Partners in Crime
John sat in his chair, staring blankly ahead. He really needed to clear his head. He was going out of his mind and had no idea where to go from this point. There was no reason for him to feel like this. Okay, there were several reasons. But it shouldn't actually have come as surprise to him. Did it even come as a surprise? The idea might have been at the back of his mind for months now. There had been some signs. Right now he felt only fear, but then again, there was another feeling hiding underneath. Maybe it was slight fascination with this new discovery.
Sherlock had gone off on his own a lot these last six months. And it had always been at night. When he got home he would always go take a shower. John couldn't exactly point out why that had been so strange, but he supposed that it just wasn't that usual for Sherlock to take showers every time he came home. John had also found a few bloody shirts and trousers. They all belonged to Sherlock. But strangest of all, Sherlock rarely seemed to be complaining about being bored.
Of course Sherlock had changed quite a bit after coming back from the dead. He was no longer the same man John had been living with three years prior. Naturally it was to be expected that you would change to a certain extent in three years. Especially if you have spent those three years pretending to be dead, while chasing around and killing off criminals.
Sherlock had been back for approximately six months now. John had been so happy to get him back. Well, he still was. He had been extremely lonely without Sherlock by his side. Over the 18 months they had lived together, before Sherlock's 'suicide', John had become so used to having Sherlock by his side. He had been in a complete blissful state for weeks after his return. But slowly he had begun noticing just how much Sherlock had changed.
Over the course of the last couple of months John had begun piecing all those little changes in Sherlocks's behavior together. He had wanted to find out what it was that Sherlock doing on the nights he left the flat. The conclusions he had come to had frightened him severely. What he had come up with was not what he had hoped for. At first he had thought that it couldn't be. But in the end he had come to the conclusion that it was the only explanation to his strange behavior.
One night when he felt Sherlock was going to leave he exclaimed that he was going to bed. Sherlock just nodded his head turned back to the experiment he was working on in the kitchen. John didn't go to his room to sleep. He had decided he would wait for Sherlock to leave and then follow him. He was yet to find a way to do that without Sherlock noticing. He thought hard and long. But in the end all he could do was to be as silent as possible and hope for the best.
An hour or so after John had headed for his room he heard some shuffling around from Sherlock. John pulled on his coat and waited for the perfect opportunity to follow. He was all ready and dressed for sneaking after his flat-mate. He heard Sherlock putting on his coat and heading for the door. When the door had closed behind Sherlock, John too headed for the street. He had to keep his distance from his friend and had to keep himself in the shadows. It would have all be ruined if he had been noticed by the man he was following. Also if his suspicions were right it could quite easily mean the end of him. But John had chosen not to dwell too long on that thought. He had mostly been following Sherlock to be proven wrong. Oh god, he had hoped his suspicions were wrong.
There had been almost no one else out in the cool night air. Well, there had been a few people going home from pubs and maybe work. But mostly everyone had been walking in groups. They had walked through the streets of London for a while longer. It had been thinning out in groups of people. At some point Sherlock had turned into an alley. John had stopped to listen whether he could still hear his friend's footsteps. He had not been able to hear anymore footsteps. It had seemed as if Sherlock had stopped inside the alley. John had hid in the shadows waiting for Sherlock to reappear. When he hadn't, John had sat down waiting for something to happen. After what felt like hours a single person had come walking down the street. John had paid no attention to that. He had been contemplating whether or not to leave. It hadn't seemed like anything was going to happen. Of course it was weird that Sherlock hadn't reappeared, but John just assumed the man had found another way to leave. When John had decided upon leaving, he had suddenly heard a muffled scream. He had turned around to see a pair of pale hands drag a person into the alley.
John quickly headed towards the alley. Even though John had known he was about to have his suspicions confirmed, he hadn't been able to stay away. He was standing at the corner and peeked at what was happening right in front of his eyes.
