5:30am, the sun had just started to rise and Dr John Watson plunged heavily onto his bed. He never believed his muscles could ache so much, even in the army he had less of a workout than this. It had been a long night with Sherlock, once again his best friend was wired into a case and had utmost refused to take a break until it was solved. Unlike John, Sherlock never seemed to feel any kind of fatigue…or any kind of basic human need in fact which sometimes worried John but he had begun to get used to Sherlock's weird way of survival classing everything else as just transport. Taking a deep breath John fell back onto the mattress, caring little of the idea of getting changed into pyjamas, he was far too tired to bother. He had had enough of the day and just wanted to sleep for just an hour or two before Sherlock would get onto his next case and force him to run round London.
Finally, maybe I can get some peace and quiet for a little while. John told himself, awkwardly spread across the bed, arms now pressed behind his head as a sort of pillow. He closed his eyes letting his mind drift off into a dark haze, free from all Sherlock related thoughts.
John Watson opened his eyes to the burning sun that shone brightly in the clear, crisp blue sky. He could hear the delicate sway of the waves as they danced across the sandy shore, smell the sweet aroma of palm trees in that salty air and feel a soft and fluffy towel against his shoulder blades. He was no longer in 221b Baker Street but much rather his own personal tropical paradise. Taking a large breath of the sweet fresh air, John relaxed deeper into the soft towel of the lounge like deck chair.
"This is the life," he exhaled happily sinking deeper into personal bliss; he turned his head towards the small white table towards his lounger where an empty glass sat still packed with colourful straws and mini parasols. Suddenly John's mouth went dry, he wanted a drink. What is a tropical paradise without a brightly coloured drink? Then like as if the whole island could read his thoughts a tall, blonde woman wearing a tight red bikini and wrap around skirt swaggered femininely over towards the reclining Watson holding an electric blue beverage with various fruits sitting on the rim as a decoration. She came to a halt in front of the table, just in John's perfect view, where she swished her hair and smiled a toothy smile at the man in front of her before delicately placing the neon drink onto the table besides the empty glass.
"Why, hello there," Watson smiled kindly with a hint of lust. The blonde woman giggled innocently before blushing a rosy red. John closed his eyes knowing that in this world everything could go the way he wanted them, no cases, no Sherlock, no late nights, no Sherlock, no rushing around London and best of all, no Sherlock. Relishing those thoughts Watson took hold of the cold glass and took a sip from the cool liquid, feeling his thirst being quenched quickly. He took another mouthful of the sweet drink, swirling it round his mouth savouring the taste. He let his mind wander into the sounds of the overhead birds that chirped as they flew over the shore.
"Bored."
John's eyes widened as he spat and swallowed his drink at the same time, almost allowing him to choke. That familiar voice was here, he wished he was simply hearing things and that the noise was just a distant nightmare. So he simply ignored it.
"Bored."
The voice sounded again causing Watson to jump, dropping his glass into the sand, the voice was louder this time, sounding more agitated and impatient. He couldn't be here, it just wasn't possible. John shook his head, refusing to acknowledge the sound, this was his world and he could pick and choose exactly who and what he wanted in it and he sure as hell didn't want his flatmate here. Once again he lay back onto the soft towel feeling the hot air beat against his skin.
"John I'm BORED!"
Watson's eyes flashed open, as he jerked his head to the right, to wear the pretty blonde girl was standing…except she was no longer blonde…Johns gazed up at the figure in front of him, he looked up at the thin pale skinned legs with a red wrap around skirt which was followed by the tight red bikini bra that none other than the great Sherlock Holmes was now wearing. It was simply the most horrifying thing he had ever seen in his life, and he had seen limbs being blown off. John's eyes widened like golf balls, his throat went dry despite the cold liquid that had been present just moments beforehand and the only action he could think about applying to the situation was just a frightened yell.
Sitting up with a start, with the yell still caught in his throat, the man that disrupted his dream was standing at the foot of the bed, arms folded and looking as irritated as ever.
