The case was over; it was all very simple and should have annoyed him for not being interesting enough, but Sherlock was just happy to get it over and done with and did not feel irritated at all. To be honest, he was glad to get away from it all. Now he could go back to the Baker Street and resume his research. There were some more plans that needed implementing, too. In his haste to wrap up the case he even forgot to acknowledge the presence of Anderson and make some unnecessary sharp comments, which meant Lestrade was happy, Sally was confused, Anderson was unnerved and John was suspicious - though Sherlock wasn't aware of any of this.

They walked back to the main street side by side and Sherlock explained similar cases in the past and the traits shared by various stranglers while discreetly observing John's neck who was just half a step in front of him by - Sherlock's - design. A taxi was hailed and Sherlock opened the door and made a sweeping gesture signalling John go in first which made the doctor pull a face as he went in. Sherlock followed, after satisfying himself with another new and rare angle presented to him; the neck is bent but the head isn't fully down and the overall effect was rather unique. It was quite shocking, really, that he didn't realise this until now.

Then he was suddenly struck with a question he didn't even consider before this very moment: Why didn't he? Why wasn't he made aware of the intriguing thing that was the back of John Watson's neck before now? It wasn't all to do with jumpers and jacket collars and scarves, surely. There was something more than that, though he couldn't fathom what that 'something more' was.

Thus another question was added to the compound mystery that was John Watson's neck, mused Sherlock. He was rather delighted with this development. Serial killers were gratifying because they presented a stream of same different problems which shared a common thread which could be picked up. When this thread was identified, it then led to various channels and theories which then merged together to form a unifying entity that was the killer; the killer as a whole being presenting him with the history and drama and personal urges and desires and all the variables such as luck and coincidence. This allowed him to pinpoint the ultimate solution that would resolve the matter in one firm glorious stroke. In other words - gather data, review and calculate and construct, identify key points, form strategy, and execute strategy. Between such stages were random developments that could not be controlled which added flavour to his investigation. He felt this new question was just that; a random development out of nowhere which excited him all the more. This was getting more and more interesting.

Sherlock paused. It was strangely quiet. It was silent, in fact, apart from all the usual London sounds that seeped into the cab. He stopped his eyes from darting this way and that following his train of thought and froze himself for a moment. How many numbers? Fifteen would be ample, but since he wasted a few seconds thinking, three would do just as well. Three it is then. One, two, three, and Sherlock turned his head slowly, nonchalantly, to look at John.

Instead of the familiar blue eyes with a hint of grey and some specks of brown, Sherlock found John had closed his eyes; John wasn't facing him but was sat facing forward, leaning back in his seat, arms folded and his head resting on the headrest, his chin slightly tilted up. This threw Sherlock off balance somewhat. The pose was obviously intentional (which meant it was to be taken as signifying something greater), but before he could grab hold of any clues and regain his mental footing, John spoke to him: "You're plotting."

He bristled at this.

"I do not plot."

"Yes, you do. It's in your genetic makeup or something, I reckon, since your brother does it for living and for a country. You do it automatically like breathing."

John still had his eyes closed. His breathing was normal and his body was relaxed and his voice was light and had a slightly joking edge to it (which didn't mean it could spiral into something dangerous and terrifying) and he had a neutral expression on his face. Sherlock couldn't read much into what was in front of him and began fishing for verbal clues.

"Plotting means I am secretly making plans."

"You always have plans."

"Not when I don't have a case."

"Wrong. Then 'Sherlock is Bored' plan kicks in - and now you roll his eyes. Voilà."

"I did not."

"Yes, you did. I felt it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes (again) and threw up his arms in exasperation. Right after he got rid of the case in record time to get back to enjoying this, John Watson just had to be difficult. Typical. He was also getting slowly upset with not being able to see John and his expressions and mannerisms. John was withholding himself and Sherlock couldn't tolerate that. It was just not right. All wrong.

"Why are you being irrationally difficult?"

A short pause, then John opened his eyes. Sherlock froze for some inexplicable reason - there was really no logic to it and it was more of an instinctive thing - and watched as John sat up, unfolded his arms, turned his head and looked at him.

"So the plan is to do with me. I see."