John Watson flicked at his computer in irritation as he deleted yet another paragraph of his most recent try at recording the events of their last case. He had been up in his room for at least two hours now trying to put down the events that he had duly named The Hounds of Baskerville with nothing but a page of mediocre writing to show for it. There were several reasons for his slip in writing performance. The tired ache that still rested in his bones despite a good nights sleep, his annoyance at Sherlock, the fact that he had yet to leave his room due to that said annoyance, and, of course, Sherlock.
The bing from his computer made his brow tick down into a frown and his jaw clenched as he saw the familiar chat window pop up.
From: Sherlock
-John.
John stabbed at the exit button and closed out the tab as quickly as he could. They had been playing at this for half an hour now and John was in no mood to deal with it anymore. Of course, that never seemed to phase Sherlock and soon enough another 'John' was added to the growing list.
From: Sherlock
-John.
-John.
-John, we're out of milk.
John growled at the newest message. Sherlock was always wanting something, and if John was right there was more to this than just a missing jug of milk in the fridge. He quickly hid the window behind his writing, hoping to ignore it. The quick set of bings killed that hope where it lay, and he went back to the chat window to find out what Sherlock had to say next.
From: Sherlock
-John, we're out of milk.
-I need you to get us some milk.
-John.
-John.
-John.
The man in question let out a groan. Why did he feel like he would end up complying to Sherlock's whim?
From: Sherlock
-John.
-John.
-John.
-I feel like tea, John.
-Tea needs milk.
No. No, he would not comply this time. He was supposed to be angry at Sherlock. He is angry at Sherlock. And he wouldn't do anything for him till the man apologized.
From: Sherlock
-John.
-John.
-I need you to make me some tea.
-That tea needs milk.
-And biscuits.
Yes, he was very angry at Sherlock, and it was about time that Sherlock fully got that. With a bang John got up from his chair and stomped out of his room. As soon as he entered the living room his eyes went to search out Sherlock, who was lounging across the length of the couch with his head relaxing back against the arm, his eyes following John's progress across the room. Without further ado John slammed his hands on either side of Sherlock's head and glared down at the genius.
"You're really asking me to make you tea." John ground out as he stared into Sherlock's upside down eyes.
"Well, yes. But first you need to get milk." Sherlock stated factually. "Can't have tea without milk."
"That's not what I meant and you know it, Sherlock!" John yelled. "You experimented on me!"
"It was for the case, John. Nothing to be done about it," Sherlock said as he reached up and let his fingers tangle in the hair just above John's ear. "So calm down." He twisted his fingers, gripping John's hair for leverage as he tugged him down towards his lips, intending to give him a light kiss, but it was not to be.
"Dammit, Sherlock. No!" John said, smushing Sherlock's head back into the arm rest with his hand. "I ended up stuck in a cage calling out for help! And something cold and smelly fell on me and soaked my clothes! Clothes that you didn't allow me to change out of because you wanted to finish the bloody case! It could have been something dangerous, after all we were in a military research base!"
"Are you quite done?" Sherlock asked, the upward tick in his brow showing he was at least somewhat miffed at John's refusal of a kiss. John just glared down at him. "Really, John, there is hardly any chance at all that it is harmful. 94.2 percent that it isn't, to be exact."
"And what, is the other 6 percent?" John asked, his annoyance seeping through his voice.
"5.8," Sherlock corrected, but moved quickly on when he noticed John's darkening look. "But it applies to the chance that it will come up in the long run. That could mean anything from today to the day you die, though the chances lessen significantly the more you age."
"Oh! Well, isn't that just great!" John yelled as he flung his arms up into the air. "So now I have to have that hanging over me for the rest of my life. Bloody prefect!" He stomped away from Sherlock, intent on grabbing a cup of tea to help calm his nerves. It wasn't until he was two steps into the kitchen that he remembered that they were out of milk.