"I'm bored John, get up," he demanded like a spoilt child. He didn't even acknowledged the frantic look on his flatmates face. He was far too restless to try and sleep, besides the many cups of coffee had him far more than hyperactive and weren't going to give up their caffeine any time soon. Once again John had hidden his cigarettes so smoking was out the question, he was half hoping for them to be under the skull again but alas John was getting smarter and had moved them. He didn't even need to get started on television, all in all there was nothing to do and if he was going to sit around bored then he wasn't going to do it alone. Besides it was either wake up John or shoot that blasted wall again which would have resulted in waking John so he may as well wake him up the nicer way instead of making him panic thinking there was a burglar or something.
John rubbed his eyes; his heart was racing from the sudden wake and that image which he was trying desperately to get out of his mind. He just couldn't get away from Sherlock, it was utterly impossible. He looked at the small digital alarm clock next to his bed: 5:45am…he had been asleep for fifteen minutes! For a moment he wanted to growl and pounce on Sherlock for being so inconsiderate but quickly thought against the idea realising that they were in his room and he didn't want any of his own personal possessions getting broken.
"Sherlock, do you have any idea what time it is?" Watson asked, groggily with a sharp edge to his voice, he was trying his best to keep calm for his own sanity.
"Why do you ask such a ridiculous question when you know that I can clearly see the clock next to your bed?" Sherlock replied, lowering his eyebrows slightly, he hadn't picked up the meaning behind his question, or maybe he was purposely trying to be annoying.
"You know what I mean Sherlock, unlike you I am most definitely human and I most certainly need to sleep and fifteen minutes will not suffice!" John snapped rubbing his fingers over his eyebrows feeling a headache coming on.
"But I'm bored John, besides sleeping is dull and a complete waste of time, you can't accomplish anything when asleep so why bother with it?" The taller man stated with a heavy sigh emphasis on the word bored. He hadn't moved from the spot and just continued to stare at the man that sat looking like the dead.
"Well I won't accomplish anything while I'm awake either in this state," John mumbled to himself knowing that no matter what he says, Sherlock was going nowhere, he was half tempted just to tell him where his cigarettes were just so he could sleep but felt that that would be a little selfish because he would just be encouraging Sherlock's harmful habit.
"Are you getting up then?" Sherlock asked with a slightly unsure questioning gaze.
"Yes Sherlock, I am getting up," the smaller man barked with a frown. He still didn't know why he always gave into Sherlock's requests, if any other man (or woman even) woke him up like this he would shout verbal abuse, throw something at said person and then go back to sleep. But with Sherlock it was very different; he just couldn't refuse him despite the bizarreness of some of his demands like travelling half of London just to send a text.
"Good, we can play hangman to kill time, I'm sure Lestrade will be over in just under an hour, they're must have been some form of crime during the night," Sherlock said, eyes flaring with excitement at the idea of another crime to solve even though only an hour ago he had only just solved one.
"No no no, we are not playing hangman again," John shook his head in protest, flaring his hands out like he was swiping something from his face just to emphasize the objection.
"Why not?" The taller man asked, showing a small sign of confusion as he pulled a face. It was a game he always won at, and he knew that John would never play Cluedo with him again, besides the rules are clearly wrong, the victim was the only one who could have done it, and he always refused to play games that involved dice because it was always 'chance' that you would win. Sherlock knew two things about himself for certain: he was always right (anyone could have made that mistake with the sugar, all the evidence points towards it) and he never loses.
"Because how am I supposed to know that was even a word?" Watson grumbled, Sherlock always used the longest and trickiest words in his vocabulary (which in itself was huge) or picked words that can be purposely misspelt in different ways so it would just throw him off.
"Well you should do, you're a doctor," was the other man's serious reply. John mentally slapped himself on the forehead. He doubted there was anyone more annoying on the entire planet, he swore he should be awarded a medal for being able to put up with Sherlock for so long and not wanting to jump off a cliff or push Sherlock off a cliff.
"Just no, Sherlock, can't you think of something else?" The doctor asked running a hand through his grey streamed hair. He swore he felt like Sherlock's father sometimes, he sure acts like his parent and Sherlock still has his childish moments there was no denying.
"Fine, you can always help me with my new experiment, I'm measuring the time it takes for an average man to regain composition after being kicked in the genitals," the consulting detective explained, beginning to pace the others bedroom, holding his hands behind his back with his chin up looking as obnoxious as ever. John gulped, from anyone else he would have thought it a joke but the serious looks in Sherlock's eyes really made it look like he was being entirely serious.
