All day, John Watson has had a difficult time being patient with Sherlock's insensitive comments. Normally, the doctor isn't offended by them, but today Sherlock has been incredibly rude to everyone at the Yard including John. He knows somewhere underneath the dark curls and long trench coat, the detective is simmering in his thoughts and John cannot quite pinpoint what isn't settling comfortably in his intelligent soul.
They are currently working on the Cinnamon Andrews' case, a stripper who was bludgeoned to death two weeks ago in the alley behind a downtown strip joint where she worked. They have multiple suspects, but even with Sherlock on the case and his ability to deduce every aspect of a person at the drop of a hat, he isn't able to link any of his selected criminals to the murder. John believes that his friend is frustrated over the case, however, even though he "sees", he does not "observe". Something other than the case is wrong with Sherlock.
They are revisiting the location of the crime scene to reevaluate evidence and re-observe for any new clues the forensics team might have missed. Sherlock believes Anderson and others he works with are incompetent of completing the task successfully.
"Sherlock, why are we here? I'm sure Anderson and his team checked this area thoroughly. All the evidence has been turned in." John asks.
"Anderson is an idiot, John. Don't be stupid. He wouldn't know what evidence was even if it bit him in the arse." Sherlock utters in a bored tone without trying to hide his aggravation whatsoever. "Besides, I believe revisiting the crime scene helps me think when we have a difficult time closing it. This helps me jog through my mind palace quicker. Well, I could if I wasn't surrounded by people who insist on talking excessively. Would you please be quiet?" He finally snaps.
John sighs. "Alright, fine. I'll go see if Lestrade needs my assistance."
"Please do."
John wants to but does not respond. He recently has been working overtime at Bart's hospital due to an overwhelming amount of sick patients. It is flu season. Between working 40+ hours each week and running through London's dark streets at night, he has not had a chance to rest properly, which is starting to wear on his mind. Sure the thrill of it all motivates him to keep moving forward, even when his body and mind are slowly shutting down, but that does not mean a man his age can run about like some bloody teenager who is high on sugar. When you deal with someone as difficult as Sherlock on a day you are weariest, is a dangerous combination considering the army doctor's easy-to-anger personality. John walks over to where Lestrade rests against a police car on the other side of the street.
"You two alright over there? Seems like something's wrong."Even though Not My Division DI Lestrade is not as close to Sherlock as John is, he tends to worry about the tall bloke.
"I think he's just frustrated we aren't getting very far with this case. He doesn't like an unsolved case, I don't either, and this is beginning to seem like one of the few. You know as much as do at the moment. It's just a bit hard to handle this with everything going on at Bart's. John immediately realizes he has been holding his breath. Maybe I should talk to Lestrade about things that friends normally have conversations about. Make time and go down to the pub with him more often. Relieve some pent up stress. But what would he care? We just work together.
Lestrade takes a few seconds to make a decision, his expression clearly showing sympathy. "Hey, you know what? Why don't you two go on home for the day. Take the weekend off, BOTH of you, catch up on your sleep, and come back first thing Monday. We'll pick up where we left off then."
John shakes his head. "You know as well as I do that he will not rest. I always have to force him to make sure he eats and sleeps adequately, if not properly. I will try, but I can't make any promise." He sighs, looks both ways before fast walking across the street to where Sherlock is bent over the pavement with his mini magnifying glass inspecting blood splatters where the victim's head was.
"We've been ordered to go home."
"What?"Sherlock is now looking up at John, who looks like his grandmother has slapped him. (If he had one)
"We've been ordered to go home. Lestrade says to take the weekend off and we can continue this on Monday." John braces himself because he knows exactly what is coming next.
Sherlock explodes. "IS GARTH OUT OF HIS MIND?! We can just 'take leave for a weekend' while our killer is still out on the loose! John, you know as well as I do we could be looking at more bodies within a matter of days and still no lead. Do you honestly believe I'm going to let detective inspector tell us to-"
Calmly. "Sherlock,I'm tired mate. I've been working all week. Between this and Bart's, I NEED SLEEP. I can't continue to help out my patients and run around with you, too. I'm thinking if you and I can just rest for a day or so, we can come back and hit this case even harder than before and probably have an easier time finding our guy if we allow time to ourselves."
The detective breathes heavily for a moment. "Oh, for God's sake. Fine. Go call a cab."
The cab ride back to Baker Street is quiet, except for the light voices coming out of the radio. John lays his head back against the seat. His eyelids become more droopy with each passing second. He can feel the detective's tension without even having to glance his direction. Probably still analyzing every detail for the case. It's like he never rests. I don't know how he does it, though, I would imagine it is hard to do so with a magnificent brain like his, John thinks. The doctor knows Sherlock loathes pausing to do normal human necessities during a case (sleep, eat, shower). However, whenever he convinces him to perform such tasks, he is extremely pleased with himself and with Sherlock.
Meanwhile, Sherlock is looking out the window, watching the world passing by and internally struggling with the evidence he has been provided. It just doesn't make sense. He should have finished the case already. Why hasn't he caught the killer yet? The tall man silently has been worried the last few months. His deductions skills are fading, becoming more troublesome to figure out facts quickly. There's no reason for this to become a dilemma.
Unless.
Unless, he's distracted? If the intelligent man is truly, in fact distracted, what's the center of his obstructing problem?