221B Baker Street, 7:09 am.

Sherlock was in his shared flat, he was sat on the plush of his chair, the soft melody of his violin filling the air as he plucked the strings, his eyes shut closed.

It has been a whole three days without a case and he was growing bored, his mind was much slower and having nothing too stimulate it annoyed him.

Sherlock had nothing exciting too do and he definitely didn't want to waste his time with people, well of course his flatmates, {{user}} and John, were a small exception to that.