"Er…hangman it is," Watson chose without a second thought. He would rather be humiliated with a lack of the more 'Sherlock' styled terminology and have a lesson on why he should know this word than have his testicles kicked by his eccentric flat mate.
Several long words later and a frustrated Watson with a good mind to hang his friend there was a heavy knock at the front door.
"Hopefully that will be Lestrade," Watson announced wanting to burn every dictionary in existence, he hopped from his usual armchair letting his union jack cushion drop back into place. He gave the impression he wanted a case more than Sherlock but in all honesty anything would be better than listening to Sherlock call him an idiot excessively. Before Sherlock could say anything else Watson had rushed over to the door and opened it to find Lestrade standing there with a stressed look on his face. He nodded a greeting to Watson before steeping into the room, eyes quickly fixating to Sherlock.
"What is it this time?" Sherlock inquired solemnly although internally he was getting at least a little eager, anything was better than being bored. He also loved to show off his intellect to Lestrade and to mock Donnovan and Anderson who never understood that it is possible to be this smart and the that there is a difference between being a sociopath compared to a psychopath.
"There's been a murder," Lestrade stated, a small smile played against Sherlock's lips, 'murder' had always been one of his favourite words.
"Where?" The detective queried with a clear spark in his voice.
Lestrade looked Sherlock up and down, taking into account his clothing choice, "you might want to wear something warm," he said, also turning to Watson who was already wearing what looked to be a whole sheep.
"Warm?" Sherlock actually looked confused, he was trying to think about where he could possibly need something warm, it was a warm day outside and in the immediate area, the time was still early as Lestrade only gets into work at 6:30 and it was only seven which meant the crime had to be in near vicinity. As by the looks of his manner of dress 'warm' he has already been to the crime scene. Maybe the caffeine was wearing off meaning his brain power was failing him. Damn human fundamentals, why do we need sleep?
"Yes warm, I'll give a few minutes to prepare," Lestrade carried on as he made his way back out of the room and to the police car that was parked outside.
"An ice rink?" Sherlock identified with a slight look of worry on his face. He had never been to an ice rink before; it wasn't exactly in his natural hobby list. He now understood why Lestrade had insisted on warm clothing, the air conditioning was far colder in here and Sherlock for a change was glad he was wearing a black jumper (and no it wasn't one of Johns).
"The body was found on the ice…you can ice skate right?" Lestrade asked looking at Sherlock and Watson, John was beaming looking like a child that was containing excitement whereas Sherlock had managed to get even paler.
"Oh yes! I haven't been ice skating since I joined the army, I used to go every two weeks, I'm sure as soon as I get on the ice I'll pick it up again, besides it's just like riding a bike," John exclaimed, his used to go with his sister when he was younger, it was the only time where they sort of got along. They both turned towards Sherlock who hadn't answered yet and looked as though would just slip out through the entrance at any second.
"Can't you just I don't know move the body onto the more human orientated surface?" Sherlock asked tearing his gaze away from both men, he couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed at his lack of ability to do something that they could. He always like to think he was far superior to everyone else, particularly with intellect because clearly he was but this…Sherlock had never once set foot on ice, he was slightly regretting not going with Mycroft on those odd occasions.
"You know we can't do that Sherlock…you can't ice skate can you?" Lestrade smirked, feeling proud that he could actually do something that Sherlock couldn't he never thought he'd see the day, not only that but if Sherlock wanted to get in on the crime he would have to go onto the ice, which is more than certain so he is highly likely to make a fool of himself…another chance he can film Sherlock on his phone just like the time after he'd been drugged, that was funny.
"Seriously…you? You can't ice skate, I thought you could do everything," John stated in astonishment, the great Sherlock Holmes unable to do something. Sherlock scowled.
"Of course I know how to skate on ice," he untruthfully claimed, Sherlock would never admit he couldn't do something, neither will he admit defeat trying to do something…well nothing so far.
How hard can it be? He told himself working out the calculations of pressure and balance in his head. He hoped he wouldn't make a fool of himself in front of John; he would never live it down.
