An Incident in the Square

Oh God, I'm Supposed to Come Up With Another One?

The cab ride to 221 B was fairly uneventful; the cabbie didn't even try to force John into committing suicide and Moriarty managed to make no appearances. Most might find it odd that the minimum standard for "eventful" includes attempted murder, but John can't help using his past adventures with Sherlock as a standard. He's tried to convince himself that he's moved on a bit with life; got married to a Mary, started a family, did the domestic dance of middle age; but he knows it's pointless. He's addicted to the thrill that surrounds Sherlock Holmes and no matter how long he spends away from the man, everything he does seems to lead back to Sherlock in some way. Even the London cab automatically reminds him of Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps that's why he started riding his bicycle to work...

John is still very much thinking about how Sherlock has affected his life in every way when he finds himself knocking at the door of his former flat. As he waits for the door to open, he can't help but grimace to himself at how easily he's slipped into the old routines of Baker Street.

"Oh, John! I'm so glad you've come!" Mrs. Hudson exclaims as soon as she's pulled the door open.

"I told you I'd be here as soon as possible." John reminds her as he steps inside. He instantly notices the worried face she's wearing. Whatever Sherlock's done, he's got Mrs. Hudson legitimately troubled.

Mrs. Hudson closes the door behind him before explaining her overwrought behaviour. "I know dear, Sherlock's got me a bit nervous, is all. He's acting very strange, John, muttering about aliens all day and night long."

Ah, so that's the problem! "Aliens? Are you sure? It wasn't long ago that he didn't even know how the solar system works." John can't believe what Mrs. Hudson's telling him and his voice and features show just that.

"Yes, and every time I ask him why he's obsessed with them he just mutters something about a police box and a helicopter!"

There's a pause as John thinks through the small amount information imparted to him by Mrs. Hudson. Absolutely nothing about Sherlock suggests he would be remotely interested in aliens. No matter how he looks at it, none of it makes sense. There's not a theory in the world that would explain Sherlock's latest ramblings.

John soon gives up at his attempts at deduction and decides to just have a look for himself. "Well, I'd better go see him then."

"Thank you, John. I'll be right up with a cuppa." Mrs Hudson offers with the kind smile that always accompanies such a statement.

"Alright, Mrs. Hudson." John smiles his thanks before making his way up the familiar 17 step staircase of 221 B.

He opens the door to quite the sight. Papers and maps are pinned to every available wall surface and even more are strewn across the floor; there are piles and piles of printouts from websites, none of which are instantly recognizable; the only time there had ever been more books in the flat was during the Blind Banker incident; and in the middle of it all sits Sherlock, wrapped in a dressing gown, intently studying the laptop in front of him. In short, a pretty average "Sherlock is on a case" 221 B.

"John! So nice of Mrs. Hudson to call you." Sherlock's familiar voice calls out to him from the middle of the room. In all honesty, John was a bit surprised Sherlock acknowledged his existence at all.

"Hey, Sherlock." John greets cautiously. He's not sure what he was expecting, but a pleasant greeting from Sherlock wasn't on his list. "What's all this about?" He gestures towards the surrounding mess even though Sherlock's eyes have yet to leave the screen in front of him. "Got a good case?" John decides that walking in and immediately demanding to know why Sherlock is obsessed with aliens is a bad idea. He figures playing dumb has less of a chance of offending.