A Job Well Done.
John sat at his desk, pouring over two statements a witness made and frowned. He turned to Sherlock who lounged on the couch, typing away at his laptop. "Sherlock, the murder happened between seven pm and ten pm, right?"
"According to the ME's autopsy," Sherlock replied from the couch.
"The victim's roommate, Alice said she wasn't home when it happened, but according to this report, she stopped by the apartment around 9:30 when she forgot some concert tickets. While the statement she made after the estimated time of death was leaked quotes her as saying she was already at the concert."
Sherlock stopped typing, his head snapped up from the screen. "She lied?"
"Looks like," John shrugged his shoulders.
"She lied?" Sherlock's eyes went wide and he grimaced.
John crossed his arms over his chest and nodded once. "Yep."
"She lied. She lied." Sherlock repeated slowly. "Oh, she lied."
Suddenly, he popped out of his seat, slamming the laptop shut as he rose. He side stepped a table and reached for the files John were looking at, verifying the information himself.
Sherlock turned around to face John. "She lied!" he dropped the folders and grabbed the doctor's shoulders, his eyes bright with illumination. "She lied! Ha!" His face changed from one of elation to one of confusion. "Why?"
"Sorry?" John asked.
"Why did she lie?" Sherlock repeated, looking over John's head as though the answer would be painted on the wall behind him.
"Do I need to be here?"
Sherlock refocused his attention to his flat mate and let go of John's shoulders. "Yes, I need you to go thru the rest of the files and look for more discrepancies." The consultant detective said, turning on his heel and reaching for his coat.
"Where are you going?" John asked, gathering the files.
Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his neck and said, "Out to nab a killer," before dashing down the stairs.
John sighed and set the files down on the desk and went back to work when his phone vibrated, then rang, telling him he'd received a text. He pulled out the phone and opened the message.
Good work, Doctor
SH
John huffed, but smiled at the detective's praise. He reread it once before closing the message and pocketed the phone, returning to work. He entertained the idea of sending a reply, but felt it would be unnecessary. Sherlock didn't need tangible proof that John had appreciated the acknowledgement of a job well done.
A/N: I dont know why I title these after the last line in the story, but I do.