"I need a heart!"
The exclamation came very much unexpected, along with a sharp clap of hands, from the dark living room of the apartment 221b in Baker Street.
A female gulp and the clanging of ceramic pieces was what rapidly followed, then the tenderly scolding voice of an old lady: "you're not heartless, Sherlock..."
Mrs. Hudson, who had managed to save the trey from falling despite the sudden scare he had caused her, left his tea on the living room's table.
He rolled his eyes, but smiled right after, with an affectionate nod of gratefulness.
"I mean I need a human heart to complete the experiment. The similarities with a pig's one are insufficient in the specific situation."
Hudders shook her head with a pout: "my dear boy, all those body parts in the fridge... And you never eat enough. Or sleep enough. I love your music Sherlock, but I appreciate it a little less when it’s four in the morning!"
The detective sighed.
The flat without John Watson was insufferably silent and the skull would hardly suffice to keep him company, after he had tried what it was like to hang around a living human being: it certainly didn’t gasp in awe at any of his deductions!
He played because he was bored. And sad. Not that he would admit it.
"I'll refrain from it, Mrs. Hudson. Promise."
He got up and put on his coat, forgetting completely about the tea.
In order to avoid melancholia, it was imperative for him to keep working.
He left his house and headed to Bart's, where he knew he could buy a human heart for the price of a smile and a few compliments.