He stopped dead where he was. If he wanted tea he would have to go get milk. But if he went to go get milk then Sherlock would win. At the same time though, they did need several other groceries. With a groan he turned away from the kitchen and headed to the front door. And, of course, it was far too much to ask that Sherlock would just look the other way.
"Don't forget the milk, John." Sherlock said, his tone absent minded, but John could feel the smug sense of achievement wafting off of him.
"Yeah, yeah." John grit out, feeling a bout of vindictiveness rise in him, "I'm taking your wallet." and he was out of the door before Sherlock could say a thing.
The store that he planned to go to wasn't far, just three blocks up and a block over, so he forewent the taxi and set a quick pace towards his destination. He was only half a block into it when things began to get weird.
John had to freeze mid-stride as a lithe furred body wove between his legs, brushing up against them in obvious delight as it purred. He stared down at it in shock, barely taking in its lush black fur, before taking several hasty steps back in surprise. The cat followed right after him, butting its head against his leg and meowing up at him.
John carefully stepped around it, aware that cats weren't too fond of him, before continuing on his way down the street. When the cat followed he only glanced at it warily before ignoring it, sure that it would go on its way by the time he hit the end of the block.
It was not so.
In fact, not only did it follow him onto the next block, but it was joined by two others half way through. John was sure he made a sight to his fellow pedestrians as the group of cats followed in his wake, meowing and butting their heads against his legs. By the time he reached the store there were eight cats in total, and he was very glad that he could escape into the confines of the building.
Of course, the weirdness didn't just end there. Almost immediately after he entered the store, as he was browsing the produce isle, one of the workers came up to him to ask if he needed any help. He had been going to this store pretty much since he first began living with Sherlock and he had never been asked if he needed help.
The girl was pretty with light brown hair tucked up into a ponytail and a petite figure. She blinked up at him with long lashes and seemed to lean impossibly close as she waited for his answer. John couldn't help but shift nervously and take a step back as he politely declined. She pouted a bit but moved on, her pony tail swishing behind her.
With one last backward glance at the weird girl John continued on with his shopping trip, snatching the milk and biscuits grumpily even as he made sure to buy Sherlock's favorite brand. He had already forgotten the girl by the time he got to his usual check out line, the one he used unfailingly every time ever since his embarrassing row with the chip and pin machine.
The usual man stood quietly behind the counter, not even looking up as John said hello. John didn't let the silence bother him. The man, Charlie, was always like this, and John didn't think he had ever heard him say anything else then the amount that he had to pay. That's why it came as a great surprise when Charlie took a big breath, inhaling heavily through his nose, before bring his head up to lock eyes directly with John.
The man's eyes were a brilliant shade of blue, though they came nowhere close to Shelock's blue – grey ones, and held that half lidded look of lust in them. John immediately looked away as he felt a small blush begin to form and held Sherlock's wallet tighter.
"That'll be 22.53." Charlie said in a deeper and huskier voice then John had ever heard him talk in, and was sure right away that this was the voice that Charlie used in bed.
"Ah, yes, of course." John said, quickly shelling out the money. Charlie was making him very uncomfortable, and John wanted to get far away as soon as he could. John extended his hand across the cashier stand to hand him the money, but instead of grabbing the bills, Charlie grabbed his hand.
"So, what would it take to get your name and number?" Charlie asked casually as he rubbed small circles on John's outstretched hand with his thumb. "I'm sure we could have a great time together."John jerked his hand out of Charlie's grasp as if he had been burned and quickly placed the bills down on the counter.
"No, no. I'm sure we'd have a horrible time. We probably have nothing in common." John said quickly, his face burning with the heat of his blush. "Though I'm sure you're a very wonderful person. Anyways, gotta go. Very busy. Ta'." John grabbed the bags and began to walk as he quickly as he could towards the exit, but not quick enough to miss the disappointed sigh that Charlie let out as he made his escape.
It was a relief to John to finally make it out of the store, even as he noticed that his group of cats seemed to have grown during his absence. There was even a kitten sitting next to what John believed was its mother. They all stood at attention as he emerged from the store and let out a chorus of welcoming meows. John paused just long enough to take in the absurdity of the situation before shaking his head and moving on down the street, eager to get back to 221b.
