The Cold Case {Sherlock/Johnlock}

TWO

John hated these mock-country roads, the ones embedded into the bleak city life of London. He couldn't see the point of anyone moving to a huge city like London and then deciding to live in a place that was at most a mockery of the countryside. But then again, there weren't many houses around here- one or two stately homes... and the Observatory that Michael Clare had lived in. That was why they were here, in the hopes that Sherlock could get any information whatsoever about the man whose death they were investigating.

The detective had spoken to someone working for the National Trust, and by pulling some strings, (probably ones that were very Mycroft-related) had managed to convince them that it was of paramount importance that they had a look around. Since the building was listed, the gates usually remained firmly locked and bolted- no visitors and no exceptions. This wasn't even police business, but it didn't seem to matter. The gate had been unlocked for Sherlock and John when they'd arrived, and they were now standing in the overgrown front garden.

"This is going to take all day," Sherlock remarked, though he sounded bizarrely encouraged by that thought. John had worked out that cases that didn't take very long to solve were regarded as a complete disappointment.

Watson remembered then, with an unpleasant jolt, that he'd not told Sherlock that he was going out, to this appointment at Whitehaven that he would really rather ignore. His watch told him that it was currently 10:15, meaning he had a few hours to spend trawling the Observatory with Sherlock, though he blanched at the thought of explaining why he'd eventually have to disappear.

"Oh, Sherlock?" John said suddenly into the still quiet, feigning that it was nothing more than an afterthought. He played off remarkably well that he wasn't panicking over it, and that it was the barest of reminders he'd plucked from nowhere. The taller man didn't answer, though he cocked one eyebrow as if in invitation for John to explain.

"I'm... Going to have to leave at... About twelve, I've got to go somewhere..." John said it with pauses between words, giving the illusion that he was thinking hard. It hid well the fact that his appointment at Whitehaven had been ricocheting off every tiny surface of his brain since he'd opened his eyes this morning, and he did it convincingly enough that Sherlock didn't seem to doubt him.

"I know."

John sighed. Of course he knew. "How?" It wasn't even accusatory anymore, but entirely genuine- it was an accepted part of his life nowadays that Sherlock always knew, and questioning him about it was more to do with plain curiosity as to how he'd worked it out rather than with concern for his privacy.

Sherlock turned to him, though looked straight through him rather than at him. "That's a new shirt. You didn't buy it in the sales because I remember you complaining about the price, meaning that whatever you're doing today is important. Your idea of important is either a girlfriend or work..." He tailed off for a moment, his bright eyes cast to the sky in thought. "So it's either a date or an interview but since it's currently..." He checked his watch before continuing, "quarter past ten in the morning, I doubt you're going out with anyone."

He met the doctor's gaze with a sudden encouraging grin. "Are you getting promoted, John?"

John had to stifle a laugh, instead letting a bemused breath out of his nose. "No, I'm not, actually, it's not even work related." He thought for a moment, then added: "maybe I have something of importance that I don't tell you about." He said it with a mischievous smirk, which hid well the fact that this- albeit shrouded- conversation about his appointment at Whitehaven was making him feel quite sick.

"Oh," Sherlock answered, more to himself than anyone and with the beginnings of disappointed disgust in his tone. "I thought you were rather more two-dimensional than that."