The dart board had been a good idea.
The picture of Anderson even better.
But unfortunately, that is where the joyous success of this whole thing ended. Mrs Hudson had taken one look at it, seen the familiar face with a dart sticking out of the mouth, another in his foot and two missing the picture entirely. Seen the two remaining darts were in Sherlock’s hand. And she was not happy. She did that stomping thing with her foot that Sherlock’s own mother had done when he’d done something wrong as a child. Nothing that was so bad that it demanded a proper scolding - those had been saved for the moments that really mattered, as to not have them completely lose effect - but that displeased look combined with the tapping had definitely taken most of the fun out of his game. At her insistence he had taken Anderson’s picture off the board. It wasn’t like Sherlock enjoyed staring at his ugly face more than necessary anyway.
Still, that left him thoroughly bored.
If only somebody would only come over with a case.
Lestrade or a client, Sherlock couldn’t care less.
The twitching in his fingers had started, that restlessness which was settled in his very bones moving again. Spreading.
He needed a case.