(no subject)

After sending the last text to Sherlock, John threw the phone behind him, not caring where it landed or if it was in one piece when it got there.

How like Sherlock not to understand. In a sense it should have been comforting, having daily proof of the fact that this was actually Sherlock and not some alien clone robot or any of the other wild suppositions that occurred to him when he was feeling especially paranoid. But just then, all he felt was annoyance. He turned back to his console where his email was open, and scrolled once more through the folder of messages.

( They had all shown up at once... )