If you must put a label on it. Probably a bit, yeah.

Was. Headed back to the flat now. Pub wasn't suiting him.

Why's that?

See what I put up with?

Yeah. He's always like this.

Is everyone in this city completely mad, or just everyone I know?

Brilliant.

ɪ ᴡᴀs ᴀ sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ. ɪ ᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ.

I HAD BAD DAYS.

You know what's really irritating? Half my dates just want to meet Sherlock. Lucky for me, he's always his usual, charming self to them.

It's called wasting my Friday night.

It's not like they open with that. 'Hi, I'm Lindsey, I've got an unhealthy obsession with your flatmate and probably some latent daddy issues. Want to go for coffee?'

I know Sherlock's well and truly off the grid when people start phoning ME. No, I don't know where he is. You can send me the case, but I can't guarantee he'll take it.

Admittedly, he might be interested in this. Three different reports of witchcraft-related deaths with seemingly no link between the victims? Yeah. He loves proving people wrong.

There it is, found him. The real case file's on your desk, when you care to take a look at it.

Not the witchcraft. Different case. Did the trick though, I'll admit. Lestrade knew you couldn't resist resurfacing to tell the Yard how stupid they're being.

I doubt it. They tend to save that for you. Speaking of which, I haven't actually looked at the real case, but they must be desperate if they're going to all this trouble.

Yes, yes, we're all eternally in your debt. Why the morgue?

Oh, for the love of—

No—no, no. None of that. Ignore me. I'm not here.