. John was feeling horrid and now he could add frustration to the list of things that were wrong with this day.
Sherlock was deep in thought and oblivious to his flatmate.
Gaining access to the rare books department proved easier than John would have anticipated. Sherlock produced a pass which John suspected he might actually have pickpocketed someone to get to and within minutes they were inside a temperature controlled room filled with rows upon rows of old volumes.
Sherlock calmly sat down and steepled his fingers under his chin.
After a few minutes of silence John sat down opposite him. 'So are you going to tell me what we're doing here?' he asked tiredly.
'Waiting.' Came Sherlock's curt reply.
'And what pray, are we waiting for?' John really did not want to be there any longer than was strictly necessary. He was fighting an internal battle with his stomach which seemed to be alternating between nausea and outright pain, something which was beginning to worry him slightly.
'The murderers aren't primarily murderers. They're thieves and that is what they are after. ' Sherlock informed pointing to a class case against the wall.
John looked at the illuminated manuscript in the case and nodded as he settled down to wait. There was no real point questioning Sherlock's deductions, he knew after all that they would turn out to be right.