The door of 221 B Bakers street banged open and John Watson entered, arms laden with bags of shopping, muttering viciously.
Sherlock remained slouched in his seat, eyes closed, not even a flicker of an eyelid. Why would there be? He had known John had got back from the moment the ex-marine taxi driver had pulled up at the side of the road and John had grumbled him in his irritated tone to "Keep the change".
"Bloody cashiers, almost as mindless as the machines" John spoke more to Sherlock than himself, which was just as well considering Sherlock's absent response.
"Jesus Sherlock!" John exclaimed, noticing for the first time the chaos that surrounded him. A web of string had been woven around the flat, with Sherlock's chair at the center.
"What are we playing this time? And is that my phone?" John squinted accusatorily at the small device that rested on Sherlock's open palm.
"That's password protected, you know, the THIRD RESET THIS MONTH!" John bellowed, hoping to rouse Sherlock from whatever corner of his marvelous brain he was currently inhabiting. It worked.
Sherlock's eyes flew open and he drew a sharp breath.
"Got it." He said, and leapt to his feet, allowing the phone to drop to the floor where is promptly shattered with a dramatic tinkling noise. Sherlock stepped forwards, mindless of the broken glass that littered the floor.
"The gardener." He said simply, offering no explanation.
John stared at the remnants of is phone for a long moment, before moving his gaze towards Sherlock. Ice cold. Sherlock frowned, looking down at his feet and appearing to notice the shards for the first time.
"Ah." he said clearly. "Harry called. It wouldn't stop ringing so I picked it up. She's in London for the week and something about meeting and such. I don't know, wasn't really listening..." Sherlock trailed off, his brow creased and studying John's expression.
John felt his fists clench at the name and resisted the desire to punch something breakable. Like Sherlock's jaw. It was not the first time he had experienced this. He breathed deeply and shook his head fractionally, before turning and leaving the flat, slamming the door behind him.
Sherlock stood, head tilted, staring at the door in ringing silence. The sound of the door smashing against its frame still echoed around the open space and small splinters of wood now lay amongst the glass. Sherlock looked down at them, seeing the angle at which they had been realized from, the brand of pain that decorated the tips and so much more. Every. Detail. Never. Ending. Sherlock shook his head, dislodging the fragmented voices
Liar. Fraud. Cheat.
"Mrs Hudson!" and the silence shattered glass.
