2AM.
"Boredom, after all, is a form of criticism."
-Wendell Phillips
There was no one in the claustrophobic cosiness of 221B, Baker Street, at 2am. The emptiness, unsurprisingly, didn't bother the one person there to recognise this.
BANG.
A gunshot rang through the solid quiet and punched a hole in the wall opposite Sherlock Holmes. It was frustrating how people had to sleep and eat and do all those sorts of things. To him, who could resist their temptations for a fair deal longer than everyone else, they were unnecessary and an irritating waste of time.
John was gone and probably wouldn't be back for a while. It was unlike him to come home this early in the morning. He usually waited until it was a more 'reasonable' time.
BANG.
There was nothing interesting about the quiet, so he killed it.
BANG.
What was it, anyway? Did it think people actually liked the quiet? Whoever began the quiet was an idiot.
John wasn't there.
Experiments done.
Cases done.
BANG.
A/N – Hope you liked this really short story. I found a load of prompts and so I'm writing some mini-fics to go with them, if I can. Sorry if you don't like short stories, but I'm trying to write more of them at the moment. I will upload some longer stuff soon, promise! And this is Jess, not the one named after a hat