"Sleep well."

John rose and walked to the door before closing it quietly behind him. By now it was 12 noon and Rosie had fallen asleep right after lunch.

"We need new milk," he said as he joined Sherlock in the kitchen.

"Rosie drank the rest for lunch."

Sherlock hadn't cut open any frozen brains, but he was bending heavily in concentration over a test tube filled with a bright green liquid.

He merely hummed and placed the test tube in a holder.

John leaned against the dining table.

"And so I thought maybe you could do this."

Sherlock twisted the holder tight and pushed his glasses into his hair before looking up.
"Why me?" he asked, the incredulity written on his face.

John snorted.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I always go and get the milk."

Sherlock took a whole moment to reply.

"Yes," he replied, lowering his eyes to the sheet of paper in front of him. John stifled the comment that was stuck in his throat and exhaled.

"So?"

An exasperated groan was heard and Sherlock raised his gaze again.

"So what, John?" he asked back.

"Do you expect me to go and get the milk? I'm in the middle of an important experiment, don't you see?"

"You know what? No, no I don't."

"Then you should probably pay the eye doctor a visit- even though there's likely nothing he can do with such severe vision loss."

"I don't mean the part about the bloody experiment," John hissed.

"I mean the part about importance."

Were they seriously arguing now about who went to get the milk?

Sherlock lowered his eyes again and scribbled something on the paper.

"That's almost more obvious than the experiment," he retorted, and John laughed quietly.

"Idiot," he muttered, grabbed his keys from the table and straightened up to go to the door.

At that moment a shrill ringing sounded, making him cringe and Sherlock look up from his work.

"Jesus," he murmured as Sherlock took off his glasses.

"Maximum pressure within half a second," he mumbled.

"A client."

With that he rushed past John and towards the door. A moment later, it was heard as it opened and then an excited voice. The voice of Ms Hudson.

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry, but she just wouldn't let me stop her! Bring Rosie to me if she has to!"

Then quick, receding footsteps were heard, followed shortly by the slam of a door.

John raised his eyebrows.

A client, then. How fitting.
Some time ago, John and Sherlock had made a pact with Ms Hudson that Rosie would come to her when clients came to the flat. Though it wasn't really a pact- Ms. Hudson had just offered herself. She was completely smitten with her.

Sherlock stood with his back to him, blocking his view.
Gruffly, he pushed him aside a little and paused when he saw the person standing in front of the door.
It was a girl, a young woman, maybe twenty with dark, shoulder-length hair that framed her pale, heart-shaped face. She looked at them uncertainly out of large, hazel eyes.

"Um...Hi," John said, immediately feeling totally stupid.

Hi? Seriously?

"I'm John Watson. Dr Watson."

He held out his hand to her and the girl took it hesitantly.

"Carrie Patrick," she introduced herself in an insecure voice.

John let go of her hand and stepped backwards to let Sherlock introduce himself. But instead he followed him and raised his arm towards the living room.

"Please, come in."

While John stared at him in disbelief, Carrie hesitantly stepped into the flat and followed Sherlock's arm.
He closed the door with a loud bang and followed her.

Heavens, he thought before joining them. Hopefully Carrie really did have a case and wasn't looking for ghost hunters. Or doctors for her broken heart. He didn't want another incident like yesterday.

When he got to the living room, Sherlock was already sitting in his armchair and Carrie on the couch. She had clutched her small bag so tightly that her knuckles showed white. John grabbed his notebook and a pen before settling into his chair as well, looking at Sherlock. He looked grim and folded his hands on his lap.

"Well, Carrie," he then took the floor.

"How can we help you?"

Carrie swallowed and stroked a strand of hair from her pale face.

"I'm very sorry that on the weekend I just-"

"No problem."

Sherlock smiled coolly at her and her cheeks changed to a noticeably rosy colour. John suppressed the impulse to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was off to a good start.

Carrie cleared her throat and lowered her gaze to her cramped hands.

"Do you have siblings?" she asked then and John nodded hesitantly, a little confused by the question.

"Uh yes," he replied. "A sister. And he has a brother."

"Very unpleasant."

"Well, I don't have any siblings," she continued, speaking so softly that John had to lean forward to hear her.

"But I do have a best friend. Her name is Juliet. Juliet Cubitt. And she's like a sister to me."

Sherlock sighed impatiently.

"Heartwarming. But I guess you didn't come here to tell us your life story with your best friend, did you?"

John gave him a warning look and Carrie shook her head.

"No," she replied, "no I'm not."

"Fine, then please tell us why you came here."

He spoke so exaggeratedly clearly that he might as well have been talking to Rosie and John nearly kicked his leg.

"Shut your goddamn mouth," he muttered, but Sherlock studiously ignored him. Maybe he should kick him in the leg after all.

Carrie looked up from her hands and swallowed again.

"I...I came here because she...because she disappeared."

Sherlock's friendly, if not necessarily sincere, expression gave way to an annoyed eye roll and he jumped up.

"Boring. I'm a consulting detective, not the police. Go there and try your luck...Even though you probably won't have any."

He grimaced, which John identified as a smile, and looked at Carrie.

"Still, extraordinary thanks for your time, it's been very...rewarding."

She blinked and her eyes widened in disbelief as John rubbed his forehead with a sigh.

"Wait!" she called when Sherlock had already turned towards leaving.

"Wait. Please. I...I can't go to the police. I can't go to the police because my friend is not considered missing."

"Well, then apparently she's not missing either," he replied, and was about to turn back around when Carrie stopped him again.

"Please. She is missing. I know it. Let me explain."

"Sherlock," John also said now, looking at him.

"Let her talk. We don't have anything else to do anyway."

"Well, actually, I-"

"Please."

For a few seconds there was only tense silence. Then he groaned and reluctantly dropped back into his chair.

"Please," he said, making no secret of his unnervation.

"Talk. We're literally hanging on your every word."

John rolled his eyes and then turned to Carrie to nod encouragingly. She moistened her lips with her tongue and cleared her throat.

"S-So, my best friend disappeared."