In his bathroom, which branched off of the back bedroom, Sherlock stood in the shower stall. The frigid water that poured out of the shower head ran down his body in vein-like patterns racing from his hair to his neck and from his neck to his back. Any normal person would have been uncomfortable in such a cold shower. But, then again, Sherlock Holmes wasn't normal. In fact, he preferred a cold shower to a warm one. It kept him alert and ready to work at the moment's notice. Presently, as his ebony locks plastered to his forehead, he thought of the events of the past few days. Five bodies, two days...plus the thirteen missing. He had so many questions, so many things he didn't understand...and that bothered him.
Sherlock was the sort of man who simply had to know what was going on. He simply couldn't have it any other way. Besides, he usually had these things under control. So, for now, it was just a matter of waiting until Lestrade called him in. He turned off the shower with a squeak of the handle and gropped around for a towel, which he ran along his body. Now, without the sound of the water pounding against the shower floor, he could clearly hear Watson in the other room, typing away at his laptop. Occasionally, the veteran paused to collect his thoughts, beginning again after a few heartbeats.
In the middle of drying his hair, Holmes heard John's phone go off. He paused, holding the damp towel against his hair while listening closely.
"Watson," the man greeted in a business-like manner. That surprised him slightly, since John was usually friendly in his greetings. He'd only answer a call like that from...no, it couldn't be. He resumed drying his hair again, but eavesdropped on John's half of the conversation. "Alright, where?" Could Watson be making personal plans? No, probably not. Besides, had he been making plans to go out with someone, his greeting wouldn't have been so professional. Mentally, Holmes crossed out that possiblity. The last line finally confirmed Sherlock's hypothesis. "Great, I'll make sure he has his pants this time."
Fastening the toel around his waist in a sloppy manner, Holmes bolted for the door and entered his bedroom, tripping slightly over an office chair he kept near his desk, which sent him pitching forward. Thankfully, he caught himself and grabbed the towel around his waist tighter to prevent it from falling. He raced into the hallway, leaving wet footprints on the carpet as he entered the sitting room, panting slightly from his sprint.
"I understand I'm needed?" he gasped out, raising an eyebrow while leaning against the wall. His towle felt slightly lax and, quickly, he pulled it tighter around himself, watching Watson with a cocked eyebrow while his figure dripped water on to the floor in a small puddle.