Because Sometimes I Need to Feel

The Boring Case

You woke up to John softly knocking on your door, "Hey Izzy, there's breakfast and tea waiting for you"
A good night of sleep completely washed away the memories of Sherlock's secret box. With a yawn you replied "Okay, I'll be out in a second". You shuffled out of bed and made your way to the loo. You stared at your reflection for a minute before brushing your hair and rinsing your face. With a bit of a smile you brushed upon a small coat of some old mascara on your long lashes. You stood back and admired your appearance for a moment, wondering why it even mattered if you looked good even though you knew the answer. Sherlock.
Walking out of the hall and maneuvering through the clutter you sat with John at a long table that partly was covered with shining plates of food, and partly covered in an abominable mess that consisted of what you might have thought were eyeballs.
"Those aren't real are they?" you reached out to touch the jar before a loud voice chastised you.
"Do not touch those, they are for an experiment," Sherlock's voice rang.
You put your hand down and continued chowing down while secretly stealing glances of Sherlock. He was wearing sweatpants that fell loosely off his hips and a long sleeved grey shirt. Man grey looks really good on him, You thought.
Sherlock glanced at his phone that had almost silently buzzed. He then disappeared into the hall and called out "Hurry you two there's a case".
"A case?" You asked.
"Indeed. Sherlock's a consulting detective so the police come to him when they are at a loss during a case" John answered.
"Yes which is always. London's police force is without a doubt the worst band of detectives" Sherlock called again as he suddenly reappeared dressed in a black coat adorned with a grey scarf.
"Sherlock try and be decent today. You have been a real arse to everybody lately." John scolded
Sherlock said nothing and rolled his eyes before turning on his heels and heading out the door. You and John followed.
"Is it really such a good idea for me to be going?" You questioned nervously.
"Of course" Sherlock replied curtly.
The drive was mostly silent as the cabbie traversed the wet London roads. Until they stopped upon a house covered with yellow tape and flashing blue lights.
Both John and Sherlock had crossed the tape when you were stopped by woman with warm brown skin and curly hair.
"Now wait a minute, who are you?" She asked.
You just blinked and looked expectantly at your flatmates.
"She's with me Sally. Let her in just like you let Anderson last night" Sherlock replied in a hostile tone.
Sally was about to make a comment when she instead turned on you, "Are you with the freak now? He didn't abduct you now did he? I wouldn't put it past him, he's a bloody psychopath alright"
Sherlock sighed heavily, "How many times must I tell you and your empty-headed boyfriend that I am not a psychopath, I am a high-functioning sociopath."
For a second you considered what he had just said and put pieces together. He's a real arse, disregards people's feelings, thinks incredibly high of himself. Could my extremely good looking flatmate really be a sociopath?
Your thoughts were interrupted as you were pushed beyond the tape and into the house. The house smelled of dust and had a hazy look about it. The paint was tearing and the furniture was out of place. And then it hit you, the smell of...death. You gasped as before you lied the body of a woman, surrounded in a pool of her own coagulated blood. You felt nauseous. Looking for a reaction on anybody's face you stared at Sherlock. His eyes were cold, hard, and calculating. There was not even a hint of emotion behind them.
"Suicide," Sherlock spit, "You called me in for a bloody suicide? Are you serious? That's so-so BORING!"
A grey haired man stepped to face Sherlock "What do you mean it's a bloody suicide? She was murdered," he spoke in a defensive voice.
"Really a murder? Where's your evidence? Actually no nevermind I don't need my IQ to be lowered by the pathetic reason you were ready to give. She clearly killed herself Lestrade. Look at the cut on her jugular" Sherlock picked a magnifying glass sort of thing and held it close to the woman's neck.
"The cut is not only slightly jagged where she hesitated but it is also at a downward angle. Which indicates-come on everybody say it with me-she did it herself," Sherlock sighed when nobody else chimed in with him. "If you were to hold a knife to your throat at what angle is your hand slightly turned at?" He gestured holding an invisible knife to his throat. Realisation crossed over everybody's face.
"Nice of you all to notice," Sherlock added with a note of dismissal before turning on his heels and walking away. "Oh by the way there's a note, she's clutching it underneath her body with her left hand," Sherlock called over his shoulder before disappearing.
With a heavy feeling of awkward in the air you and John quietly left the house and entered a cab.
"Lunch then?" John asked in a light tone.
"No thanks I think I am going to head back to the flat," you said quietly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~