"I really do appreciate this John," he said, his voice soft. "I hope you understand." John just smiled and nodded his head, then turned to leave. "Please allow me to make it up to you?"
"Just how do you plan on doing that?" Sherlock smirked at him, and suddenly John felt a strange feeling stirring in his abdomen. His breath stuttered and he raised his eyebrows at Sherlock, who simply rolled his eyes and looked away.
"How would you like to accompany me to Scotland Yard tomorrow?"
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A gentle breeze was the first thing to greet John Watson when he stepped out of the cab. He stared up at the building with an awestruck expression, not even feeling the hand that was placed on his shoulder when Sherlock came to stand beside him.
"Come on," he said, tilting his head towards the entrance to the building, "Lestrade's waiting." John could detect the hint of a nervous tremor in Sherlock's usually desiccated voice. John began to wonder what on Earth Sherlock was nervous about as they made their way through several corridors and passed offices full of busy looking people. John's eyes greedily took in his surroundings and Sherlock watched him out of the corner of his eye with a smile. They rounded a corner and found a room bustling with people, carrying important looking files and talking on their phones. John noticed a young woman with dark curly hair approaching them with a scowl on her face. She seemed oddly familiar, but John couldn't figure out why.
"So what brings you here today Freak?" The venom in her voice was hard to ignore, and John felt his blood pressure spike after hearing her speak to Sherlock in such a way. Sherlock, however, seemed unfazed by the harsh tone and opprobrious nickname and actually answered her question with a smile on his face.
"Lestrade called me. Apparently his team has been performing less than adequately and he needs me to look at some files or something." He smirked at the woman, who snarled and glared at Sherlock, and John watched the exchange with both confusion and interest written on his face.
"Why on Earth would he ask you to come in to look for files and not, oh I don't know, someone who actually works here?" Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at the woman with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
"The same reason Anderson dumped you last week: he found someone who can do it better." John had to hide his smile with his fist, and tried not to even look at the woman who was now staring daggers at Sherlock.
"Oh, that's quite the comeback," she said bitterly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and smiled, crossing his arms over his chest in a provoking manner.
"I think you'll find I'm full of great comebacks."
"I think you're full of sh-"
"You wanna watch your mouth there, maybe?" John cautioned, causing both Sherlock and the woman to turn towards him. John felt his face get hot but he met her gaze firmly. He saw confusion, surprise, and even annoyance in her eyes, and though he felt uncomfortable he was glad to have taken her attention off of Sherlock, if only for a moment. He didn't quite understand the cause for the enmity these two had for each other, but he refused to just stand there and let Sherlock be verbally abused, especially when he knew Sherlock had other, more important obstacles to face.
"And who are you?" the woman questioned, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows. John felt a hand on his shoulder and allowed himself to be pulled closer to Sherlock.
"His name is John."
Sherlock placed his other hand on John's other shoulder and spun him around before gently guiding him down the hall.They came across a closed door, the first closed door John had seen, and Sherlock knocked on it. There was a muffled 'come in!' and Sherlock opened the door, revealing a large, immaculate office with minimal furniture. There was a desk in the center of the room with two chairs before it, and several bookcases on the far wall. There was a man standing in the middle of the floor holding several manila envelopes and pacing. When he saw Sherlock enter, his face lit up with a smile and he came towards them.
"Hello Sherlock." His eyes flicked over briefly to John, who was standing behind Sherlock and peering over his shoulder. "Who's this?" Before John could even open his mouth to speak Sherlock had answered.
"John. He's with me."
"Yeah, okay, but who is he?"
"I said he's with me." Sherlock said this as if it were all the justification he needed for bringing John into the building. Lestrade placed his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, and John started to back out of the room.
"Should I just go?"
"No." The question had barely left John's lips before Sherlock answered him, not taking his eyes off of Lestrade. The two men were caught in a silent and seemingly very serious staring contest, but after several seconds Lestrade conceded defeat and walked over to his desk, opening the envelopes and spreading their contents onto the polished wood surface. Sherlock followed, and John lumbered over to stand with the two of them, staring down at the assortment of papers. All he saw were pictures of corpses and medical reports. What on earth could be so riveting about pictures and paperwork?
"It's not the actual pictures and paperwork per say, but rather the possible clues they contain."
John raised his head and was about to ask Sherlock if he just happened to be a mind reader when he realized he had in fact asked his question out loud. He glanced up at Sherlock, who was smirking at him, and forced himself to look away.
Lestrade cleared his throat, and John suddenly remembered he and Sherlock weren't the only ones in the room. He crossed his arms and stared down at the floor, trying to ignore how hot his face felt.
"So, you got anything?" John could hear the quiet sigh Sherlock gave, and imagined him shrugging his shoulders. He looked up in time to see him reach down and point at one of the pictures.
"Lestrade, I assume you remember Mrs.McQuillen?" The Detective Inspector only had enough time to nod his head before Sherlock sucked in a breath and began talking again. "This young woman worked as a maid for her. You should send someone over to her house for questioning." Lestrade nodded his head and pulled out his phone, and John leaned over towards Sherlock.