"Right ok then, let's get the skates on we haven't got all day, oh and mind your head on the low beam towards the rink," Lestrade said pointing towards it.
After trading their shoes for the skates, they sat down to put them on. Lestrade made short work of his and quickly made his way over to the ice telling Sherlock and John he would meet them there in a few minutes. Sherlock however was trying his best to postpone as long as he could. He desperately wanted to get in on the case as he hated being bored but making a fool of himself in front of Anderson and Donnovan would cause him much of his well-earned pride, he already gets mocked enough, he doesn't exactly need to give them anymore ammo. Sherlock held one of the bladed skates in his hand looking at every inch, trying to understand how they are used, usually he would work out who had previously used them before him but he had other things on his mind.
"So when was the last time you went ice-skating? I never knew it was something you would do, I always saw you as the indoor anti-social type that just liked to solve crimes and experiment on pieces of anatomy," Watson inquired, tying the laces on his skates making sure they were extra tight. Afterwards he stood up; hardly swaying at all he remembered how easy it was to balance.
"It's been quite an extensive period of time since I have last been so I can hardly remember," Sherlock lied, slipping the final shoe onto his foot and tying the lace up, he hated how uncomfortable the skates felt on his feet, they were nothing like his comfy shoes, everyone else's feet had been in here beforehand, it can't be that hygienic.
"Ok, think you'll need any help?" John asked kindly, even he had noticed the lack of self-confidence Sherlock had right now, Sherlock might call him an idiot but he knew him well enough to know when something was up, usually.
"Erm…maybe, after all it has been a long time since," Sherlock took a deep breath before standing up, the pressure on his feet hurt it felt like he was walking on a balance beam that was digging into the palm of his foot and before he knew it he had lost his balance and fallen back onto the chair. Sherlock muttered something under his breath; this was going to be a serious problem.
"Whoa there, looks like you've forgotten, here let me help," Watson smiled taking hold of Sherlock's arm and pulling him up, Sherlock swayed on his feet holding his arm out subconsciously trying to balance while grasping hold of John. It took a few seconds for Sherlock to gain some steadiness trying to focus entirely on his feet.
"Ok, shall we try and walk?" John encouraged, he was beginning to doubt that Sherlock had even worn a pair of ice skates let alone skate in them. Sherlock reluctantly nodded as John stepped forward and Sherlock's balance was disturbed yet again, he grabbed hold of John trying to steady himself his fingers digging into the wooly material that his friend was wearing.
The pair slowly made their way over to the ice itself which took longer than Sherlock would have hoped, John however was more than happy to move slowly, it wasn't everyday Sherlock Holmes clings onto you. Lestrade was waiting at the gate; in the distance a bunch of officers were gathering around a body on the floor both Anderson and Donnovan were there. Lestrade took a quick look at the position Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes were in and held back a laugh; they looked like a couple that had just come from a date.
"Having issues inner ear issues Sherlock?" Lestrade joked, knowing full well it was nothing to do with that. Sherlock grimaced but continued to hold onto Johns arm his knees shaking with every step completely on contrast to John who had no problem with walking at all.
"So shall we enter the rink?" Lestrade asked looking particularly at Sherlock. The taller man narrowed his eyes. Lestrade chuckled to himself; he tapped his pocket making sure his phone was with him, he knew he was going to need it today. Pushing open the gate, he ducked under the stupidly low beam; stepped onto the ice with grace and skated slightly in just enough to let the others through. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it up.
"Just need to text," he smirked, he knew it was immature besides it wasn't like he was going to YouTube the video or anything he just wanted it for own personal amusement when Sherlock pisses him off.
"Why don't you go first Sherlock," John declared nudging Sherlock forwards. For once Sherlock actually felt unsure about himself, he had little optimism that he would actually manage to step onto the ice without instantly falling over like an idiot. But he had to try none the less. Letting go of Watson and regaining what he could of his balance he took a step forward, Lestrade pressed the record button. The ice was frictionless and slippery, as soon as his second foot touched the ice it slid forward along with the other, unable to grab hold of anything Sherlock flailed like a fish and landed straight on his arse with a heavy thump. The ice was very cold he could feel the chill through his trousers which were now wet, he closed his eyes feeling the throb from the landing. Lestrade burst into laughter and John quickly covered his mouth knowing that his friends pride was already seriously hurt. The noise had caught attention from Anderson and Donnovan who had also taken a glimpse of Sherlock now sitting on the ice looking really uncomfortable, legs spread out in front of him. Sherlock bit his lip holding back a scream, not for the pain but for the sheer anger from the embarrassment.
