Sherlock sat in his chair. He hadn't moved for days. John looked at him, concerned for him. He hadn't eaten, slept, hardly moved. John had no idea what he was supposed to do.
It has been a week since Moriarty's big reveal of his being alive. What worried John the most, was that Sherlock was bothered by it. Nothing bothered Sherlock. Johns guess was Sherlock was upset that Moriarty had tricked him. Granted, he tricked them all.
While Sherlock was immobile, John had done some research of his own. Knowing that Philip had kept tabs after Sherlock's fall, John visited him for some theories.
Philip had been busy after Moriarty appeared. There was a board, just like Sherlock had when he was on a case that was particularly well designed, that covered the entirety of Philips walls.
"What I don't understand here, how! He shot himself in the head!" John shouted at the wall.
"I don't know. I don't recall even seeing a report on it. Hold on-" Philip rustled through a stack of old newspapers.
"What are you doing?" John asked, kneeling down to join Philip on the floor.
"I am looking for the newspaper that reported Sherlocks "death". I don't remember there being a report on a body on the top of Barts. Surely, Scotland Yard would have been up there, looking for clues or something to see why Sherlock might have done what he done." Philip said as he tore through the pile, getting to the bottom, 'aha!'. He read through the paper, and the ones that were dated after.
"Nothing. There is nothing on Moriarty. I wonder…" He pulled out his mobile and dialed a number. "Greg. Yes, hi. I am fine, nothing is wrong. No. Oh, yeah, sure….Okay, no I have a favor. I need the report of Sherlock's "death". Is there another file with it. The report that you made for the rooftop. What do you mean. Oh. Okay. Well find it. We need it. Okay, bye." He hung up the phone and tossed it roughly onto the table.
"Ugh! They don't have it."
"What do you mean they don't have it. It's the bloody police."
"It was misplaced, Lestrade said. How they could have misplaced it, Sally puts everything in order. She has a system." Philip chewed on his thumb. A nasty habit he developed after he got dismissed from Scotland Yard.
"They will find it. I am going to talk to Sherlock, see if he has any developments." John nodded and turned to leave.
"Give him my best. I will keep you updated." Philip said, his back turned to John, gazing at his board.
"Will do." John walked out of the flat and sighed. Philip lived on the other side of town, so John couldn't walk home. Which was inconvenient, he wanted to think. John hailed a cab and asked to be dropped at the market near Baker Street. They were out of milk, again.
"Sherlock, what is it?" John said, concerned, as he answered his mobile. Sherlock never called if he could help it.
"John-" the phone went dead. John dropped the milk that he was holding, and ran back to 221B to reach his friend.
