'Sherlock could you please just be quiet…'
John snapped loudly for the fifth time. All morning he'd had to listen to his - dare he say – friend and colleague, the notorious Sherlock Holmes, moan on and on in his irritating, monotonal voice about how bored he was. The criminal world was suffering a dry spell, a very dry spell, and both men were feeling rather at a loss without a case.
'If you need to solve something so badly Sherlock,' John continued,' then maybe you could go to Tesco and solve the case of the forever absent milk!'
John lowered his newspaper. This had fallen on deaf ears, Sherlock hadn't flinched. He remained in the position he always took, sat in his chair with his knees drawn up under his chin. His bright eyes appeared a little lost and absent, staring at the TV. Even with his blank expression. John knew his mind would be ticking. Jeremy Kyle's voice droned on in the background of the traffic outside and the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. Neither of them had attempted a decent conversation for about three hours until Sherlock's snide comments and whining had started. But now it had stoped the flat was silent once again.
The rest of the day past pretty uneventfully John had pondered on whether to go out, but the sound of rain hammering on 221B windows made him reconsider. After finishing his newspaper he attempted to clean the flat. Nothing more than shuffling papers around and moving books from one cluttered surface to another. He stared out of the window for a long while watching a client dithering out in the cold as they debated whether to knock or not. John muttered to himself as the figure went marching back down the wet street.
Suddenly the front door slammed and Mrs Hudson's voice soon followed.
'Boys!' she called, neither replied and so her quick footsteps were heard tottering up the stairs and she flustered into the once silent room, 'Boys, I've been thinking this place needs a new face, I mean, you two are both bored rigid.'
She was answered by an unenthusiastic, dead silence. John simply gave her a wide smile. Sherlock did nothing.
'So,' there came a clatter from the kitchen as she began to clean,' I decided to let my goddaughter stay for a while, she's the daughter of my friend Margaret, she's from Edinburgh you know?'
John flashed a look at Sherlock, who again, hadn't flinched. John bought it upon it upon himself to reply.
'Sounds good' John rose his voice over the clattering, but Mrs Hudson continued to natter. Even though he did sound disinterested he did think the idea of a younger face in the flat was a good one. What could possibly go wrong?