2: Compromises

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"Victim is in her late thirties. Firm believer in monogamy. Her husband was having an affair, or rather a string of them, she found out and he had her murdered. Clearly it was someone they both knew and trusted, but who could manipulate her into such a scenario where he could kill her unknown. Male, six foot three, size ten shoes. Firm grip in the right hand but weaker in the left, so poor co-ordination and a job where only one is primarily needed. The only person fitting this description is his friend, a lawyer called Andrew. Right-handed and writes in shorthand, leaving his PA to handle other matters. Like organising this death. She handled the financial matters, such as Andrew's 'fee' for the task. Simple, really. He'll be working late tonight in order to stage an alibi stretching over several days, if you hurry you can catch him. If not, he'll be on his way to a lover's house. Rebecca Middleton, living in East London. He'll arrive at eight o'clock. And in nine days' time, thirty thousand pounds will be in his bank account."

Feeling satisfied in his deductions, Sherlock stepped back from the corpse to check his companion's reaction. It was at moments like this when he wanted to embrace the smaller man, hold him, kiss him, anything to get his blood pumping and maintain the adrenaline rush. Though, this was difficult with the current circumstances. The detective's impulses were taking over and he was finding it impossible to keep his distance.

He checked to see that nobody was looking at him, then took his chance to step back next to the shorter man. His coat brushed John's side, covering the gap between them. Slowly, he pushed his hand over to the blogger's, their little fingers just touching before he squeezed his whole hand around the smaller. They fit together perfectly, Sherlock's enveloping John's.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John whispered, still facing forward to avoid making a scene. His heart rate was suddenly increasing, partly due to the fact that they were holding hands and partly due to the fact that there were at least ten officers who could see them at any moment.

"Shh, just let me."


The pair crashed back into 221B, John falling back into his chair and Sherlock going over to his experiments. Currently, he had a new one in progress, one he had never done before. He hurried for a pen before scurrying into his bedroom to grab a notebook.

Once happy with his work, he returned to John in the living room, who was beginning to type up the case: "A Price For Love".

Since the two had begun their relationship, Sherlock had been researching what to do in terms of intimacy. He had never had a relationship before, contrary to popular belief, and he knew that John had had several. Though, none with a man. He wanted to get this right. He couldn't lose his Watson.

"John..." he began, elongating the 'o'.


Without uttering another word, Sherlock had removed the laptop and carefully tossed it onto the couch. He then moved to the back of the chair, his hand on John's chest, working across and back up to his neck.  He then sat lightly on his lap, only sinking down when he felt two hands pull down on his waist.

Unsure what to do now, he gripped the doctor's jumper, burying his head in it. He felt a hand run through the ends of his hair, being gently curled between two fingers.

John was having his own wonders: he wanted to take things a little further with Sherlock, more than just holding hands and cuddling when they felt bored. He wanted to kiss Sherlock, do little gestures and share more intimate moments.

Sherlock wanted this too. He felt at times that he would like John to try new things, but he was too afraid to ask. John seemed very comfortable with how things were... perhaps he wouldn't want to change anything. And Sherlock certainly wasn't going to make the first move. What if it all went wrong? No, he'd just drop little hints and see what happened. A new experiment, on John.

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