16:30 PM
John felt it time to switch it up a little. No doubt that each and every second Sherlock sat there, his brain cells were burning away faster and faster. Burning brain cells. Stupidity. John took shelter in his own mind.
Burning brain cells. Burning brain cells. He wondered how many he had burned repeating that. It was such a funny phrase, that. And what burned those grey devils like reality television? "Sherlock should have his own show," John thought. "Yeah, it would be like… Dragon's Den, or as those Americans called it, Shark Tank. Only with a lot more murder. And smartarsery."
Over the next ten minutes, John formulated a show in which various indistinguishable Z-list celebs came to Sherlock with a well thought out plan for some sort of criminal act. Every episode would have a different theme, for example Double Homicide, or Armed Robbery. Sherlock would then proceed to berate them until they broke down into tears/Committed suicide on national TV. It could work. Well, if the commissioning editor was a bit Bored/Drunk/Smashed in the face with a cricket bat. And it would probably air on some no-name digital channel. But with any luck, they would get the same slot as the Jeremy Kyle show. To wake up the elderly, and give them something to complain about.
What was John saying? Had he gone totally mad? "A drink," He thought. "That's what I need." The fridge was empty of drink. Damnit. He would have to buy some. "Sherlock?" Ah. Sleeping. Sherlock. At this time of the day. John began to wonder if all this lying around was a horrible idea. Oh well. He would be fine by himself. At least for a few minutes, at least.
John had returned 10 minutes later. "John." Came a voice from the living room. "Do we have a case?" The tone was strange. It was like he needed a yes, but wanted a no. "Well, we have a case, but I'm not entirely sure it's the sort you want." "Whatever do you mean?" Asked Sherlock.
"One case of Carlsberg. Two bottles of Bacardi Breezer, and a nondescript grey bottle I picked up at the counter 'cause I thought it looked funny. "Well then, Shall we get started?"
19:50 PM
"Brring, brring," Came the noise at the other end of the phone. A cockney-sounding man answered. "Bill's Grill, can I help you?"
"Yeah," The men were laughing. "We'll have 8 portions of chips, 5 Quarter Pounders, 20 Battered mushrooms, and 8 Kiddies sausage meals. 221B Baker Street, please. And make sure you don't totally mess it up."
20:00 PM
The doorbell rang. "Shit!" Laughed John. "I didn't think they'd take us seriously! Have you got any money?"
"One-hundred and thirty six pounds, please." John was still carrying the 5 bags up the stairs. Sherlock produced the money without enthusiasm. "Hold on!" He slurred. "If any of this money is used for purposes illegal, illicit or generally sinister, I shall know and I shall have your head!" The man had probably seen enough of this for his week and simply got into his car and drove away. Quite quickly, I might add.
"How the bloody hell are we supposed to eat all this? It'll take us ages!" "Relax." Said John. "I spotted something when I was out there. Come to the window and see."
What they saw was a recently opened Movie rental shop, right across the street.