By the time John had shut the door of 221b behind him, effectively cutting him off from the cats, his anger at Sherlock had all but bled away. Though there was a definite surge of annoyance behind his occupied thoughts when he found Sherlock in the exact same spot that he had left him.
John barely let out a huff about it though as he walked into the kitchen to put away the groceries, his mind far too occupied with the uncomfortable tingle that Charlie had left behind in the spot he had grabbed on his hand, when he felt Sherlock's gaze on him. He took a quick glance over his shoulder from where he was putting away the peas, and blanched when he noticed Sherlock's piercing stare, his deducing stare. John's shoulders bunched up, bracing himself for what was to come.
"You were propositioned." Sherlock stated flatly. "By the cashier. A man. And possibly one other though not so overtly. You probably didn't even notice."
"How?" John let out as he sagged in defeat, his head dipping down into his hand. He could hear an annoyed grunt from Sherlock and didn't even need to look up to know that face had taken on a look of distaste, the one John had named his 'Scrunchy Face.'
The couch shifting was John's only warning before Sherlock had a hold of his hand. He dragged it away from John's face and gazed at it intently before brushing against the exact same spot where Charlie had rubbed at it with his thumb.
"When you walked in you were flustered, but not by something that I had done, no. In fact, you had entirely forgotten about me if your sudden flare of annoyance as you walked through the door says anything." Sherlock started.
"By the way you're holding your hand I can tell it was grabbed, and by the way it was grabbed the person would have had to be behind a counter, so a cashier then. And the faint hint of cologne points to a male." John nodded in agreement and Sherlock smirked before focusing on John's shoulder and plucking a long strand of hair from his jumper."A strand of a woman's hair on your shoulder, brown and well taken care of. You don't like people in your personal space and are far too faithful, so she had to lean into you, not you into her."
"The Tesco you go to is out of the way, never busy, so there's no need to get close enough to someone to leave behind a hair. Thus she was flirting, but since when you walked in you were only conscious of where the cashier talked to you, the flirting was either too subtle that you didn't notice, or you did but the cashier's attempt was so much more direct that it was put out of your mind." Sherlock finished, looking up into John's eyes.
"Got it in one." John said with a smile.
"Yes, but..." Sherlock said contemplatively as he looked down at John's pants. "I'm not sure how the cats come in."
John laughed openly at Sherlock's utter confusion, his head tilting back to let it fully out. "Ah, yeah. They followed me to Tesco. And back. A whole pack of them."
"Cats don't like you." Sherlock said, his brow furrowed.
"Well, I wouldn't say that." John said, his amusement still showing through his voice. "Apathetic, maybe."
"Hmm." Sherlock hummed, obviously agreeing only to appease him. "Of, course." John let out a shocked bark of laughter.
"Oh, come here you git." John said as he pulled Sherlock towards his lips. Even as John started it, Sherlock took over. The entire kiss gave off a possessive vibe as Sherlock reclaimed John as his own, and they stood there, kissing and forgetting. Until, that is, Sherlock asked John to make him some tea and got punched.
Of course, the unusual events didn't just end there. People who had never even glanced at him before began to look at him, hit on him, and just all around embarrass John.
It even followed him to work where his patients, both men and women, young and old ( though no one below 18, thank God), flirted and winked. Even his coworkers started to hit on him. But, worst of all, Sarah, who knew he was going out with Sherlock, began to come onto him again.
The only good thing about it was that at the end of the day he was met by a possessive Sherlock who could read every single one of the propositions that had been directed at him on his skin. And possessive Sherlock meant possessive sex. Every. Single. Night.
However nice it was ,though, John could tell that Sherlock was getting to the end of his rope. He had begun to follow John on his trips outside so he could ward off people's advances with his rather prickly presence. He began to insist that John stay inside more and more, and for hours at a time he would stare at John from the couch. Watched him and studied him, to try and find out why he had suddenly become so irresistible to others.
