"What've we got?" Sherlock asked as he ducked under the plastic yellow police tape, holding it briefly for John.
"Four dead, all with the same stab wounds in the same parts of the body. No witnesses, no insurance on any of them so no chance of that being a motive." Lestrade briefed them, his voice as weary as his eyes, he'd been up all night Sherlock thought mildly. Almost made him feel bad for already having solved the case. Almost. Holmes quickly strode over to the victims, leaving Watson's considerably shorter legs to follow him. He stooped low, lifting the cheap blue tarp from the body. All the wounds were messy, not calculated, it confirmed his earlier theory of it being the work off an amateur. All of the men had rough, calloused hands with a few rings on each hands. Gamblers. Yep, he had been right.
"I know who did it." The consulting detective announced proudly. John started at him.
"You've barley even glanced at the bodies, how could you possibly know who did it?" He asked incredulously. Sherlock smirked at him.
"Do you know me at all?" He asked sarcastically, causing a slight smile to slip onto the doctor's face.
"Lestrade! Come here." Sherlock called, gesturing to the man.
"God, what a night!" John exclaimed with a smile, the wind tearing at the jacket. Sherlock glanced over at him as he knotted his scarf again.
"I thought Anderson was gonna shit a brick when you started in on her." Sherlock chuckled.
"She started it." He protested, knowing he sounded like a child buy not caring.
"But seriously, did you have to mention her pregnancy scare?"
"She deserved it...stupid cow." John sputtered out a laugh. When Sherlock insulted people, it was either extremely funny or downright frightening.
"I guess she did though, she was being a bit unfair." Holmes gaped at him.
"A bit?! A bit unfair she-" John began laughing and playfully bumped the detective with his shoulder.
"I was kidding mate." He told him. Sherlock looks at him, a small almost shy expression on his angular face. Heat blossomed in the pit of the blondes stomach. Goddammit, not again he thought. Every time Sherlock looks at him like that...every time he smiled at him...shit. Sherlock ran a pale hand through his wind swept curls, and have John another sideways glance. Shit. Sherlock didn't even know they were in front of their flat until John reached out and twisted the tarnished doorknob. Pale gold light spoiled out of the foyer and into the called sidewalk.
"So, what will you bring doing once we get upstairs?" The brunette asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. John's ears went pink.
"You promised you wouldn't mention my blog anymore." He tried. But the taller man only smiled wider.
"I lied." John felt a grin his face.
"You are such a cock!" Sherlock's laugh rumbled through the staircase.
"And yet you keep me around." John jammed his key in the door and began to push it open.
"Only because you pay half the ren-" the words died in the doctor's throat and all the laughter stopped. Because there, standing in the middle of their flat, was a man John had never seen before. John was in awe, not just because of the total stranger standing in front of him, but because of how...handsome he was. Women would swoon in his mere presences, guys would murder him just to keep their girlfriend's from dumping them for a chance to be with him. He was tall...a few inches taller than Sherlock, which was impressive enough as it was. His skin was a lovely even shade of caramel, obviously Hispanic of some nature. He had large green eyes with coal black eyelashes that fanned out like feather dusters. His hair was dark and cut short and his mouth was a sculptor's dream, wide, full, pink and bow shaped. He build was that of someone who worked out regularly, but wasn't a meat head, lean muscles were evident even under his tailored suit. John had never seen such a handsome man before in his life. And for some reason, that pissed him of even more.
And he didn't know who the fuck he was.
"Mate, what...what the he'll are you doing I our flat?" The stranger didn't even seem to hear him.
"Hello? I'm going to give you the seconds to get the fuck out of gets before I call the police-"
"Donnie?" John felt his heart freeze. He turned slowly to look at his flatmate. He couldn't...know this man...could he? But the way he had said his name...
"Sherlock." The man said, his voice almost cracking. John felt like he had entered a parallel universe. They did know each other...what the bloody fucking Hell? Sherlock didn't have friends, and the few he did have, John knew.
Sherlock took an uncertain step forward, his legs seeming to move on their own accord.
He walked up to the man -Donnie-he had called him, and did something that William Sherlock Holmes never did...He hugged him. The stranger wrapped his arms around the detectives thin frame, muscles flexing. Sherlock bathed in the familiar scent of Donnie, expensive cigarettes, Dial soap and sharp aftershave. He felt his eyes involuntarily slip shut, his pale hands gripping the back of his pressed shirt. Distantly, he heard someone clear their throat. John. Sherlock felt a thousand emotions tear at his chest as he released his grip on Donnie and turned to face John's handsome face, that had the strangest expression on it.
"Donnie...this is John, my..." neither of the men missed his hesitation.
"My best friend...John...this is Adonnis...my ex."
