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Text received from Lestrade, to Sherlock Holmes; 13:28: Not a murder, after all. Accident. Bloody freak of an accident. Can't even charge the accessories. Bit of a cock-up all around. Stand down Sherlock. Not that you didn't bloody the hell stand ME up. Prat.

Text sent from Sherlock Holmes to Lestrade; 14:14: I know. Knew it all along. Bloody Mary, is it? Knew the fat git give you it, the particulars. Don't waste my time again, Greg. And give the fat git my best regards. And love to Mummy. SH

Text from Lestrade to Sherlock Holmes; 14:14: Sod the fuck off.

Text sent from John Watson to Sherlock Holmes and Gregory Lestrade; 14:16: Girls, girls.

Text from Mycroft Holmes to John Watson; 14:28: Kindly do not inform my sibling of the diet regimen you've given me. It has been successful, thus far. I wish to relish his shocked expression, actually, and that reminds me: Mummy wishes to host the both of you for tea, Sunday 3, at home. Supper after en famille; stay the night. No regrets accepted. Prepare for the very worst.

Text from John Watson to Mycroft Holmes; 14:30: Thanks. For not a lot. Jesus, Greg. Get some sleep.

Text from Sarah to John; 14:40: You owe the clinic a new desk, John. That cannot be sterilized. I hate you.

Text from John to Sarah; 14:47: Too right. Cheers. Half a day today, love. Off, out.

Text from Sarah to John; 14:48: I do hate you.

Text from Sherlock Holmes to Sarah Sawyer; 14:49: No. You don't. And stay well back. And your female staff, too.

Text from Stanley Aethelthwaite to Percival Whirring; 15:05: Odd ducks, the lot of them. We are well shot of them all. There's a full spa bath in here, did you know? All the jets on now. Bubbles galore. Join me.

Text from Whirring to Aethelthwaite; 15:06: Coming!

Text from John Watson to Greg Lestrade; 15:27: Is it possible for us to kidnap each other? Before the weekend? Take a leaf from your git's book.

Text from Judith Ponsonby to Mary Morstan; 16:10: Come on, old girl, buy you a pint to sob into. KK? Fuck this life.

Text from Mary to Judith; 16:12: Fuck this life, you are on, bring it.

Text from Greg to John; 17:39: No. Unfortunately not. See you there, lad. Bells on. Balls up.

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