3:30PM
"Freak alert, everybody," Sally Donovan called out from her desk as she saw John and Sherlock walking towards Lestrade's office. With an immense amount of effort, John bit back the insult on the tip of his tongue, turned to her, and gave her a tight smile.
"Good day to you too, Donovan," John said and internally chuckled at her wide eyes and gaping mouth as he continued walking. He turned to the other man watching him and said, "You too, Anderson." Anderson's brows furrowed with confusion and suspicion as he quickly stole a glance at Donovan and turned back to his work, slightly pinker now as he wondered what could Sherlock have meant by that.
Donovan and Anderson are certainly getting more creative with their actions, especially last night, John thought, suppressing another sniggering laughter, look at the sight of those hands, her obvious attempt to straighten that matted hair, the way she's sitting, the sound of her voice... my god, it's a wonder they hadn't been arrested for public disturbance. John could almost feel Sherlock silently trying to hold back his laughter as well beside him when they finally reached Lestrade's office.
Sherlock felt odd being the recessive one out of the two; he had been letting John do much of the talking and was even a step or two behind John as they waltzed into the cubicle without much of a notice.
Lestrade didn't even have to look up to see who it was and merely raised a hand for the files. John dropped them into his opened palm and begin to stride out when Lestrade called out, "Oh by the way, John, Ms. Sarah Sawyer have been trying to reach you. Apparently, you haven't contacted her in a few days and she's worried enough to stop by and ask me. Did you two have a little domestic?" He finally looked up from his paper works and stared at Sherlock with concerned eyes.
John was surprised when a sharp pang of jealousy suddenly struck his (Sherlock's) core hard enough to make him stumble a little. Apparently the name of his current girlfriend had sent quite some negative emotions into Sherlock's mind and body. Several thoughts ran by and John could do all, but listen helplessly to them.
Why does John spent so much time with her? Am I too dull? Is he bored? What does she have that I don't? She just a mere woman who can only satisfy him through physical means. Ah, maybe that's it. Maybe I could...
Meanwhile, Sherlock was so startled with the question that his mind went completely blank.
"Uh..." was the only somewhat coherent word Sherlock could produce before continuing, "No, not at all. I've just been quite busy working on a project with Sherlock and have sort of misplaced my phone."
Lestrade frowned and said, "Okay, well, if you need anything... just let me know."
"Yeah, sure," Sherlock mumbled and walked quickly out of the office. John had collected his thoughts by now and followed him out, giving Lestrade a quick nod, leaving the man feeling a bit bewildered and that something was different, but he could not pinpoint the source.
As the duo rode silently in the taxi cab, John debated on whether to confront Sherlock regarding his hostile feelings towards Sarah, but he couldn't find the courage to do so. After all, this was Sherlock's private thoughts and to talk to him about it seemed to cross an unspoken line. No, he was not going to open that discussion with him and that was set.
The cab arrived on Baker Street and by now, it was time for supper.
8:00PM
John had finally finished the book he was reading. It was a pretty decent crime fiction and had somewhat reminded him of his life with Sherlock. How funny is it when life becomes similar to a novel. Sherlock had already went to his room for the night, but was unclear whether or not he was still awake.
John leaned back, stretched like a cat, and accidentally stubbed a foot on the leg of the coffee table. He winced slightly at the pain and scowled himself for forgetting that since he was in a much taller body, he was able to cover more distance than before. I supposed if there's one thing I'll miss, it would be being able to reach higher places and tower over Sherlock for once. He chuckled to himself.
One thing, out of many, that he would not miss, though, was that although Sherlock had a very competent mind, it would simply not stop racing. Everywhere John looked, there was a story behind it. The carpets, for example, were about five years old, having been stepped on only a few times before he and Sherlock rented the place, judging by the flattened fibers, which indicated that not many people had lived here previously.
It was worse when John stepped outside the apartment to take a walk or buy some groceries, although he once tried to make Sherlock buy milk instead because of their state, but Sherlock was ever so resistant. Whenever John glanced at a person or chatted with an acquaintance, he would immediately deduced their life story, which sometimes made conversations awkward when he found out something that he shouldn't have and biting off the temptation of letting them know that he knew. Maybe that's why Sherlock rarely keeps people close to him, he deduced, his mind was both a blessing and a curse.
It was with great effort that he remained calm and quiet instead of bouncing around the room with this bottled-up energy that needed to be release because he had nothing to do. John resorted to tapping his fingers mindlessly on the armrest of his chair. His mind was already in full speed calculating the displaced volume of blood a five foot six victim weighing nine stones would have loss should he be stabbed in the forearm with a penknife, therefore severing an ulnar artery and slowly bleeding for half an hour to death. He found out the answer in half a minute.
