Sherlock was completely, utterly, and irrevocably bored. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but that was how he felt at the moment. He was sprawled out on the couch, one arm dangling over the side, drumming his fingers on the floor. Wide awake, though he hadn't slept for more than a few hours in several days, Sherlock grew more and more restless. He'd already solved half a dozen cases just by reading the paper and watching the news, quickly becoming disgusted by the stupidity of the general public. Violently switching the Telly off, he'd thrown the remote away from him and flopped dejectedly onto the couch where he now remained. With a sigh, he massaged his temples, wishing for something, anything, to do. Then his cellphone rang.
Never before had Sherlock answered a call more quickly.
"Yes."
"Sherlock?" Lestrade's voice sounded on the other end. He seemed surprised.
"Yes, it's me. Who else would pick up my phone?"
"Right, sorry, it's just... You usually don't answer so-"
"Never mind that." Sherlock quickly interrupted, "what do you want?"
"We've got a case. Really nasty business. Apparently suicide, but it seems a bit strange. I was hoping you might-"
"And what, pray tell, makes you think I could be of any assistance? I mean, based on the news today, the police seem to be doing a bang up job of ridding the streets of crime. Just look at how you've handled that triple homicide case, absolutely brilliant."
Lestrade was quite put out by this response. "We caught them in the end, didn't we? And what's more-"
"Please spare me your excuses, detective. If they had listened to me from the start, it would have been a single homicide and you know it."
"Whatever. Look, I'm texting you the address. Get here or not, it makes no difference to me." And with that, he hung up.
Sherlock carefully set his phone on the coffee table before leaping off of the couch in a sudden surge of energy. Shaking the stiffness from his limbs, he let a grin steal across his face as he grabbed his coat and slipped it over his thin frame. Sherlock snatched his phone back up, making sure Lestrade had indeed texted him before pocketing it. Then, he strode out the door, taking his scarf along with him as he did. It was chilly that day, and something in the air told Sherlock things were about to change.
AN: sorry this one's so short guys :( I'm working on the next part and hoping it'll be decently long. Fingers crossed! As always, thanks so much for reading!