Watson walked up to his flat hearing the soft, muffled sounds of the plucking of a violin. He walked in, tossing his coat on the coat rack and sitting down across his friend and unfolded his newspaper.
"Holmes, would you please stop that noise?" Watson said without looking up. Holmes said nothing but kept plucking absent-mindedly. Odd. Watson peered up from the newspaper to see Sherlock staring hauntingly into space. He shuddered at the sight. He had never seen Sherlcok with such an expression. "Holmes?"
He said nothing but kept plucking carelessly at his violin.
"Holmes?" He asked again, getting up from his seat. Any other day he would think that Sherlock was playing a joke but the eeriness that emanated off him along with the expression of loss mixed with what looked like fright worried him. "Holmes?" Watson walked slowly towards him. He placed his hand carefully on Sherlock's shoulder. As soon as he did though Sherlock jumped, startled.
"Watson? When did you arrive?" He asked, genuinly surprised.
"Not but a minute ago. I told you stop playing your violin, but you completely ignored me."
"Lies." Sherlock contested. "You said no such thing. You snuck up on me." He said childishly.
Watson rubbed the bridge of his nose with his finger suddenly becoming tired. He sat back into his chair and grabbed his paper. Sherlock continued to pluck at his violin. "Anyways," Watson began, "How did the case go?"
A sour note and the plucking stopped abruptly. He looked from his newspaper once more.
"It went, um, fine. Yes. Another simple case solved." Sherlock became flustered. He got up from his seat, quickly setting down his violin. "I'm going out."
"Wait up!" Watson jumped up from the chair and in front of the door. "What's going on? You never leave this place unless you have to."
"Yes well..." Sherlock thought of nothing to say but instead tried frantically tried to push Watson out of the way but to no avail.
"Where's Gladstone?" Watson asked glancing around the room for the poor animal. "Did you kill the dog indefinitely this time?"
"N-Yes, yes I did." Sherlock said trying to put on his guiltiest look. "I'll go and find him a nice doggy coffin. He tried pushing Watson once more but with the same results.
"No," Watson grabbed Sherlock's arm trying to hold him still. "He's still breathing."
"Oh, Thank heavens. I'll get him some lovely flowers to make him feel better."
"Holmes what's going on?" He asked irritated.
"I dunno what your talking about. Nothing is going on." Sherlock said acting dumb.
"Holmes." Watson said firmly.
"What?" Sherlock backed away.
"You're acting strange--er than usual. Now tell me."
Sherlock let out a heavy sigh and dropped back in his chair wearily, giving up. "I- well it's about the case." Watson nodded sitting across from him, listening. "Three daughters, two sons, the father and the murdered step-mother. A simple enough case, right?" Sherlock asked rhetorically.
"Sure..." Watson said dubiosly.
"Well I arrived at their estate and quickly started to work but I couldn't find any discerning evidence. Nothing made sense to me. I was unable to read any of the family members. I couldn't pick up on the slightest hint if they had done it or not. I told them..." Sherlock paused not wanting to finish his sentence. "I told them I couldn't figure it out." He said with shame, a look of sadness coming across his face.
Watson felt sorry for his old friend, but had Sherlock been able to solve this case? "You're probably ill." Watson walked to him and placed his hand on Sherlock's forehead. "How do you feel?
"I'm not ill!" Sherlock raised his voice in to Watson or perhaps himself. "I'm afraid I've lost it, Watson."