The sound of the water inside the kettle reaching its boiling point, signalled the beginning of the Sunday routine at 221B Baker Street. Slipper clad feet slide their way into the cluttered kitchen, coming to rest at the base of the counter. Two cups are retrieved from the unit above, before being filled with the specific ingredients required for each of the inhabitants tea.
John Watson fills the cups to the brim, a yawn escaping his mouth, before removing the tea bags and setting the drinks on a tray. Taking the tray over to the small table in between his chair and that of his friends, he plops down in his seat. The Sunday routine was clockwork by now. He could close his eyes and yet still know what was happening in the room around him. Seven sips into his own cup of tea, Sherlock would emerge in his dressing gown, barefoot and un-groomed. He would complain about his tea being cold, before placing himself into his own chair. A case would follow. One solved before he'd finished his tea, the next before John could even wash up. And, sure enough, it went off without a hitch. Sherlock had discovered the location of the missing diamond and eliminated all but one suspect in a murder case, just as John put the empty mugs on the rack to dry.
Very little could throw off this robotic schedule. Almost nothing, in fact. However, one of those things was currently making its way up the stairs, toward the men's front door. The door bursts open, an unrecognised woman in a dressing gown of her own. The response drawn from John was a fast turn, followed by an action-station stance. Sherlock, however, merely lifted his head. "Relax, John." Sherlock said, somewhat uncomfortingly. "She's scared, not attacking. Listen to her breathing." The woman was still catching it, as she stared wide eyed and panicked at the men who owned the flat she had just intruded on. "Please..." She started, panting. "He's just... gone"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, flicking his paper back open. "And here I thought that was going to be interesting." He turned to the woman, questioning her. "Let me guess, husband went out last night and is yet to return? I expect you'll find him home soon wearing the same clothes with a very guilty look on his face" John frowned at the detective, approaching the woman. "Don't worry about him. He's not as caring as he looks." Sherlock huffed, "Oh please, I don't look caring". John guided the woman to a chair. "Exactly" he said as the lady sat down, ready to plead her case.