"What does that woman's being a maid have to do with anything?" he whispered, turning to look at Sherlock. Sherlock leaned over towards John, but still kept his voice at its normal volume level.
"Over the course of the past two weeks there have been five murders, and until now the only connection between them all was the fact that they had some sort of alcoholic beverage in their system at the time of their death. Otherwise, the deaths seemed completely unrelated. Mrs. McQuillen's grandson was the first body to be found, and the fourth was this young woman, named Diane Cooper, who worked as a maid in her house. This shows that there is some sort of connection between at least these two murders, and probably all five. We are now most likely dealing with a serial killer, which makes this case much more exciting... and easier to solve as well." John took a moment to absorb Sherlock's short and rapidly spoken monologue, and found himself leaning closer to the detective as he asked his next question.
"Alright, well, how do you know Miss Cooper was Mrs. McQuillen's maid?" Sherlock's eyes took on a wicked gleam, and John could hear Lestrade sigh softly in the background.
"I can tell by the callouses on her metacarpophalangeal joints and the vertical dent on the skin of her forearm that she did a lot of work with objects such as mops and brooms, and did a fair amount of embroidery. If you look closely at her clothing you'll see little hairs interwoven with the fabric. That means she either owns an animal with short hair or had been around one shortly before her death. Mrs. McQuillen is in fact the owner of a Chartreux, a cat with short hair the same colour as the hairs in the fabric of Miss Cooper's shirt. Now, I assume you'll-" Sherlock turned towards John and stopped mid-sentence when he saw the awestruck look on his face. "What?" John's eyes were wide as he stared into Sherlock's, and all he could think about was how incredible and brilliant this man must be to have figured all of that out so quickly, and he spoke without thinking.
"You're amazing."
Both Sherlock and Lestrade looked at John with bewildered expressions, and John cleared his throat, staring down at the floor once more. "I mean the um, how you figured all that out...is amazing." When John looked up again Sherlock was grinning at him, and he tried his best to smile back. John was faintly aware of Lestrade clearing his throat, and was even more aware of the look of annoyance that flashed across Sherlock's features when the Detective Inspector did so.
"So I'll send someone to go talk to Mrs. McQuillen and let you know what they find out, alright?" Sherlock gave a curt nod, then turned and left the office without another word. John stood awkwardly for a moment in front of Lestrade, wondering how and if he should say goodbye, but Sherlock popped his head back into the room before he could decide on anything.
"Are you coming John?" he asked. John nodded his head and left the room, trailing closely behind Sherlock as to not get lost on their way out of the building. Once they made it outside and into a cab John turned to Sherlock and sucked in a breath.
"Um, Sherlock?" The detective beside him gave a noncommittal noise to show John had his attention. "Look, I know I should have told you this sooner but..." he began wringing his hands, and couldn't understand why it was he felt so nervous about what he was about to tell Sherlock. "Listen... tonight, my girlfriend Mary is coming over for dinner."
Sherlock's head turned away from the window and he narrowed his eyes at John. John could see no emotion on his face; Even so, the way Sherlock was looking at him was a bit unnerving. Sherlock stared at John for a moment longer before turning to look out the window once more.
"What time would you like me to leave?"
"What, leave?" By now the cab had pulled up in front of John's flat and the two men got out after John paid the cabbie. John fished his keys out of his pocket while Sherlock stood behind him on the pavement. "Why would I ask you to leave?" Sherlock's breath tickled the back of John's neck as he spoke, and he fumbled with his keys a bit when he felt the cool air hit his skin.
"Well I assume you'd want me out of the house for this dinner of yours."
"Why on earth would I want you gone when Mary's coming over specifically to meet you?"
"Me?"
John finally managed to get the door unlocked and the two of them stepped inside. John removed his coat and placed it on the hanger by the door, then turned to face Sherlock, who looked absolutely astonished. "Why is she coming to meet me?"
"Because I asked her to." Sherlock removed his coat and placed it over John's on the coat rack and they ventured further into the living room. The two of them then went to their respective places on the sofa and armchair, and John picked up the remote. "I figured it would be best for my girlfriend to meet the man I'm living with." Though John didn't look at him, he could still hear Sherlock's quiet chuckle, and found himself smiling as well. He turned on the television and the two of them watched crime show dramas together for the next few hours until John decided he would begin making dinner. Sherlock, apparently having lost interest in television the moment John left the room, went to retrieve his violin from John's room and started playing an arrangement of pieces ranging from Bach and Tchaikovsky to versions of more contemporary songs. John hummed along when he could, and Sherlock played while leaning against whatever kitchen counter John wasn't using at the time. It was a strange thought but, John couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun cooking.
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I apologize for the lackluster chapter (and crappy title), but I promise it'll get much better after this. :)
Thanks for reading!
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Human (Johnlock)
Fanfiction“I’m starting to think letting you into my home wasn’t such a good idea.” “Oh it was probably the worst thing you’ve ever done.” There was a moment’s pause before he spoke again. “Do you regret it?” “Not one bit.”
