After Hai Na left, it was another three or four hours before Sherlock finally returned home.
Iver sat sprawled on the sofa with his legs crossed, his fingers interlaced over his abdomen.
His tone was somewhat displeased. "I've been waiting for you for a long time, Sherlock. I told you earlier that I was coming."
"Then thank you."
Sherlock looked rather exhausted after entering the room. "I'm glad you were able to wait this long without leaving, my friend."
He then asked Ms. Mina for a glass of Hot Brandy to ease his headache.
Ms. Mina hesitated, but agreed in the end.
"You're going to drink?"
Sherlock's reaction startled Iver.
He still remembered that Sherlock got drunk the moment he touched alcohol, and that he couldn't exactly be called a pleasant drunk. That was precisely why he normally never drank—it would make him embarrass himself.
But Iver didn't stop Sherlock.
He wanted to see Sherlock's regretful expression after sobering up.
"I do need to drink a little. My head hurts."
Sherlock covered his forehead, his brows tightly furrowed. "After I 'resurrected,' Director Kent took me away to deal with the cases that had piled up during this period. I've been busy until now, and I've finally resolved all the cases from this time."
"...That doesn't seem right."
Iver was puzzled. "By all rights, this amount of work shouldn't be enough to make you feel tired, should it?"
Sherlock was a veteran overworked employee.
And not just any kind—he was the sort who willingly worked overtime and took the initiative to do so. He was like a huge dog, filled with endless energy. If he didn't disperse that energy through "walking the dog" by working, he would feel uncomfortable and restless at home.
He could even work for three days straight,