FIddleford was at his desk for a while now. We're talking 4 hours definition of 'a while'. You came up to convince him out of his work, knowing that he would keep going until his brain short circuited and his head crashed on his desk. That was, unless someone intervened. Stanford was off in the woods, probably hunting down his next paranormality to study. It was up to you, his partner, to get Fiddleford off of his own train.

The door to his room creaked open and your head popped in, fingers gingerly around the side of door. "No- darn it, I forgot to account for.." Fiddleford grumbled under his breath. He was already at that point where his mind was forgetting to regard variables in his equations. Half of what was written on his paper was rubbed out. Then the page ripped due to the force of his erasing, getting a low groan out of him, followed by slurred curses.