The only place he hadn't followed John yet was his work, and only that because John had threatened to take away sex.
Sherlock's jealousy, though, didn't hit its peak until the next time he got a case. It was a simple case, barely a four, but he couldn't exactly let John go by himself with the computer, so he tagged along as well. On second thought, Sherlock wished he had never accepted it.
When they had got there it had proceeded like usual. They were brought to the scene, Sherlock was snarked at by Donovan and Sherlock snarked back, and then he solved the case. Easy peasy. And if John got a little too much attention from the crew and Donovan, and Lestrade glanced over at him one too many times, then who cares? Nothing major happened, the case was wrapped up, and John got to stretch his legs after being cooped in the house for too long.
Of course, with the way John's luck was going recently, it was only inevitable that it wouldn't last.
He had slipped away from the crime scene for a quick breather when he ran into Anderson, who had been collecting evidence nearby. Anderson's back was turned to him, but John could hear almost sniff-like noises coming from him in the quiet of the countryside.
Anderson turned before John could say a thing, his eyes finding him right away despite the fact that he couldn't have known that he was there at all. His nostrils flared as he took in deep breaths through his nose, and John could swear that he saw the man's eyes dilate from where he stood.
Anderson took several staggering steps forward, his nose stuck forward as if it were leading him forward, and John backed up just as quickly. Their awkward game of cat and mouse quickly came to an end when John backed up into a tree, the back of his head smacking into it and making his eyes flinch close from the unexpected pain. His eyes were only closed for a second, only a second, but it was just enough for Anderson to make it to him.
Anderson's nose went straight to the base of John's neck, inhaling deeply and nuzzling whatever patch of skin he could that wasn't hidden by John's knit jumper. John was frozen, equal parts stunned and disgusted, as Anderson took liberties with his neck. It wasn't until he felt a bruise start to form that he finally fell out of his daze and cocked back his arm to slug Anderson in the face.
Before he could even follow through with it, though, Anderson was pulled off of him and thrown to the ground by a livid Sherlock. John had never seen him so angry, with his lips brought back into a snarl and his eyes burning with anger. The glare that he directed towards Anderson, who was laying stunned on the ground, made John shiver.
Sherlock surged forward, anger in his stride, towards Anderson as the man began to collect himself, and John, noticing a bad situation when he sees it, surged forward as well. John grabbed hold of Sherlock's arm, tangling his fingers firmly into the cloth of Sherlock's jacket, and forcing his furious lover to stop in his tracks. Another tug brought Sherlock around to face him and John made sure to look square in his eyes.
"Stop, Sherlock." John said as calmly as he could even though his entire body shook. "You have to calm down."
But Sherlock wasn't answering and he certainly wasn't calming down. Instead he was staring directly at John's neck where a hickey was beginning to form. John could see the chords in John's neck jump and twitch in his anger, veiled thinly by his suddenly blank face.
Without a word Sherlock grabbed John's arm in a too tight grip and dragged him away. Without even slowing down he called over the taxi that was waiting by for them and put both John and him inside. Barely any words were spoken once the door was closed, and Sherlock soon settled broodingly into his seat, his hands tucked beneath his chin in his thinking pose. John didn't dare interrupt.
By the time they were back at 221b the silence had become thick and prickly, and John was unsure how to act, afraid that he would set off the beast the had invaded his lover. Sherlock himself was obviously deep in thought, his jaw clenching now and then in anger, and John was sure that he was analyzing the scene from earlier when he had saved John from Anderson. Even now John was still shaking, though why he was so affected by this when he had been through life and death situations without so much as a quiver, he would never know.
With a sigh, John began to shrug off his knit jumper. It was no longer needed in the warmth of 221b, and the collar seemed to scratch uncomfortably at the bruise Anderson had left every time he shifted. As soon as it was off, though, he wished he had kept it on.
