Sherlock had came back to his flat at approximately 11:30 that night after an exceedingly dull cab ride. The cabbie had been of little importance. He tried to think of anything that would be helpful, but nothing came to mind and he soon accepted the idea that nothing would. The cab had stopped in front of 211 B Baker Street like it would on any normal day. He paid the cabbie and went into the building.
He had realized that he would be the only person home. John's date would most likely have ended poorly, being that John did not have the talent to act normally when he was presented with sensitive information. His believing that she was the murderess would have changed his opinion of her in heartbeat. Well, at least if he had not known that she was the murderess then the outing would have ended differently. Well, not much differently than any other date John had ever been on. The man had a hard time keeping any sort of relationship. It would be downright odd if John could keep a working relationship with this woman.
Of course Sherlock would not have been too pleased to find out that his musings over John and Mary many have been off. He had to admit that Mary was at least a bit more interesting than any other woman John had encountered, but then again maybe John was the true reason why he had not had a stable relationship. After a long while he decided it would be best if John had learned the truth at the end of the night. After all John was the type of man to hold a grudge over the most ridiculous ideas.
Sherlock got comfortable in his chair. Grabbing his violin he placed it under his chin. Very lightly he plucked the strings. He let his mind wander as his fingers played several symphonies from pure muscle memory. In fact his thoughts did not concern music whatsoever. It could be said that Sherlock had a dramatic flair, and therefore was content to let himself dwell on murder, love, and perhaps a little bit of inquiry as to whether John would be in such a mood as to make a scene when he got home. Soon he was deep in his mind, his own violin music far from his conscious thought.
It is hard to say if he heard John walking up the stairs to their side of the flat or not. Knowing so little of the man it was most likely a surprise to find that John had indeed entered the room. Then again Sherlock knew almost everything, and had only managed to miss small details here or there. Nothing of extreme importance, just odd ends that are unneeded or irrelevant details.
"Sod off on my love life next time, Sherlock." John said, taking off his coat.
"That bad, was it?" Sherlock set down the violin, an uncommon act of social courtesy on his part.
"I don't know how you do it. You might be able to manage being involved with a dangerous women, but that is not the life for me." John collapsed on a chair in a slight huff.
He ran his hands through his hair. It was obvious that the date had stressed him out considerably.
"Never again. I am not doing anything like that for you as long as I live."
"She is not a murderess, if that is what you are thinking." Sherlock stood up and made his way towards his room.
"Excuse me?! You said-"
"That the murder was a man. Why don't people just shut up and listen for a change? There must be something wrong with you recently. Maybe your little brains are making a poor attempt at working for once." Sherlock shut the bedroom door before a very frustrated John could even get a word out. He never had a chance.
Sherlock leaned against his door, waiting for a few seconds. He could hear John let out a curse and then his foot steps thundering down the stairs to the door. He'd hoped to stave off the boredom for a little longer with this confrontation, but was quite disappointed. Sherlock let out a sigh before stating his thoughts to himself. "Predictable."