006. Hours.
Conan shut the door to his bedroom with a sigh as he rubbed his forehand with his free hand. Ran had been more than angry when he got home, and for the first time since he'd been shrunk, she actually yelled at Conan for being late without calling. Well, that was after she scared off the few reporters that had bothered to follow him back to the detective agency. The miniature detective highly doubted he'd see those particular faces again, at least in this form.
Ran had held her anger until after she made sure Conan was fed and finished with his homework before launching into a rant about how worried she had been and how Conan really needed to learn to call if he was going to be late. Ran's lecture started loud, and her volume only increased as she continued on. Before long, Conan had already developed a pounding headache, but he endured her wrath in silence, feeling he deserved all this and more. After all, he knew exactly what had caused to throw Ran so off kilter that she was shouting her beloved little brother Conan. He also knew that she would feel bad later, when she realized what she was doing right then. It'd been no more than a few hours, and already, the bespectacled boy felt like the worst person in the world.
By the time she had finally run out of steam, three hours had passed. Conan had almost to collapse in relief when Ran had told him to go to bed, but he resisted the urge to just sink further into the couch and headed to his room. In all the years he'd known her, Conan had never seen her explosive anger last four hours on end. It usually sizzled out as quickly as it came. He supposed that, more than anything else, spoke of how deeply he had hurt her. And even though he felt as though the guilt were eating him alive, he knew he'd done the right thing.