Belle sat quietly on the couch. Sherlock had been home for a week now and had yet to take a case. He spent all his time sitting in his armchair, staring into nothing, his face void of expression.

"Would you like some tea?" John asked no one in particular, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. His eyes were sunken and tired. He had spent his nights since Sherlock's return staying up with him in the living room, trying to pique his interest by reading him potential cases. But Sherlock just sat; ever silent.

Belle nodded, smiling softly at John. She felt bad for him. What was wrong with Sherlock? The doctor said it would take some time for him to get back to normal, but surely he should at least be talking of crime. Murders. Like he always had in the past.

John brought out the tea for Belle, handing it to her with care before placing a mug beside Sherlock, "Please have some tea, Sherlock." John's voice sounded empty. He was a different man without Sherlock and his wild adventures. John sat in his chair across from Sherlock and opened his laptop, after a moment of clicking keys he said, "There's more cases waiting," he paused and looked at Belle hesitantly, "More girls have gone missing."

Sherlock blinked slowly. Of course there are more girls missing you imbecile.. it's a kidnapping ring! Run by... His mind spun out of control, making him nauseous. The smell of the tea beside him wasn't helping either. How was he supposed to be anything if he couldn't think straight?

"It's a kidnapping ring," Belle said quietly, staring at Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes wandered towards the girl. The amazing girl who just read his mind. The stupid, perfectly normal girl who could think in a more manageable fashion than him. Sherlock fucking Holmes.

"Sorry," she whispered so only he could hear. Belle stood and rested her hand on his shoulder, "It'll clear up," she said reassuringly, "I know it will."

John lazily watched as Belle went to her room and closed the door, "Please, Sherlock, there are so many cases.. we could start with something simple. There's a lost dog. A woman who thinks her husband is cheating..."

Sherlock interrupted him, much to Johns surprise, "Do you THINK I want to start small, John? I want to find out where that girl came from. WHO she IS. WHO TOOK HER!" He paused, taking a shakey breath, "But I can't. I just.. I can't. I CAN'T THINK." He was standing now, angrily storming through the room, knocking things over with his robe, "Surely there's a kidnapping ring. Of course there is, but I can't.." He yelled loudly, throwing his violin, narrowly missing Belle who he hadn't noticed standing in the door of her room.

Belle flinched at the cracking sound of Sherlock's violin. She had never seen him so angry. He was practically pulsing with anger. She took one step towards him. Then another. "Sherlock," she cooed, "It'll come back. I know it will." Another step. Another.

Sherlock watched her feet, his breaths coming in heavy pants from his rant until their toes were practically touching.

"I know it will," she said again, softly, gently pressing her lips to his.

Silence.