Almost two weeks went by, and John began to wonder if Sherlock was actually working on this 'case' at all.
How could he tell?
But one afternoon found John coming back from work to find the detective stretched out in the armchair, in a posture of deep thought. He looked up as John came in, and followed him about with his eyes for a few minutes before finally taking a breath and sitting up—probably his first movement in quite a while.
"John, I need to talk to you."
"Hmm?" John paused and looked up from the teakettle, trying to decide if he should be worried or... something.
He could never be sure.
"It's about the case. I need some information from the perspective of a completely average person."
"Okay... I'm tempted to be a little insulted by that, you know."
"Oh please." Sherlock waved a hand. "Save it for your therapist."
John grumbled under his breath as he carried his cup of tea over to his chair and settled in, glad to finally relax after his long shift. "So. Spit it out. I'm tired and I want to go to bed soon."
Sherlock sat back in the armchair, pressing the tips of his fingers against his lips as he formulated his next sentences. And, come to think of it, probably the entire conversation, as well.
Finally he leaned forward a bit, looking at John quizzically. "Our Mr. Anonymous made quite a big deal out of the fact that he was bullied in his youth. So... is that... normal?"
"You... want to know if it's normal to have been picked on all through school?"
Sherlock just looked at him impatiently, prompting an answer.
"Well..." John readjusted himself in the chair uncomfortably. "No. No, it isn't. Some people do have a little trouble here and there, sometimes, but... Not usually that much."
"Hmm..." Sherlock fell back into deep thought, looking more puzzled now than ever.
"Um... So... em... What do you think? Could that have been a... factor in all this?"
"It's possible... But it shouldn't have been that much of an issue. People are people, and he probably learned to deal with them."
"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
Sherlock turned his head toward him, and the look he gave him started to make John a bit uncomfortable.
"Sorry, sorry... What do I know...? I'm just a 'completely average person...'" He shook his head tiredly and resigned himself to sipping his tea.
"Maybe you're right."
John almost choked, and nearly spit scalding tea all over himself.
The detective just tilted his head curiously. "Are you having some sort of fit? Don't. Because if you are, I don't know how to do CPR, and you'd probably die."
"I'm... not... having a fit... Just, em, got caught in my throat."
"Well then, you're incredibly bad at drinking tea."
"Shut it. I'm just not used to you actually agreeing with me. About something like that."
"It's a possibility. I have to consider all possibilities, no matter how unlikely. In fact, in most cases the most improbable option is actually the truth. But I can't be sure until I have proof."
John set his cup down on the side table, for fear of accidentally aspirating any more of his drink. "And how do you propose to get this proof?"
"I…"
"If you don't know, just say it. It's not that hard. 'I don't know.'"
Sherlock just scowled slightly and shook his head. "This may have been a bad idea… if you're going to be so damn cheeky about it…"
"No. I think it was a really good one, actually. And I… really hope you can solve this one."
"…So do I." He nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "So do I…"