I opened my eyes widely as I woke up in a hurry. My forehead was wet from the nightmare I just had. The same one again. In my dream, I was in a white room so bright that I could hardly keep my eyes open. Suddenly, my heart started racing like crazy and it felt as if my chest was going to burst. Because of the pain, the tears came to my eyes, forcing me to kneel down and I covered my ears with my hands to stop the growing ultrasound entering my brain. Haunting most of my nights, this dream was starting to make me feel worried but for nothing in the world I would have told John about it. As a doctor, he would have found me some kind of trauma dating back from my childhood, which I knew it was not. It was nothing like that. I looked at the clock and figured out it was 5 a.m. It was quite early but I knew I would not found sleep again. I slowly put the cover apart and felt the cold ambient air of the apartment on my skin. Winter was coming and it was freezing outside. I walked a few steps to attain the window; I opened it and tried to calm the beating of my heart a little bit as the wintry air entered in my lungs. Outside, a young father aged twenty-five, features drawn, was trying to calm down his baby by giving him a walk in his pushchair, and I started wondering how can people possibly desire to have a baby, perfectly knowing that it was going to ruin their youth. I started to look for my dressing gown, which I must have thrown away somewhere the day before. I found it under a stack of books in a corner, quickly put it on, girdled it and let myself fall on the sofa.

Three hours later, as I emigrated from the sofa to one of the armchairs, John went down to read, like always, the daily newspaper. Without looking at me, he barely said hello and went straight to the kitchen. He looked a little depressed but I also detected a certain weariness on his face. I could tell that his date last night did not go well. In fact, his scent was his, although he had not taken a shower yet and he was wearing his pajamas, which never happened when he had met some girl the night before, in which case he would have worn the same clothes the morning after the meeting. Moreover, there was not even a little smudge of makeup on his face, he did not seem as tired as he would if he had spent the night outside and knowing that he never brought women home, I concluded he drew a blank. Notwithstanding, I asked :

"Did you get kicked out of her bed ?"

He stopped pouring the tea in his cup. "I don't know what you're talking about", he replied, still without a glance at me.

"I'm sure you know what I'm talking about, because I refer to the black-haired woman with whom you went to The Beehive last night, who let you alone, after receiving a text from her ex-boyfriend saying that he wanted her back, because he needed her so much."

John finally turned his face at me, bitterness in his eyes. He joined me in the lounge, sat in the other armchair and started to read the newspaper, his cup of tea in the right hand. I knew that he wanted to ask me how I guessed all of this but he did not. Nevertheless, I answered to his secret question :

"Actually, the story with the boyfriend was just an assumption, I had doubts, but I can tell by your face that I was quite right, wasn't I ?"

John folded The Daily Express and saying he was hungry, reached the kitchen. I knew he was trying to avoid the conversation, but I did not understand why he felt so offended this time. He changed of partner all the time and was used to the way I talked about it. I heard him grumble, probably due to the lack of food in the fridge. I continued to push the limits of his patience :

"So you did end up alone, John. What a harsh thing for your ego ! Who will be the next one ? Abby, the waitress from The Playroom or Cassandra who works at Tesco Express ?"

I searched for his gaze in the darkness of the kitchen as I was waiting for his reaction. Our eyes met for one second before he quickly looked away, asking :

"What?"

"What, what ?"

"Why are you staring at me ?", he inquired.

"You're acting strangely this morning. Why is it so different this time ? You were hoping that much to succeed ?"

"That's not it."

"So what is it ?", I suddenly shouted.

John seemed pretty surprised by the tone I had used but so was I. Why did I made such a fuss for something like that ? I could just let him deal with his love-ego-pride or whatever problems, after all, it was his life, not mine.

"If you want an answer so eagerly, I can give it to you", he softly said.

"It's not like if I care", I replied.

"Of course not." He smiled for the first time of the day. "Well, it's just that it was quite a waste of time, and I don't have much to lose."

"What do you mean ?"

"Nothing, childish genius, nothing", he grinned. "I'm going to take a shower, see you later, Sherlock."

His nonresponse frustrated me a bit but he left the room before I could answer anything. I let my thoughts fulfill the place and I closed my eyes. Four days had passed since the case of the Mexican and not even one client had asked for my services during this extremely long period. London needed crimes and I needed them too for my own sanity and John's apparently. I waited for him to finish his shower to take one myself, put my clothes on, and decided to go out for a walk. I wanted some fresh air to think. A frosty wind found his way under my coat, making me shiver and I tightened it to keep my body warm. As I walked, my brain recorded everything it could around me, eager to exercise itself but the amount of information almost caused me a headache, after so much time spent resting at home. I decided to go find Lestrade, even if I knew that when he was overwhelmed by the situation, he always came to see me without me having to offer my help. When I finally reached New Scotland Yard, I headed directly to Lestrade's office and entered without knocking to find him surrounded by papers, an exhausted look on his face. He slowly lifted his face towards me and sighed.

"What are you doing here ?", he asked me.

"I just came to see if you needed help, which is apparently the case", I replied.

"Since when do you worry about me ? Don't lie to me please, this is not a charity visit. You are just looking for some work; you don't want to help us but to distract yourself."

The way he talked was unusual; I had never seen him so tired and gloomy before. "Indeed, but I do help you a lot when you're in trouble", I insisted.

"True", he said in a new sigh.

"So, what's going on ?", I asked as I was starting to feel irritated from this talk and wanted him to go straight to the fact.

"I'm sorry but I can't get you involve in this one", he answered, trying to act firmly but I saw in his eyes that he was doing this against his will and that he truly needed me. "In fact, I cannot even talk to you about it", he continued.

I could feel blood running through my temples, as my aggravation became from bad to worse.

"I suppose that the orders come from above ?", I suggested. He nodded.

"Well, have a good day then !", I replied sarcastically before turning my back to him and leaving his office as quickly as I came in. I had to calm my temper. As I knew no shop would sell me cigarettes, I desperately searched for some nicotine patch in my pocket and luckily found one. It was not enough to calm myself down but as my last hope, I applied it on my left forehand and took a deep breath. I felt my body become warmer and my pulse decelerate while I was walking in Baker Street, so I waited a few minutes on the steps guiding to our front door in order to hide it from John. After five minutes I decided to enter and I climbed rapidly the stairs to see John tapping on the keyboard of his laptop, concentrated. I looked for my phone in my pocket, threw coat and scarf on the sofa, sat in the nearest armchair and put the phone on the table. Half a minute after, I received a text. I smiled.

"I knew it !", I exclaimed as I felt John's inquisitive look on me. The text was from Lestrade.