"The acting manager of his dry cleaner did it. Honestly, why do I even answer your calls?"
"Hm. Oh, I'm sorry, what was that?" DI Lestrade asked without looking away from his mobile.
"You drag me all the way down here for a case that took 5 minutes to close, and you don't even care who the murderer was?"
"Yeah… dry cleaner, got it. Listen, Sherlock," Greg continued, "this post from a few days ago… he sounds like he's talking about you:
Jan 22 On the Tube, Embankment m4m
You were wearing a grey wig and some kind of stage makeup. You looked about 70 years old, but I know it was you again, the tall man from outside Bart's. You sat down across from me, but as I was about to say hello, you jumped back onto the platform while the doors were closing and ran up toward the street. It was a great costume, though I must admit, I prefer you the way you are."
By the time Lestrade had finished reading the post, Sherlock was grinding his teeth. It had been him, alright.
"D'you know who he is?" the DI asked expectantly.
"First Molly, now you. Why do you people insist on wasting my time with this… this…" he waved his hand in the air, uncharacteristically lost for words.
"Well something's sure hit a nerve, eh? I dunno, Sherlock, maybe you should consider writing ba- "
"Do not waste any more of my time, either with these asinine case-calls or with this missed connection nonsense." Turning on his heel, he strode out to the pavement and back toward Baker Street.
Jan 24: Inbox (1)
Sorry if I drove you off with my last message. Understand if you're not interested. Who would be, really. Hell, I'm not even gay. Technically. Besides, sounds like you might be asexual yourself – that's the term, yeah? Anyway, apologies for wasting your time. Best of luck to you.
John
Sherlock sighed. He didn't know whether it was the rain that had picked up on his walk home, or the fact that some man was noticing him all over London and he was oddly intrigued by it, but when he read the most recent message from John, he felt unusually guilty.
He is a combat veteran and a doctor… likely has some interesting stories, and may have skills that would be useful to The Work… didn't disappear or call police at mention of severed head… could at least tell Mummy I tried, get Piecroft off my back for awhile…
Jan 24: Sent Messages
John,
I am sorry for not responding to your last message. It was rude, I admit. I was on a case. I'm a consulting detective – only one in the world – and when the so-called professionals I work with are out of their depths, they call me. To be honest, it is a bit tedious working with such an incompetent lot, and I've considered doing private work on the side. How has your search for work been going?
SH
His fingers twitched over the keys. The fact that he was even contemplating this was ludicrous, but before he could stop himself, he'd brought up the page. And there at the top was what he'd been searching for, posted just minutes earlier.
Jan 24 Central London, Crime Scene m4m
You were snapping at some frizzy haired, mean looking woman in a beige trenchcoat while ducking under crime scene tape. Suspect she deserved it. You weren't in a disguise this time. Your skin was red from the cold. To be honest, it suited you. I had a full cup of hot tea in one hand. Tried to catch up to you anyway, but lost you in the crowd. Wish that just once you weren't running away.
Jan 24: Inbox (1)
Found a job at a clinic. It's likely to be a bit dull, but there it is. My therapist tells me it'll be helpful in my adjustment back to civilian life, that the war haunts me. Sometimes I think she's wrong, and that it's the war I miss, and not life. Have you ever felt the urge to run down a back alley, pull out a weapon, and fire? I know that must sound extreme. I'm not a sociopath, I promise. I suppose I just have some more "adjusting" to do. By the way, are you ever going to tell me your name, SH?
John
