Chapter Text
Sherlock let out a sigh as he stared at the ceiling of his flat. He had already cataloged all the cracks and stains at least twice (champagne stains from a wedding fifteen years ago and water leaks from a pipe). There was absolutely nothing to do. No interesting cases, no puzzles, not even a serial killing! Did every criminal decide to take a vacation? He was almost hoping that Mycroft called so he could bother him about his weight. Lestrade probably wouldn't enjoy any more pressing texts.
He already threatened to not call him into cases for the next two weeks if he texted again. Sadly, his website wasn't any better. The only things he kept getting were domestic cases and missing pets. That was just sickeningly boring. Disgusting even. Sherlock rolled onto his side and let out an annoyed huff. If a case didn't turn up soon, his brain would atrophy.
Committing murder was better than this. God, what he wouldn't do to have a cigarette just to break the boredom. He started to count the stitches in his Union Jack pillow just to give himself something to do. A buzzing sound quickly got Sherlock's attention and cut through the haze of boredom. For a minute, Sherlock thought that he was hearing things. The buzzing sound continued and was followed by a small clacking sound. His mobile had fallen off the table from the vibrations.
He almost lept up with joy, but settled with sitting up. Everyone he was in contact with knew texting was his preferred method of communication. That only left that someone who found his website and had a case. Maybe a good murder wasn't out of the question. Grabbing his mobile off the floor, Sherlock scanned the number and realized it was a East Sussex area code.
"Sherlock Holmes. Don't be boring.” he said, answering the call.
"Oh. Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. I'm so glad you answered. I found your website and well, I urgently need your expertise on a troubling problem." a man said with deep relief on the other side of the line.
Sherlock could hear the desperation in the man's voice. He obviously called after calming himself down from a near panic attack. Not that he cared that much, of course. Chances were that a friend or relative got killed and it would a very intricate case full of lovely puzzles.
"Depending on the problem, I'll offer my services. I hope for your sake, it's interesting.” he said as he stood.
He stepped over the coffee table and walked over to his desk. He shoved a stack of papers to the floor until he managed to unearth his laptop. He flipped it opened and started to check the internet for crimes happening in Sussex. His potential client made a spluttering sound that was partly defensive and bordering on slight outrage.
"I assure you it is, Mr. Holmes. My case is like no other case you ever had. You see, my priceless...fish has been stolen.” he answered.
Sherlock waited for his searches to go through and couldn't help but be intrigued by the claim. That was always the answer someone gave him when they had a case. 'It's so important, please help me.' He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Yet, it was the first thing that could be potentially interesting all week. If the man wanted his help, he would have to come to Baker Street.
"I see. I won't take the case until I have the whole story. Come to London, the address is 221B Baker Street. I do look forward to your case, Mr.-?"
"How did you- never mind. Murray. Bill Murray. I can be in London tomorrow morning. Thank you so much, Mr. Holmes."
"Don't thank me yet. Your case might not be worth the trouble."
Sherlock ended the call and threw his mobile onto the sofa. Dealing with the general public was still a hindrance. They were idiots, but he couldn't risk losing a potential thrilling case. He needed someone to do all the tedious work for him. The taking calls, dealing with the idiots and having some kind of medical background would be a bonus. He really needed some kind of assistant.