Side of the Angels ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book II} *UNDER EDITING*

Chapter 10- Detective Shows

Millie's POV

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Watching detective programmes has to be one of our favourite group past times.

We're sitting together, squished onto the smaller sofa, drawn up close to the television. We like to guess the killer, although more often than not, it is so pitifully obvious we all agree instantly.

But not this time.

John thinks it's the old man. Normally, John's the most accurate out of us all when it comes to guessing the murderer, purely because Sherlock and I always over-analyse the situation, thinking up much more complicated plots. John sees the show how it's supposed to be perceived; and  this time, he thinks it's the old man. He says he looks shifty.

I think it's the business man. The way he moves around people, the way he acts when interrogated, the bruises on his wrists and fascination with detail- all indicative of criminal intent.

Sherlock says it's the little boy. He thinks our suspects compromise scientific integrity. John says Sherlock's being an idiot.

It's during moments like these, I forget that I'm still hurting, that I'm still angry. 

John shifts next to me: we all lean in as the killer is revealed.

It's the young woman.

We all blink at eachother, dumbfounded.

It's not often two detectives and a doctor are wrong.

We sit back and listen to the explanation. It's all making sense, and we're about to admit that it was obvious when-

"She's a hacker Paul! How did you think she accessed the files which contain the location of the victim. How could we have missed such an important clue?"

"But we trusted her!"

"You can never trust a criminal, Paul."

I stiffen next to John, and feel Sherlock do the same.

This is uncomfortable.

John hastily changes the channel, but neither of us relax. The memories of today come flooding back. I glare at the television.

Sherlock gets up and leaves the room. I sigh slightly, and move up along the sofa, so that we have more room. John's looking at me.

"Millie?"

"Yes?"

"Don't mind Sherlock."

"I won't."

"I didn't mean-" he sighs heavily, "look, you need to talk to him."

"About what?"

He shifts around uncomfortably.

"About... well.. you know, how you feel. I know you two don't do feelings, but-"

"There's nothing to talk about."

John laughs.

"Oh come on. Don't worry, you're just showing signs of normality."

"I don't think of Sherlock in that way. I see him as you do. Platonic,"

"Really? I'm not a detective, but I understand how emotions work. Better than you, anyway. Talk to him. Seriously. The atmosphere is painful right now."

I choose to ignore him.

"Go on. For me?"

"No."

He sighs, then laughs-

"You know, you're both as bloody stubborn as eachother. God knows why I'm encouraging you two, you'd be awful as a couple," he grins.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

I throw a cushion at him, and continue pretending to watch television.

"Pfft, you can do better than that. So you won't talk to him? Dyu want me to talk to him for you?"

"No."

"Ok, ok, I won't say anything- yet.Though if you two don't start thawing I might just-"

"Fine. Point taken."

John smiles.

"Good."

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