"Have a nice trip Sherlock?" Donnovan shouted.
"Ha-ha very original Sally, I've heard funnier jokes from my brother," Sherlock yelled back, everyone knew that Mycroft lacked a sense of humor and couldn't tell a decent joke even if it was ordered by the Queen herself.
"Ok Sherlock I'll meet you over there when you manage to stand up," Lestrade kidded skating towards the crime scene with ease and replaying the video to the rest if the crew who had managed to miss it. Sherlock ran his hands down his face with a sigh, "why John? Why did it have to be here?"
"You've never been ice skating before have you?" Watson asked even though he knew the answer to the question already. Sherlock would never admit he couldn't do something.
"Well I think that is a rather obvious assumption after that little show," he sarcastically retorted, his skin was beginning to go numb over the ice. He folded his arms and mocked sulking, he didn't want to try and get back up, and he had a feeling that the video was going to end up in Mycroft's possession at some point which would probably be used as blackmail to get him to do a case that Mycroft was too lazy to do himself.
"Ok, calm down there is no reason to get all stressed, everyone falls over on their first attempt, hell I did on the first three attempts, let me help you up," John said, pulling the taller man up by his underarms so he was back on his feet, still rather unsteady. John brushed off all the small pieces of ice that were on his coat. Sherlock instantly reached for the railing which he used to prop himself up, John stepped onto the ice with ease and glided over to Sherlock's side. Watson positioned his arm like the handle of a tea pot, "grab hold of my arm," John ordered politely, "I'll help you balance, I'm sure the quicker we get to the dead body, the quicker you'll forget about the whole falling over incident."
The consulting detective smiled, when did he ever manage to find a friend as good as John? After spending so much time alone and now having such a caring friend he never wanted to go back. He was quite proud of the idea that he had something that neither Mycroft nor Moriaty had and Sherlock never once believed he would ever care about someone as much as John. Sherlock took hold of his friends arm and was pulled along with the other skater. A carpeted mat was placed next to the dead body on the ice, this Sherlock was thankful for, the grip would stop him from falling over again.
Sherlock glanced at the body, taking into account all the details he could see.
"The victim is male, late twenties, about six foot two, professional ice-skater by the looks of the outfit and the expense and well use of the ice skates," Sherlock started, kneeling down on the carpeted mat.
"We believe that someone had hit the victim on the head and the back with a blunt object before strangling them and dumping the body on the ice," Lestrade explained, "the thing is there are no signs of a murder weapon that fits the bruise on the head nor back nor is there any clear wound on the neck which would suggest asphyxiation or even signs of struggle."
"John, mind confirming the cause of death?" Sherlock asked, he already had a few ideas. John nodded at Sherlock before kneeling down next to Sherlock on the mat; he inspected the body, noticing the developing bruise on the victims forehead which had a slight scrape going vertically along. He checked the victim's neck. This man had definitely suffocated, John examined.
"Yes, this man definitely died of suffocation," Watson agreed, getting back onto his feet, he frowned looking very confused.
"Anderson mind checking the ice tracks for me, look for the ones near the edge, they should be random with lots of cut off points and have various scratches near the main track," Sherlock ordered, Lestrade nodded to Anderson who reluctantly took off round the rink looking at the tracks.
"He's right there are some here," Anderson shouted, Sherlock smirked to himself. A professional skater would not leave disturbed tracks in ice, they would have belonged to another skater and the victim was the first person on the ice after the buffer had cleaned it up.
