Late Nights

The Diaries

Sherlock was running around the flat of 221b Bakerstreet at 2.34 AM. This was a tricky case and he refused leaving it hanging, even if it was only for the night. He could try to sleep, but he wouldn't be able to when his brain was working at full speed. Disappearing bodies. His robe was flying around him revealing the blue striped pajama underneath. No message from Moriarty. Without noticing Sherlock had been making quite some noise, pacing around. No obvious cause to death. Sherlock was so caught up with thought, running through his mindpalace, he didn't hear the door open as someone walked in. Purposely leaving different leads...
"Sherlock?"
At the sound of his name, Sherlock spun around, raising the gun he had had in his pocket. He hadn't expected anybody to be there and was startled. "Whoa, whoa, don't shoot!" John said penetratingly, holding his hands up. "It's just me. It's just me."
"Oh," Sherlock said, doing a good job hiding his embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you to be up."
"I could say the same about you," John laughed, letting his hands down and dumped down in his armchair. He was wearing gray baggy pants and a white tee that made his muscles more visible. Sherlock looked away as he realized he was staring, and hid his blush behind his dark hair.
"I can't let go of this case," said Sherlock, tired. "It's something I'm missing. Something very important. The last pice of an impossible puzzle."
John looked at Sherlock with a gaze Sherlock was unable to deduct. He put his head in his hands with his elbows resting on his knees and sighed.
"Hey, Sherlock?" John said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "Yes, John?" Sherlock mimicked his voice and John shook his head at his act. "I'm sorry that I've been so distant lately." Sherlock'd like to pretend he hadn't noticed, but he couldn't. He just slowly nodded, unsure where John was going with this. "It's just all the things happening with Mary and Rosie.." John trailed off. They had decided not to blame each other about what had happened and become friends again, but it had been weeks since anybody had brought it up.
"I felt like you deserved that I told you. I don't want you to think I'm still blaming you for.."
"No, John, it's alright. I may not understand people that well, but I get it," Sherlock tried to hide the guilt in his voice. It was a bit more silence before John stood up and said, "Anyways, now that we're both up I might as well show you something." At Sherlock's confused face, he added; "Regarding the case."
"Oh," Sherlock said as he understood what John meant and suddenly he got back into work modus. John walked away and came back with a small book. Sherlock automatically recognized it as a diary, and leaned forward. His flatmate sat down at the armrest of Sherlock's chair and opened the diary. "This is the diary of the last victim, Ms. Parker. The only one that held a diary." Sherlock took the diary and scummed through the pages all the way to the last. "John, this diary is eight years old," stated Sherlock a bit disappointed. "I know," John said with a small smirk. "There's eleven more over there."
"God," Sherlock said in mix between a laugh and a sigh.
"We've got work to do. "