The atmosphere in the car on the drive to Dartmouth was significantly different to how it had been previously. Rebecca was still amazed and confused with Sherlock's deductions; Lestrade was attempting to make conversation and failing dramatically; John felt much happier knowing that he had identified exactly what Sherlock had hoped he would, and Sherlock was practically quivering with excitement at the new developments on the case.
John chanced a sideways look at his flatmate, finding him staring out of the car window, thoughts obviously tumbling around in his exceedingly active mind. John always felt more comfortable, lighter, when he knew that Sherlock was involved in a case. He had a look in his icy blue eyes that seemed to scream the fact that he was enjoying it, perhaps too much, John thought. He remembered Sally Donovan's comment of "He gets off on it" the first night John had ever accompanied Sherlock on a case, and dwelled on her words for a while, before the halting of the car jolted him out of his thoughts.
They made their way to the police station, where an officer showed them the watch. Sherlock carefully picked it up and turned it over in his gloved fingers. "Did you say that Dicello's body was discovered by a trawler boat?"
"Yes," replied Rebecca. "Mr Holmes, wha-?"
"Sherlock, please, and just give me a minute." He held up one hand, indicating silence. After a few minutes, he said, "The clasp on this watch has quite obviously broken. What if when Dicello was dumped into the sea at Paignton, the clasp got caught on the trawler net and his body was dragged to Dartmouth? That would explain the bruises and the water in his lungs. The clasp broke, the watch came off his wrist, and his body floated up to the surface where it was spotted. The watch wasn't quite heavy enough to sink and it ended up washed up on the beach where it was discovered by someone who just happened to be passing by." His fingers traced the engraved letters of A.D. "Amato Dicello, it all fits: the shape and size of the watch match with the marks on his wrist. This is definitely correct."
"How can you be so sure?" Rebecca asked, her hands placed firmly on her hips. John observed that she really did have an incredible figure.
Sherlock shot her a scathing look. "It all makes perfect sense. How much more proof do you need?" He noticed John staring at Rebecca again and his eyes narrowed, the unwanted jealously stirring deep within him once again, like a monster slowly unfurling itself and straining to break free. Sherlock gritted teeth, determined not to say anything to John. Emotions were just another one of the many things he deleted. Pointless. Unnecessary.
"I think that will do for today. I'll get on to the Italian police and try and persuade them to tell me what Dicello was investigating," said Rebecca. "You've had a long day. I'll take you back to Paignton, you can get something to eat, have a decent sleep and then you can get a taxi to the police station for, say, 9 in the morning? Then we can continue with the investigation."
Lestrade agreed and they made their way back to the car.
About an hour and half later found Sherlock, John and Lestrade in the Wetherspoon's restaurant called 'Talk of the Town'; located on the busy tourist-targeting road that they had walked down on their search for a place to stay. The restaurant wasn't too busy, although the bar part of it was definitely heaving. John struggled to push his way through to place their food order. He had demanded that Sherlock ate something, as he was fully aware that his friend hadn't had a single bite to eat all day. Sherlock had put up an admirable fight, but gave up as soon as Lestrade sided with John, and finally ordered a chicken Caesar salad.
John placed their order, paid for their food on Sherlock's credit card, and summoned Lestrade over to help him carry their drinks back. John had a pint of Carlsberg lager, Lestrade a pint of Bays bitter – complaining that they didn't have any London pride – and Sherlock had a large glass of merlot. Both John and Lestrade rolled their eyes when Sherlock took a sip and said immediately that it wasn't what he wanted and that it tasted wrong because it came from a screw top bottle instead of a corked one. The conversation was pleasant, although it mostly involved John and Lestrade, with Sherlock preferring to sit in silence and think over the case. Their meals arrived, and Sherlock pushed at his salad dismissively, ignoring the fact that his two companions had begun to devour their steaks with rabid enthusiasm. He eventually ate his meal, although he mostly only did it to pacify John, who always worried over the fact that he ate barely anything.
Lestrade bought a few rounds of drinks, and Sherlock found his thoughts becoming increasingly harder to make sense of. He started to join in with the conversation, and all three men were surprised at his sudden interest in the latest football scores. Sherlock had never been one for drinking, and he was soon feeling pleasantly happy and ever so slightly dizzy.
It was about 9 o'clock when they finally left the restaurant, the train journey that morning already feeling like a lifetime away. Sherlock embarrassingly had to hold onto John's arm as they walked back to the B&B, and he inwardly cursed himself for continuing to drink. Upon their return, John escorted Sherlock upstairs and ensured that he got ready for bed without injuring himself or breaking anything. By the time John had got changed and brushed his teeth, Sherlock was fast asleep in his bed. John made a mental note to ply him with wine if he ever wanted him to shut up in the future. He set his alarm for 7am; enough time for them both to shower and grab some breakfast and curled up in the centre of his double bed. With the distant sound of the sea and Sherlock's deep, slow breathing, John soon drifted off to sleep as well.