Sherlock was towering over, what John assumed to be a young man, who had probably been walking home from a pub somewhere. Sherlock had already stabbed the man with a large knife. He had been wearing a gigantic smirk on his pale face. He had begun stabbing the man again and got the blood splatter all over his clothes. His coat had been thrown on the ground as to not be ruined by the blood. John had been somewhat transfixed by the sight of all the blood. He had never thought that he would be this interested in seeing a murder being committed. But he had been, he still was. He had felt the adrenaline rush through his veins. Without noticing it at first, he had then been sporting a smile on his face. God, this reminded him so much of the army. Sure, he had been a doctor and his job had been to save lives. But he had killed people. Back then it had of course been a necessity. But maybe he had enjoyed it a bit too much. He had also remembered the rush he had got from killing the cabbie all those years ago. It had almost felt good. Who had he been kidding? It had felt really good. But he had brushed it off as being happy that he had saved Sherlock's life. Now it had gotten him thinking that just maybe he had been suppressing his need to kill for a very long time. He had been contemplating this for quite a while when he was pulled out of his thoughts by a voice.
"I know you're there John. Why don't you just show yourself?" Sherlock hadn't been looking in his direction. He was busy cleaning off his hands with a few hand wipes.
John didn't know what to do. He was somewhat fearing for his own life now. He had just seen how easily Sherlock killed another human being. There was no way he would show himself in front of him at that moment. The next thing he knew he had begun running towards 221B Bakerstreet. Not that he would be any safer there. But then he would have time to contemplate what he had just seen. Maybe he could even come up with an idea for how to escape death by the hands of his beloved friend.
He ran up the stairs to their flat. He didn't even think about him perhaps waking up poor Mrs. Hudson. There was no need bothering to lock the door. Sherlock of course had his own key. John had run directly for his chair.
That was where he was situated contemplating what he had just experienced and his future life with Sherlock. He wasn't sure for how long he had been sitting there. But suddenly he heard footsteps and the door opening. The doorframe was filled by a tall dark figure. The two men stared at each other for a couple of minutes. John didn't want to be the first one to speak. He sat waiting for Sherlock to make the first move. Maybe even for Sherlock to put an end to it all.
Sherlock stared at John curiously. He was hoping for some sort of reaction. But all he got was a nervous stare. In the end Sherlock found it that he had to make the first move. But it had him wondering how to go about it. There was no easy way to talk about this subject. But it was a necessary thing about it if they wanted to move on from this point. So he cleared his throat.
"John. I suppose we need to talk." All he got from that was a pair of lifted eyebrows. "I am a killer, and before you ask. No. I am not going to turn myself in. And no, I am not going to kill you. Well, that is as long as you keep your mouth shut.", A small smile playing on his lips while he said it. It was an almost hopeful smile. Not because of the thought of being able to kill John. God no, he was rather hoping not to ever find it necessary. He was rather for a continuing friendship with his flat mate.
John was wondering about his own reaction to this. He had never even thought about turning Sherlock in. In the end Sherlock was still his best friend even if he was a killer and they weren't that close anymore. John also had trouble shaking off the thoughts he had had when watching his friend killing that man. He had somehow felt his own bloodlust. That made John smile a bit. He was severely fucked up in his head.
Sherlock just stood staring at the smiling man in the chair. He was slightly taken aback by that small smile playing on John's lips. He had thought there would be more fear showing on his face. But in the end all he got from his friend was maybe a tiny bit of nervousness paired with a smile. But Sherlock was now hoping that this meant good news for his friendship with John. Maybe they could continue it even though Sherlock had become a psychotic killer.
"I'm not going to turn you in Sherlock, and before you say it. No, it has nothing to do with me hoping not be killed by you. I'm not turning you in because I don't want to. You are my best friend and I care for you. I will always be there for you as your assistant no matter you do. Even if I have to help with murder, that's fine."
At first Sherlock was a little dumb-struck. This was much better than what he had ever dared hope for. He couldn't believe John even wanted to continue assisting him in whatever he did. But after the initial confusion was over he couldn't help begin chuckling. This night was turning out just perfect. He had been so nervous about ending up having to kill his best and only friend. But instead he had supposedly gained a partner in crime.