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...

Sherlock lay awake.

It was 3am, and his bedroom windows were wide open letting the cold winter wind waft through.

He let out a long breath as he lay there staring up at ceiling, his hands clasped over his stomach.

He had thought about going to fetch his violin but that required effort, and effort was something the detective did not possess at this moment in time.

To say that he was feeling lethargic was an understatement. He had no jobs on, no cases, nothing.

He was bored...

He closed his eyes and sighed, willing for sleep to wash over him finally.

The sounds of London growing more and more distant...

Beep.

Sherlock's eyes flicked open as his phone, situated on his bedside table, vibrated loudly across the hard wood surface.

He sat up straight, reaching for his mobile and pressed it to his ear.

"Sherlock Holmes," he uttered in a low, tired voice.

A high pitched giggle came down the line.

"Sherlock Holmes," came a drunken voice, stressing the detectives' name. "This is Rebecca Francis."

Sherlock couldn't help but grin as he heard Rebecca elongate her syllables, in an attempt to sound sober.

"Who are you on the phone to?" came a second voice from Rebecca's end.

"Shhhhhh," said Rebecca in a loud whisper. "It's Sherlock..."

"Oooh who's Sherlock? Your boyfriend?" came a screechy voice.

"Shhhhhh," repeated Rebecca with a giggle, before coughing and addressing the detective once again. "Mr Holmes, how are you this evening?"

Another giggle as Sherlock bit his lip.

"I'm well, Miss Francis, I take it you're enjoying your night out with old school friends?" he said in a deep tone.

"Yes, I am actually," she slurred as her friends cackled in the background and she shushed them once again.

"Is there a reason for you phoning at this hour?" asked the detective, leaning back against his headboard.

"Um yes," she said, in a forced voice, "I just wanted to inform you Mr Holmes that I may be a little late for our meeting tomorrow."

"Oh yes, Miss Francis and why might that be?" he said his lips curving up into a smile.

"Um," muttered Rebecca, "I have another appointment."

From down the line came another fit of giggles.

"Well, Sherlock it has been a pleasure talking to you," came Rebecca's tipsy voice. "And now I must say Au Revoir."

Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes.

"Goodbye Rebecca," he said in a low voice, as her friends yelled incomprehensible things down the line.

He heard Rebecca shush them quickly.

"Bye Sherlock Holmes," she said with a laugh before hanging up.

Sherlock shook his head and stared at the phone for a moment, before throwing it down onto the table beside him and drifting off into a comfortable sleep.

...

It was 11.20.

John was stood in the kitchen, reading the morning paper, waiting for the kettle to boil when he heard the doorbell ring.

"I'll get it," called the shrill voice of Mrs Hudson from downstairs.

John put down his paper, and glanced into the living room where Sherlock was sitting, fully dressed in his usual smart suit, plucking at the strings of his violin.

"Must be Rebecca," mused John hearing Mrs Hudson greeting someone at the door. He glanced at his watch. "She's running a bit late isn't she?"

He gazed over at Sherlock who didn't reply, merely staring out blankly into the space before him.

John rolled his eyes and strolled into the kitchen just as Rebecca waltzed into the room, looking a little worse for wear.

Her caramel blonde hair was hanging loose on her shoulders. Heavy bags lay under her eyes and her skin had a pale, almost green tinge to it.

"Rebecca, I've just boiled the kettle, do you want a cuppa?" asked John, as she glanced up at him through squinted eyes.

"Um yeah," that would be great, thanks," she croaked, throwing herself down into the armchair opposite Sherlock and holding her head in her hands.

"Good night was it?" said John, with a pitying grin.

"Ugh, yeah from what I can remember," she muttered rubbing her temples with her fingertips as Sherlock stared at her from the corner of his eye.

"Had a lot to drink then?" chuckled John, fetching the milk from the fridge.

But before Rebecca had opened her mouth to answer, a loud, high pitched squeaking filled the room.

John glanced up to see Sherlock playing a screeching tune on his violin.

He shook his head at the detective who, it seemed was taking great pleasure in watching Rebecca flinch after every note.

"Will you stop that!" shouted Rebecca loudly, her eyes flashing angrily in Sherlock's direction. "Look I'm sorry I'm late, okay. I know I should have rung you...but there's no need for you to torture me like this!"

She stood up quickly when Sherlock refused to relent with his playing and tugged the bow from his hand with a flourish, flinging it across the room where it landed on the couch with a bounce.

Sherlock gave his lawyer an innocent look before placing the violin down onto his lap.

"As a matter of fact," he said quietly, as John entered the room with their tea. "You did tell me you were going to be late."

Rebecca frowned. "What? When?" she said thanking John and lifting the steaming cup of liquid to her lips.

"You called last night and we had a very informative little chat," said Sherlock, his eyes glinting.

Rebecca looked up, spitting tea all over herself in a less than lady-like fashion.

"I did what?" she cried her eyes widening in a look of horror.

Sherlock nodded, sipping at his own cup, but John was sure that behind the teacup the detective was smiling devilishly.

"Yes," he muttered. "You felt the need to call at 3am and let me know that you had, ahem, another appointment this morning, so you would be late."

Rebecca blushed a rosy red and glanced away from Sherlock avoiding his eye.

"Yes, well I, er,...needed to call the electricity company. The meter seems to be broken and it's going through electricity faster than I can possibly be using it," she said glancing at John in an attempt to change the subject.

"Why what's wrong with it?" John asked with a frown.

Rebecca shrugged, still avoiding Sherlock's eye. "I don't know, it's since I flipped the fuse yesterday morning. The meter read 06200 then, and now...well...oh I don't know..." she said with a sigh. "It doesn't matter anyway. Let's just get on with those case papers, before this hangover really kicks in shall we."

John chuckled sipping at his tea and glancing over at Sherlock whose eyes were glued to Rebecca.

"Shall we?" she said nodding towards the kitchen table, as she and the detective got to their feet and began their paperwork.

...

The sky had grown dark by the time Rebecca finally flipped.

"Are you going to help my do this or are you just going to play that damn violin for the rest of the evening Sherlock?" said the irritated lawyer tapping her pen on the documents that were stretched out across the table before her.

But Sherlock didn't answer her, he merely continued playing a dull tune upon his instrument.

"I get that this is taking a long time but I can't do it without your help," she snapped, shaking her head. "These papers need to be filed."

"Ugh, dull," he muttered his eyes never leaving the violin.

Rebecca growled. "Fine," she said getting to her feet and stuffing the papers into her briefcase. "I'll be back in the morning to do the rest, but I swear if you're still in this childish mood..."

Sherlock threw her a dark look as she snapped her case shut and pulled on her coat.

"I'll be back at 10.30 tomorrow, so you better have those papers signed," she yelled as she exited the room with a flourish and stormed down the stairs.

Sherlock stopped playing as he heard the front door slam.

He quickly got to his feet and pounced towards the window, pulling back the yellowing net curtains. He stared out across the street and at Rebecca who was crossing the road, her face set into a deep frown.

He turned away from the window with a sigh, rubbing his face with his hand before flopping back down onto the couch.

If he'd have watched a little longer he would have notice a dark-figure step out of the shadows and follow Rebecca down the end of Baker Street and around the corner out of sight.

...

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