Ascending
Chapter 1
"For the last time, I'm not getting off this sofa for anything less than a seven. Now piss off!"
Greg had turned to John, a desperate plea in his eyes.
And now, John was hurrying through wet and dark London streets, trying to keep track of a man named Arthur Leigh, while not being seen himself.
Greg had been concerned about a steady leak of sensitive information from Scotland Yard to some rather unsavoury elements of London's organised crime scene. He had a couple of suspects and wanted Sherlock to observe them during a briefing about a raid planned for Friday night.
When Sherlock had refused, Greg had convinced John to come along, despite his insistence that he wouldn't be much help. Greg's plan B was, that he, John, and Donovan, should follow the suspects in the hours following the briefing, hoping to catch one of them passing on information.
So, John had come along, been thoroughly ignored by Donovan (though he thought to himself that she should have been more grateful to see him rather than "the freak"), and been set on this hulk of a man.
Leigh was without a doubt the largest man John had ever seen squeezed into a suit. He looked like a wrestler and moved like an ox. Obviously, John was not thrilled.
He had followed Leigh to the nearest tube station and managed to stay out of sight on the train. There had been a brief moment of panic, as he nearly didn't get off the train in time, and then they were out on the streets.
Leigh was clearly headed for a shady part of town, and John thought that this job might be over a lot quicker than he would have dared to hope. Not that he really wanted it to be over. It was quite a thrill to be doing this on his own, rather than just tagging along (or struggling to keep up).
He could do this. He almost laughed out loud.
So absorbed in smug thoughts about how Sherlock would react if John solved this case on his own, he nearly blew the whole thing. He turned a corner and found Leigh standing a little ways down the alley, smoking a cigarette while thumbing his phone (texting?)
It was sheer luck that Leigh didn't look up for the seconds it took John to duck back around the corner.
Pressing his back against the wall, he closed his eyes and cursed his stupidity.
"Smooth," the deep voice murmured, so close to his ear that he would have yelped in shock had a strong slender hand not covered his mouth just in time. He opened his eyes.
"For God's sake, John," Sherlock hissed. "You might as well just walk up and announce yourself."
It was a good thing Sherlock's hand still covered John's mouth, or he would have said something nasty (and probably undignified). Instead, he just glared at Sherlock.
Sherlock glared back and then slowly removed his hand.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, John suppressed the reflex to ask Sherlock what the fuck he was doing there. He really didn't want to know. But Sherlock would probably tell him anyway.
The sound of voices drifted around the corner.
"Yeah, Friday." Leigh was talking quite loud.
Another voice answered, but John couldn't hear the exact words. Nonetheless, he was sure he knew precisely what was going on. Shooting Sherlock a victorious grin, he dug out his phone and quickly composed a text letting Greg know that Leigh was the leak.
He loved this. He had done this on his own. Sherlock's presence had done nothing. Except perhaps startle him and piss him off.
He had just opened his mouth to declare he was done, and that it was time to leave when Sherlock raised a finger to his lips, his eyes darting towards the alley.
Now John heard it too. Footsteps. They were coming this way. Panic rising in his stomach, John looked around. There was nowhere near them where they could hide. Shit!
"Just act casually," Sherlock advised in a barely audible whisper.
"He's seen me with Greg," John hissed through clenched teeth. "If he recognises me, he'll know why I'm here. Shit, Sherlock. What'll I do?"
Sherlock's lips formed a silent 'oh', and John could see his brain kicking into overdrive.
"I think the boss is getting suspicious," he heard Leigh. Too close. "My risk is rising and so will the fees."
The other man grumbled and John reached for his gun before remembering that he hadn't brought it.
Then Sherlock grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands and shoved him up against the wall. A fraction of a second before the two men turned the corner, he swooped down and crushed his lips against John's, burying his face in the cloud of dark curls.
Luckily, John was too shocked to move. Otherwise he might have shoved Sherlock away, or even punched him. For a brief moment a strange, whitish buzzing filled his head. Then he caught up. Sherlock's hands moved up to his cheeks, as the two men walked right by them. Bodily instinct came to John's aid, and he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, hopefully making the whole thing look more believable.
It wasn't a kiss. Just lips sliding dryly against each other as Sherlock moved his head, as if trying to get a better angle. Then Sherlock moaned and John thought he heard Leigh mutter "Fucking queers!"
The footsteps were receding, and Sherlock pulled away, only to move his head down as if to kiss John's neck, keeping his own head between John's face and the two men.
John gasped for air, not realising until now, that he'd been holding his breath, and nearly inhaled half of Sherlock's hair.