"Those tracks did not belong to out skater here, he was with someone else, teaching them how to skate, most likely female, victims hand has small indents in the skin, clearly from a tight grasp where the nails have dug in suggesting new skater digging fingers for support. Distance from each mark shows small hands most likely females, also there are tiny flakes of pink nail polish over victims skin, very much reinstates my prediction. Furthermore there are strands of long blonde hair on his outfit which clearly does not belong to him from when she loses balance and he catches her likelihood that the victim and this woman have a romantic relationship as there are traces of lipstick in the corner of his mouth and on the victims sleeve, a friend would not kiss on the mouth and even so would not last long enough to leave a mark for the man to wipe off so suggests romantic relationship, the couple weren't engaged or married as there is no ring or any suggestion that he had worn a ring so new relationship perhaps, maybe first date." Sherlock deducted while Lestrade's eyebrows furrowed deeper as he crossed his arms across his chest.
"So what has the got to do with the murder, did she do it?" Lestrade inquired feeling a little impatient he wanted to get this out of the way as soon as possible.
"This was not murder Lestrade, the woman in question was involved but this is nothing more than an unfortunate accident," Sherlock stated.
"Right you've lost me entirely," the inspector sighed running a hand through his short grey hair.
"The victim and the woman were the only two people on the premises am I correct?" The consulting detective asked taking another look at the body that was face down on the ice and examining it a little further.
"At the time of the death yes, the victim works here and was supposed to be opening up early this morning it wasn't till about an hour later the next employee came in and that the body was found," he replied. Sherlock nodded.
"A young woman on a first date going ice skating, a rather unusual motive for starters and even if she was planning on murdering him it would be unlikely that she would do it on an ice rink, somewhere she can't even skate so could result in any kind of accident to her own safety. If you are going to murder someone you would do it somewhere were you could actually do the murder as I have just found out myself how hard it is to stand on the ice and we know from the tracks that she couldn't. So this, this is an accident. The victim was skating round with the woman when he decided that he wanted to take it to the next step, so he beckons the woman to skate in the middle with him, the woman skates being told to pick up speed to keep upright, the victim turns to the side believing the woman is getting better and to move out her way as she is going rather fast, the woman then loses balance and without anything other than the man to grasp hold of, knocks over the victim face first into the ice, we can tell this from the rips in his jacket. Victim falls face first into the ice and the woman falls on top, sitting unconventionally over the man's head, look at the ruffled hair and the speckles of ice and water from where the woman had fallen over times before and was still wet. Unable to breathe the man claws at the ice, look at how pale his fingertips are and the ice in his nails, the woman presses her hand against his back trying to pull herself up hence the bruises notice there shape, like fingers? There are many scratches in the ice next to the body where the woman tried to pull herself up via ice-skates but couldn't grip on the ice nor could she push herself up because of the writhing and suffocating male beneath her. Until eventually the man stops moving, where she panics and finally manages to get off before leaving the man to be later found." Sherlock explicated, not pausing once to take a breath, both Lestrade and Watson had their mouths slightly agape at the speed and intensity of Sherlock's deductions.
"Amazing Sherlock, absolutely amazing," John praised giving Sherlock a smile, he couldn't help but feel proud of him, he often felt honoured to be Sherlock's flatmate and his best friend. He knew that he was one of a kind, that he himself was the first person that the great Sherlock Holmes had let into his life in the most personal way.
"Why thank you John," Sherlock smiled back, he loved being told how amazing he was it was such a difference than being called freak by everyone else. John was the first person to ever fully appreciate his knowledge, it never felt right anymore to do a case without him to be there to tell him he was doing well or is a genius.
"Oh…well…didn't expect that…hey but wait, how do you explain the bruise on his head then?" Lestrade smirked realizing that Sherlock had missed something out; maybe he wasn't all perfect after all.
"Easy, the victim is over six feet tall, you warned me about the low hanging beam when I came in, the victim was paying too much attention to the woman he was with to notice the beam and subsequently banged his head against it, which makes me think that it should be removed for safety reasons," he clarified with a smug face just to wipe off the grin on Lestrade's face.
"Well Sherlock you've done it again, we can't exactly arrest anyone for this but we will probably need to find the woman for questioning, we better get this body moved and get in contact with the family," Inspector Lestrade announced with a relived sigh that this case needn't go much further, he really wasn't in the mood for a murderer neither did he want to spend any more time with Sherlock today.
