Rush hour
Rain splatters against the window as John finally settles into dreamless slumber, exhausted after hours of restless tossing and turning. His mobile phone buzzes just as he settles, loudly illuminating the darkness of his barren bedroom with the irritating chime of Big Ben. Sighing he reaches over to his bedside table and picks up his phone. He glances at the screen.
It reads as follows:
Need you immediately. Will pay double if you hurry.
SH
John sighs and begins to sleepily ask where it is he's supposed to go when his screen lights up again with another text, this one displaying the coordinates of the pickup.
Despite the lateness of the hour and the heavy rain falling outside John is desperately in need of money having not eaten at all that day, so he hurriedly gets out of bed and pulls on fresh clothes. He snatches up his keys and heads out of the door of his flat.
He makes it there in his fastest time yet, just under twenty minutes since the call came in. This is in part due to the lack of traffic (London is fantastically empty this time of night) and having only taken the wrong turning once.
With the rain letting up and the radio blasting his favourite song John turns into West Smithfield Street with a smile, his eyes scanning the pavement as he does so, searching for his newest client.
He draws closer to the front of St Bart's to find a figure waiting for him just outside the entrance of the hospital. Pulling up on the curb, John shuts his engine off and checks his phone again for the name of his fare, only to come up with nothing better than mere initials.
He looks up at the doorway again, there this time getting a better look at the person waiting. The bright hospital entrance way light bounces off dark curls and an inky black coat and the cold steel crutches that support endlessly long thin legs.
Realising his client may need a little more help than initially thought John exits his taxi and makes his way up the steps towards the entrance and the man waiting there patiently.
The man, this mysterious SH, seems unsurprised at his arrival albeit a little disgruntled. John puts that down to him expecting someone else and tries not to let it affect his nerves. He's not been doing this gig long but he's sure he can more than cope with a little extra work. Besides John's never been one to discriminate and he seems a nice enough bloke.
SH speaks drawing John from his thoughts.
"Mike finally had a heart attack then?" He asks his voice like rich honey and smoke.
John nods wondering slightly how he could possible know that given that Mike had only been hospitalised two days ago, before remembering Mikes well known love of fast food and takeaways. He comes to rest several steps below the man.
"I'm his replacement yeah." Says John as he finds himself staring into deep stormy eyes lined with little flecks of silver. He stands there letting himself be examined like an insect under a microscope for several long moments before managing to find his voice again.
"Uh my name's John, John Watson." He extends out a hand to shake and earns himself a smile from the gorgeous stranger.
"Sherlock Holmes." Says the man grasping John's offered hand with his own gloved hand. His grip is strong but not bone crushing. Slightly mesmerised John holds his hand for slightly longer then strictly necessary.
"Shall we go then?" Asks Sherlock recovering his hand with a smirk that does awful things to John's nether regions. Blushing slightly John helps him to the car.
Somehow despite his fumbling John seems to do something that Sherlock seems to like for it isn't long before Sherlock is a regular customer of his, calling him up day and night, demanding him at irregular intervals in various capacities from delivery boy to stake out driver.
And God help him John comes every time, no matter the hour. John caters to his every whim, driving all the way across London during the middle of rush hour just because Sherlock asked him to. John even goes so far as to cancel dates because of him.
As their arrangement continues John slowly learns more about the quiet mystifying man that is Sherlock Holmes. For instance John learns that Sherlock is a consulting detective, hired by both police and private clients to solve curious crimes and baffling mysteries. John also learns a fair bit about Sherlock's methods, his deductions as he calls them and how he can read a person's body and know their life history.
He does it to John, deduces him during their first journey together; tells him how he knows he's a retired army Doctor recently returned from war in the middle of a feud with his brother and that he's unable to find work due to a serious shoulder injury that has reduced him to working as an illegal taxi driver in order to make ends meet.
John finds it amazing, the deductions, which pleases Sherlock greatly even if he's wrong about his sister Harry.
The longer John knows Sherlock the guiltier he feels about taking his money for he can't help but feel they have become something more and that Sherlock has become something more than his fare.
In fact it isn't long before John finds himself texting Sherlock on a regular basis and looking forward to their weekly car chases. A part of him thinks they might be flirting with each other, as he looks at yet another picture of a rotting body part and tries to remember how his life was before Sherlock.
The first time John drops him off at one of his crime scenes, he doesn't honestly expect Sherlock to invite him along. His heart soars slightly at the invitation while the rest of him tries not to jump to conclusions; a murder scene is hardly the place for blossoming romance yet a tiny part of him can't help but hope this means Sherlock sees him as something other than a simple cabby.
Examining the women dressed in pink lying dead John cannot help but replay the words Sargent Donavan had hissed at Sherlock moments before upon their arrival.
"Cripple" She had said eyeing him and his walking aid as if he were some freak, completely unaware the cut her words inflict upon Sherlock. John barely knows her and already he hates her, hates how she cruelly taunts Sherlock who is brilliant and who doesn't need to be reminded about the traumatic accident that had tragically taken the lives of his parents and dramatically reduced his mobility.
John takes him to dinner afterwards at Angelo's.
Everything seems perfect until John tries to kiss him outside the door to his flat.
"I don't need your pity John." Says Sherlock sadly as if the mere idea John might actually like him is unthinkable.
He slams the door in John's face before he can correct him and make his intent clear.
John spends the rest of the evening in his cab just outside Speedy's Sandwich Bar trying to get Sherlock to talk to him only to have his calls rejected.
The police come and shortly after that another cab pulls up.
John watches him get into the other cab with a surge of jealousy.
He follows them out of curiosity and watches from a distance as the car pulls up outside a quiet spot.
He watches as Sherlock is taken inside. Pulling the gun from his glove compartment he follows without hesitation.
He finds them in an abandoned classroom, the poison in Sherlock's hand and a gun pointed at him. John shoots the other cab driver dead and leaves before Sherlock gets a look at him.
He throws the gun away and returns to find the police have arrived. He spots Sherlock talking to Lestrade wearing a shock blanket. John stands there feeling slightly foolish. Sure he'd just killed someone for him but that didn't mean he'd automatically made amends with Sherlock, what if he sent him away again?
Sherlock sees him and smiles slightly easing John's nerves.
"My rides here" He tells Lestrade slipping the orange blanket off his shoulders and heading over to John.
Hey so I hope you liked this fic, it was meant to twisty and slightly ambiguous on purpose to keep you guessing.