Sherlock's eyes had zeroed in John's neck from where he was sitting on the couch the moment John had shrugged off his jumper. Time seemed to slow as John stared at Sherlock, stared and froze as he watched the beast in Sherlock rise up in fury at what he saw. In one swift moment Sherlock was in front of John, yanking on his arm and dragging him towards the bathroom, where he turned on the water to full power.
Sherlock pushed and John stumbled straight under the spray, sputtering like a wet cat. The water was too hot, turning John's skin red from the heat and making his clothes stick uncomfortably to his body. He tried to get out, but Sherlock blocked his way, grabbing onto John's arms and keeping him in.
"Sherlock, stop this!" John yelled, struggling in his grip. "Stop!"
Sherlock didn't even seem to hear him as he stared at John's neck, at the hickey that Anderson left. John wanted to punch him for what he was doing, to question him, but one look at Sherlock's eyes and both urges were pushed away. The look in his eyes, the lost desperate look that was hidden almost perfectly behind Sherlock's anger, pierced John, and he knew that this needed to stop. In one move John had flipped their positions, sending Sherlock into the spray with him and shoving him up against the wall.
"Sherlock!" John yelled, tightening his grip on Sherlock's arms for emphasis. "Enough!"
Sherlock's entire body grew stiff and his eyes wide as he stared at John's face, finally shaken out of his blind anger. In an instant, though, the stiffness bled away and Sherlock sagged against John, all of his energy gone in that instant. His arms snaked around John's waste, clutching at him desperately even as he took deep, shuddering breaths from where his head rested against John's shoulder.
"I can't let them take you away, John." Sherlock whispered against John's shoulder, his tone squeezing John's heart painfully. All the anger drained out of John as he wrapped his arms snugly around Sherlock, pulling him close.
"Yeah, I know." John said softly, pressing a light kiss to Sherlock's temple. "Now, come on. We might as well finish since we're already soaked."
By the time they had both showered and dried, Sherlock had gone back to his usual self. He sat quietly on the couch, staring at the skull in his hand, as John made tea in the kitchen. He didn't even glance up as John placed a cup of tea in front of him, only twirled his skull around in his hands as his thoughts began to form into a coherent plan. In one fast movement he whirled into a sitting position, his skull landing with a clunk on the arm rest.
"John, I need you to tell me everything." Sherlock said, staring straight at John. "From the very beginning."
"Where would I even start?" John asked, a little lost.
"The cashier, John.' Sherlock said. "The cashier."
"What!? But that was ages ago!" John said, startled.
"Yes, but the only logical start." Sherlock said, impatient now. "Tell me everything you remember."
John sighed and leaned back into his seat, preparing himself for a long talk. They had a lot of ground to cover. There wasn't much that John remembered too clearly, it had all blurred together at some point, but combined with what Sherlock remembered it made a hefty amount of data to sift through. John could see Sherlock's mind race through the facts they were compiling as 10 minutes blended into 30, and 30 blended into an hour, and an hour into 2. Finally, Sherlock straightened, a gleam in his eye.
"Smell." Sherlock said, excited now. "That's what connects it all together! It must be something your scent, something that you let off that draws in others that are nearby." Sherlock sniffed in John's direction from where he sat. "Why can't I smell it?"
He stood up and stalked towards John, getting up close to try and catch the elusive scent. He pressed his nose into John's neck and hair, inhaling deeply, but smelled only John's usual scent. John squirmed where he sat, letting out a huff of laughter as Sherlock's breath tickled him, before pushing him away.
"Stop it, Sherlock." John protested with an amused smile. "I doubt you'll find it now when you couldn't smell it before."
"Mmm." Sherlock hummed. "Perhaps I'm too used to you."
"Maybe, but shouldn't we focus on more important things?" John prompted. "Like where it came from?"
"Oh. It's from Baskerville." Sherlock said off-handedly as he returned to his seat. The complete silence that followed his statement, however, made him look up, only to spot an angry John.
"What," John grit out. "did you say?"
"Baskerville." Sherlock re-stated. "When you got that experiment spilled on you in the labs. It's the only possible explanation for all of the events."
