ᴛʜᴜʀsᴅᴀʏ 2:35 ᴘᴍ

"Shouldn't you call her at least?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't even spare him a glance. "If she didn't come back that's her decision. It's up to her where she spends her nights."

John sighed exaggeratedly and ran a hand down his face. "Look I was with her until almost eleven last night and she already had a few drinks. She doesn't have a car and all her stuff is here, so it makes the most sense for her to come back to the flat, yes?"

After a few moments of Sherlock staring at the wall he said, "Hand me my phone."

A pleased look came across the doctor's face and he hurried to get it before the man could change his mind. Once in his hand Sherlock dialed the digits and held it up to his ear, waiting through the ringback tone impatiently. After four drones he was about to hang up when the voicemail message came on.

It was Margaret's voice, a cheery greeting and apology to have missed whomever's call.

He tapped his finger against the phone, waiting for her to stop talking. When she was finally done he snapped, "Margaret, John is worried for you, call him back." And promptly ended the call. He handed the phone back to John and looked pointedly at the man.

"Now, let's continue our work."