"Sher…" he sputtered but was shushed. So he just stood there, arms still around Sherlock, feeling his hot breath against his neck. For some reason, it made the hair on his arms stand on end, and, once again, he found that he had a hard time catching his breath.
After what seemed an eternity, Sherlock pulled back, looking down the street where Leigh and the other man had disappeared. Then he looked at John with that infuriatingly unreadable expression that he mastered so well.
"Ehm…" John started. "I…" he tried. "That was…" he faltered.
"You're welcome." Sherlock's smile was more than a little smug. And then he was at the curb, hailing a taxi, with John following on unsteady legs.
...
John was clearly fuming, but Sherlock wasn't sure he knew why. Okay, so he had kissed him. Well, pretended to kiss him, anyway. But it had been the only logical way to prevent the suspect from recognizing John, and Sherlock thought he'd been quite delicate about the whole thing.
And John had seemed to understand, responding appropriately.
So why was he so angry?
Sherlock looked out of the window of the cab. He did not need to see John to know that he was staring at him, arms crossed with an air of outrage. The rhythm of his breathing and his weight on the seat told Sherlock all he needed to know.
He considered asking what the problem was, but experience had taught him that when it came to things like this, John was really very cliche. He was under the assumption that Sherlock not knowing what he had done wrong somehow made it twice as bad.
So, the best thing he could do was wait. Over the past month or so, John had been growing increasingly impatient with him, and it wouldn't be long before he would start giving Sherlock a piece of his mind.
Sherlock could have timed it. As if on cue, John took in a long deep breath and spoke:
"What were - " he started, but Sherlock interrupted him, too impatient to wait for him to finish a sentence that they both knew the ending to.
"I followed you."
John sputtered. "You did what?"
"Followed you. It wasn't exactly difficult." Sherlock kept his face turned towards the window, keeping his voice calm and cool.
"But... but why?" John managed.
Now Sherlock turned and looked at him. Something in his eyes made John clench his fist and bite his lip. "Because you needed me."
Sherlock knew that John would have loved nothing more than to have been able to come up with a biting retort, but the evidence was against him. If it hadn't been for Sherlock he'd be, at best, lying injured in the alley, instead of cringing in the back seat of a cab.
"You said it was a five, at best."
A feeble attempt. The anger was still there, but John seemed to be deflating. That was for the best. No need to turn this into another row.
"And you weren't getting off the sofa for anything less than a seven."
Sherlock nodded, but still waited, giving John a chance to figure it out for himself.
"So what made you change your mind?"
Wrong!
"I didn't."
Must he really explain everything? This was not up to John's usual standard.
"The case was a five and you on the case was a two."
Even John should be able to do the arithmetic.
Finally. It took him a moment but then comprehension dawned.
"So... you didn't change your mind. The case changed." Why did John sound so insincere?
"Yes." It was obvious wasn't it?
They sat in silence, for a while. Then John picked up the thread.
"Why is me being on the case a two?"
Good, John asking for information and explanation. This he could work with.
"It increased the likelihood of an actual incident requiring action, rather than just observing and deducing. More fun that way."
John huffed, resentful now. Sherlock replayed the conversation a couple of times, superimposing John's point of view, feelings and even his current body chemistry based on dinner, sleep-levels and his last abortive date with... Jennifer? Jessica?
John was feeling insecure. Greg asking him to fill in for Sherlock had been an ego boost, while at the same time making him feel like second choice. Doing this case on his own would have made him feel a little less inferior to Sherlock, but his intervention had laid waste to that plan.
Sherlock mentally kicked himself. He could have easily handled this without John knowing. But instead, being eager to share the thrill of the hunt/chase, like they usually did, he had swooped in and saved the day while ruining everything for John. It was so easy to make mistakes like that when dealing with John, and it was driving Sherlock insane. Knowing what John was feeling and thinking did, somehow, not correspond with knowing what John wanted. He had all these contradictory sentiments and motives, making it impossible to predict when he would approve or feel resentment.
This time, Sherlock had clearly not handled things according to John's needs. Sherlock always feared that these incidents would drive a wedge between them, destroying this unique friendship that Sherlock did not quite understand, but desperately needed. He had to fix this. Make it up to John in some way.
Perhaps finding a girl with whom he could be sure to make it past the second date. And then refraining from texting him during the dates. Intercourse tended to give John quite a boost.
Composing a profile for John's perfect match kept him occupied for the rest of the journey, and he didn't quite register John's pensive mood.
(Thanks to my wonderful beta, gbheart.)
