221B always had a habit of being the hub of the impossible. Anywhere from impossible cases, to impossible people, and Sherlock's love life, which to most, was seemingly impossible. Yet, there they were, John and Sherlock sitting in their flat, years after Sherlock came back from the dead. Things were their normal form of chaos and John's blog was booming with brand new mysteries they've solved throughout the years together. However, they weren't together in that sense, but there was no doubt that there was something. Sherlock never believed in love, but John broke all of his boundaries, first as a best friend and then as something more that he simply refused to accept.

So that is where they were to this day, stuck in a moot point where John would be lucky to get any sign of affection for the man. There was this silent agreement the two men held that business was strictly business and to leave the emotions behind. This, however, was challenged when their biggest demon seemingly arose from the dead in the form of one single text message.

Boredom and frustrations coursed through Sherlock's veins that morning as he paced their tiny flat as a client droned endlessly about their missing child. Something along the lines of this woman's son who vanished from their house one day for no reason and was nowhere to be found. What was odd was that his room was riddled with women's lingerie and heels yet he had no girlfriend or female friends. This frantic mother was fixed on the idea that her son was abducted by a woman and could only imagine what she did to him in his own room and then simply cleaned it all up after.

From the corner of Sherlock's eye, he could see John in his usual chair, his lips tilted upwards in amusement and trying hard not to laugh at this clueless woman. The story had gone way past it's expiration date to be any kind of entertaining for Sherlock. He wanted to tell the woman to just shut up and get out of his flat, but both John and Mrs. Hudson made him swear to be nicer to his clients, especially those who are distraught. That being said, he sent a pleading look at John to save him from his misery.

John sighed and stood and walked over to their desk, which was littered with three laptops and endless amount of papers. After shifting through the papers, he managed to find a blank piece and a pen.

"This may be hard to hear, Mrs. Willams, would you like some tea?" he asked as he wrote. The woman looked at him incredulously, "Would I like some tea?! My son could be dead in a ditch somewhere and you ask me if I would like some tea?!" she demanded, standing to her feet, her face turning puse in her agitation. Unable to hold back anymore, Sherlock addressed her for the first time since she came in.

"Your son is not dead, and I'm sure if you paid any attention to the boy then you would already know where he is," he said as he picked up his violin and began to play, tuning the woman out again. She was about to explode at the man, John distracted her war path with a piece of paper in front of her face.

"Meredith, was it? Your son is in perfect condition, I am sure. I've written down a few addresses where you can check. What Sherlock is saying is that your son might be gay and dress as a woman in his spare time," John said a bit awkwardly, fearful of the mother's response. He could tell as her face started to contort with rage that she was not fond of his analysis of her precious son.

"Remember that you just thought your son was dead. I tell you he is alive and well and I suggest you keep that in mind before you no longer have a son. Have a nice day and best of luck," John said quickly as he started to guide her to the door, "Mrs. Hudson will show you out."

With the sound of the door shutting with a quiet click and John's sigh, Sherlock lowered his violin. It was obvious that this client had some sort of effect on John and he looked up to meet John's gaze.

"My Mother was the same way when she found out," he said awkwardly, going back to his chair and rolled up his sleeves. Sherlock stood still and broke the eye contact, returning to his violin.

"The only thing I had going was that I also liked women," he continued, picking up the daily paper, "How'd your mother react, she seems very loving and kind."

"She's clueless, if you asked her she'd be more surprised that I had feelings for anyone," Sherlock answered and resumed playing.

"Like that woman?" John deadpanned which caused Sherlock's hands to stop dead in their tracks. "She's dead, I don't know what you're-"

"Or me." John finished, his expression hidden by the newspaper. Sherlock chose to simply continue playing and ignore John's words all together. It was when his phone's message notification went off that he felt he was off the hook.

"We aren't done with this conversation Sherlock," John added as the consulting detective checked his phone.

How Touching.

Sherlock crinkled his brow in confusion and placed his phone back down on the desk, not hearing John's words. Before he could bring the bow back to the strings, his phone went off again.

Aw don't ignore me Sherlock

"Who is it?" John asked, noticing Sherlock snapping his head to look out the window.

"We are being watched," Sherlock said, advancing towards the open window to look out. His phone rang again.

Always a nosy one, John

"By who?" John demanded in confusion as Sherlock slammed the window shut, his stomach sinking to the floor. He didn't answer, he just stood near the window a million thoughts running through his mind. This all seemed oddly signature. But how? There was no way. Sherlock tried uselessly to shove back the absurd notions that were filling his brain. It was simply an exciting new case, one worth pursuing. Yes, that was it, something exciting to finally solve. All of his cases were lackluster as of late and he was itching for his next fix.

Warily, John set down his paper and stood to go look at Sherlock's phone himself. It was most likely the woman, he knew she always texted him, but it was the wrong notification tone. When he pried the phone from Sherlock's grasp, he read the messages himself. He frowned at the one about himself, "First off, I'm not nosy," John started, but was cut off by the phone ring and Sherlock simultaneously

"Yes you are."

Yes you are.

Both Sherlock and John frowned, someone was watching and also listening. Rather than someone watching from the outside, their flat was bugged. This couldn't be a work of some amateur.

It rang again.

Hello Sherlock

Miss Me? :)

JM.