“What 𝙛𝙤𝙧?” Sherlock seemed antagonizingly frigid, taking notice before going back to the unattended game of chess before him. “Seems everyone just walks in whenever it suits them, apparently.”

None—. Well, 𝙨𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡. . . But none of which that were caused by this new face; one Sherlock was analyzing.

𝘽𝙊𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂;

Perhaps this is a good time for him to pass out in the middle of his living room.

Cleanly shaven — definitely not an electric razor, probably a fine blade. . . 𝙈𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙙. “Pardon? No, I'm just in shock, apparently,” That's in reference to the orange blanket around his shoulders.

“𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙡𝙮 — people see blood and they crumble. Cannot relate to something that comes from small minded inebriates.” The blanket was thrown off and Sherlock made his way to walk off scene, retrieving his phone and heavy coat from the hood of a squad car. “𝘿𝙪𝙡𝙡. . .”

“The murder — obviously,” A slow glance over his shoulder and the brunette idly contemplates his words. “I’ve already gathered what I need about you anyway so it would be rather pointless to reiterate.” Everything that was obvious to Sherlock was not to others.

Sherlock was mid-text to Lestrade and the detective seemed caught off guard — unable to wholly finish his thought. The text would have to wait. “Always 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜?” It was vague but a couple of details made it deductable on Holmes's part of the spectrum.

“Two if you count 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 — that is lazy man's way of play.” Less than enthused, Sherlock presses either hands together in a steeple just below his chin. It was like the silence was cutting him in two before the detective finally retorts. “What do you 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩?”

Couple new holes in the wall — dull.

Subtle side eye.

No, not this time—. He's just gauging whether or not he should say something dickish. Slowly squints.

“Row with the machine again?” That's Sherlock 𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜, and him being a dick. There's a casual glance as he pauses mid-text.

“From 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩?” That's coming from a sociopath who didn't translate well with normal people and their normal feelings — hence why he asked John. Poor man had a child, a job and dealt with Sherlock full time. His expression was worn of confusion and curiosity.