"So what you're telling me," John said as he glared daggers at Sherlock. "Is that it was dangerous!? That this whole situation is all your fault!"
"It's hardly my fault." Sherlock said with a frown. "You're the one who ran into it."
"Oh! So it's my fault!" John yelled. "I'm the one who decided that it was a good idea to experiment on me! I'm the one who locked me up in the lab filled with possibly dangerous experiments and decided it would be a wonderful idea to turn off the lights!"
"There's hardly a need for sarcasm, John." Sherlock said petulantly.
"I swear, Sherlock, that if you don't fix this you'll regret it." John said, crossing his arms over his chest. Sherlock snorted.
"There's hardly anything that you could – "
"I'll cut off sex." John cut off Sherlock. "And if I come home with marks because of this bloody thing, then I won't even let you look at me 'till they're gone."
"...Fine." Sherlock agreed grudgingly, hating the thought of not being able to re-assert his possession over John when others overstepped their boundaries. "But don't expect it to be easy. I doubt they'll be willing to let us back in."
"Call your brother." John said promptly, and continued when Sherlock stayed silent. "Call Mycroft, Sherlock."
"No." Sherlock said, scrunching up his face in disgust. "He'll want a favor in return and I hate owing him favors."
"Oh, really." John said with feigned lightness. "Well, I think I'll go for a walk. It's such a nice day." And promptly got up from his chair and strode towards the door. Before he could reach it though, he was cut off by Sherlock.
"No." Sherlock said, pushing John away from the door and back towards the couch. "I'll...I'll call Mycroft."
"Good." John replied happily, giving Sherlock a small peck on the lips before heading back to his seat. Sherlock lingered near the door, only heading towards his phone when John shot him a glare. Sherlock pouted as he dialed Mycroft's number.
John watched quietly from where he sat as Sherlock replied to Mycroft with a frown. The frown deepened as the conversation continued, and he was soon pacing back and forth across the flat. The conversation barely lasted two minutes before Sherlock hung up and threw himself into his chair, curling up into a petulant ball.
"Well?" John asked.
"The cure will be here tomorrow with instructions on how it is to be applied." Sherlock said as he glowered into his knees.
"Tomorrow?" John asked. "Isn't that a bit fast?"
"He had had the cure prepared beforehand." Sherlock said.
"Excuse me?' John asked tightly.
"He had figured out what was happening a while ago." Sherlock explained. "While I was 'gallivanting around with my emotions clouding my mind.'" Sherlock said it with such straightforward distaste that John was sure that he was quoting it straight from the conversation he had just had with Mycroft.
"Well," John said as he rubbed his face. He wanted to ask why Mycroft hadn't stepped up before, but knew it would do nothing in the end, so he looked to the bright side. "At least it'll be over tomorrow."
Sherlock only grunted, still simmering over the fact that his older brother beat him so soundly to the punch.
"Sherlock, I think I can handle taking a bath by myself." John said plaintively as he pushed Sherlock's hands out of his hair where they had been lathering it with suds.
"The instructions said it needs to be applied to every part of your body." Sherlock said clinically, his shirt sleeves rolled and his hands wet. "And I won't risk you forgetting a place and having to start all over. I have to make sure myself."
"Yes, but it's embarrassing!" John complained.
"It's not like I haven't seen it all before." Sherlock said as he poured more of the anti-pheromone lotion on his hand. "Now lean forward so I can get you back."
John grumbled but obliged, leaning forward until the water line was just below his nose. John's eyes drooped lazily under Sherlock's ministrations, forgetting his earlier embarrassment, which was really from the fact that he was half hard under the water from all the attention that he was getting from Sherlock. Of course, the mighty Consulting Detective misses nothing, and after finishing John's back he adds a little more lotion to his hand before slipping a finger up John's ass.
"Sherlock!" John yelped in shock.
"The instructions said everywhere, John." Sherlock said matter-of-factly, a lascivious smirk on his face as he quirked his finger just the right way. John turned to putty in his hands.