Another thought experiment!
"And only you would hack my Twitter account!"
John paused. He hated talking to an empty room... or really to himself, he supposed. He wished he was back in 221B.
It would be just like Sherlock.
John looked at the piece of paper again. One of his Twitter followers had sent it. Sometimes she was nice, and other times, well... he sighed.
Paraphrased, it said: I looked at the list of those who were dead. I realized that Sam would be the primary suspect. The character said: I had thought that sufficient -- was the word defense? -- against detection.
Oh yes, this is all I needed! he thought.
Considering what Lestrade had said many times, yeah, the hacking would be very like Sherlock. John wondered if Mycroft had ever returned any of the IDs that Sherlock had pickpocketed.
("Welcome to London!" Ahhh, that still was funny. Even now.)
John rather thought not. Mycroft didn't seem to handle embarrassment -- at least not when it involved Sherlock -- very well.
"You idiot," John murmured. "I don't care if it's you or not. Sod it, only you would think leaving messages in my own Twitter was clever."
He covered his face. The loss still hurt. Some days John could almost forget.
Too bad today wasn't one of those days.
Too bad Sherlock wasn't around to be punched either. John wasn't sure half the time if he'd strangle Sherlock first, or shake him, or punch him.
There were mornings when John woke up, positive it was all a nightmare. A new nightmare. Then the room around him would register that yes, he was still in the nightmare.
He kept having fleeting impressions of something, something just out of his reach.
"I know I'm missing something, dammit." John sighed. "And riddles on Twitter DO NOT HELP."
Heh. Why couldn't the jerk on Twitter hack his boredom?? That'd be at least useful.