When the incessant buzzing of his mobile phone didn't stop, Sherlock groaned. He flopped his arm backwards so it was hanging off the sofa and brushing against the floor.
"John?" he shouted, "John, pass my phone!"
He frowned when John didn't answer or appear with his phone.
"Bugger." he cursed, remembering that John was at work until 6. He lazily rolled his head round to see if he could locate where exactly his phone was. It vibrated again against a table somewhere and the ringtone continued for another half-ring before cutting off.
Sherlock let out a long sigh and rolled his torso to face the same direction as his head. He spotted his phone precariously hanging halfway off the desk, next to his laptop. He followed his torso with his legs and found himself rolling onto the carpet. Pushing himself to his knees, he sighed again and stood.
One missed call - Mycroft Holmes
One new text message
Sherlock opened it up, his curiosity peaked.
Don't forget what day it is tomorrow, brother. - MH
What the...? Has everybody gone mad?
Sherlock cursed his brother for making him move and looked around him, deciding what to do now he was up. He glanced towards the kitchen, noticing the half-finished experiment into the durability of sheepskin. Crinkling his nose up, he dismissed that. He slid his phone into his pocket and flung himself down in his armchair.
As he stared at the empty space that John usually occupied, the newspaper caught his eye. Remembering this morning's conversation, he picked it up, turning it back to the front page.
Thursday 17th January
Sherlock shrugged and took back out his phone.