This is why I usually write stories on my own...

I'm getting way too invested in Cumberholmes' world, now. He's just been on a 48 hour rage-fuelled bender of working and self-destruction, taking him to Mexico where he had a brief adventure with his universe's Irene Adler (who rocks my world, BTW - she's got a fat arse, she's Black, she can drink Sherlock under the table, she's a thief with a heart of gold - she stole the Van Gough from Cairo then gave most of the money to Pakistan) then had a second row with John via Twitter, got pissed on mojitos & had sex(!) with Irene, which bewildered him because he's always so in denial about fancying her and sexual contact tends to send him into a nervous meltdown. (I'm playing him as a very, very repressed Bisexual with lots of buried childhood traumas as well as - duh - serious emotional commitment issues) She snuck away while he was sleeping off the booze - obviously - leaving him to do the walk of shame from Mexico back to London. He only got back tonight... and John wasn't there. Wasn't at the airport or the flat. And, while Sherlock let the panic attack he'd been holding off all day finally take him, I personally very nearly cried. I heartbroken for him. Poor guy's in the shower now, with the lights off. I keep checking the timeline to see if John's come home yet. This is ridiculous!