"All right lets wrap this up people," Lestrade instructed signaling to all the officers to start making their way off the ice rink. Sherlock heaved a sigh, well that was over quick, looks like he's going to go back to being bored again, he was really looking forward to a nice grizzly homicide which could keep him busy for at least an hour but still. Not to mention he had still made a fool of himself getting in here in the first place, well there isn't exactly much chance of ever having a case on the ice again. This was just a one off accident that even as an accident his hard to do they just fell in the wrong position which on ice is surprisingly easy to do.
"Hey Lestrade!" Watson called skating over to him out of Sherlock's ear shot. Sherlock wondered how on Earth he was going to get back onto the ice.
"After you remove the body, do you mind if Sherlock and I use the ice rink for a while. It's still technically a crime scene so no one else will come in but as the case isn't a murder it doesn't need any further looking in to, I just wanna at least teach Sherlock to at least skate a little on the ice without falling over, just in case you know if there is one day a murder on the rink it'll be far more productive for him to be able to move around without falling over," John asked glancing back at Sherlock who was testing out the slippery surface running the blade of his skates over it and pulling a face that said: this is impossible.
"Well, you saved me a lot of hassle and I guess I owe you from all the previous cases, I'm sure I can pull a few strings to give you a couple of hours in the rink alone, under one condition," Lestrade said a smirk playing at his lips, John raised a curious eyebrow.
"And what might that be?"
"You tell me in detail how many times Sherlock falls over," he chuckled it's about time that Sherlock is embarrassed by something; he's always humiliating everyone else. Though still he really did owe Sherlock for all the work he's done even if it was for himself, he helped catch a lot of criminals and save a lot of lives and by those kind of figures he was definitely a good man and Lestrade most certainly respected that.
"I suppose that's a deal then," Watson stated shaking Lestrade's hand with a courteous nod.
"Give me half hour to clear this place up," the Inspector answered before skating back off to the entrance. John made his way back over to the sitting detective who was chewing his lip in annoyance with a deep frown on his face.
"Guess what Sherlock?" John asked slightly excited, Sherlock looked up at him narrowing his eyes in discontentment, Watson was asking that stupid vague question again which had no possible right answer other than asking another question.
"Just tell me John instead of asking that irritating question," Sherlock snapped feeling a little stranded as he couldn't get off the ice by himself so even though the way out was only a few metres away to get there it felt like a lot further, if humans were supposed to skate on ice they would have been born with blade shaped bones that came out of their feet. It's naturally impossible for a person to do this so why it was a popular skill Sherlock has no idea.
"I'm going to teach you how to ice-skate," John stated proudly feeling rather smug for once, he was going to teach Sherlock something for a change, though he knew to watch out for the arrogance that was likely to come along with him. Sherlock doesn't like to be told what to do, even by his own brother who works in the Government.
"Say that again?" Sherlock blinked, looking agitated and confused at the same time.
Half an hour later, the body was removed from the ice and Lestrade and his team set out to find the woman that was accompanying the victim in the unfortunate accident. Sherlock stood defiantly at the entrance of the ice rink, patently refusing to go in.
"John I am not going back onto that frozen nightmare," Sherlock turned his head away from John with a sincere pout folding his arms disobediently. John rolled his eyes, it was rather easy to see the child inside of Sherlock, Watson guessed that Sherlock didn't exactly have a typical childhood anyway, busy parents, boarding school, dining etiquette and so on. He remembered Mycroft telling him that initially Sherlock wanted to be a pirate, that was something which he could somewhat picture, he was eccentric enough.
"Come on Sherlock, you know you don't like not being able to do something and I'm sure you'll pick this up fast, you usually do," John encouraged holding out his hand, he was beginning to get used to all the teasing about him being gay that now he didn't really care much, besides there wasn't anyone around to see.
"No, John, I am not making a fool of myself once again and besides falling over hurt," Sherlock blatantly uttered, he liked having his balance and losing control of that made him feel weak and vulnerable.
"Seriously Sherlock, it's not like I'm going to laugh at you and really you're afraid to get hurt, you got clipped by two cars when you chased the cabbie, jumped over the roofs of buildings to chase him and followed like a seven foot assassin all for a case and now you're saying you don't want to fall over on ice," John said unconvinced. His flat mate was just being overly stubborn.
"That was for a case John, it's different," Sherlock stated, still not giving in.
"How? Wait you know what it doesn't matter, we'll just go back to the flat and I'll go to bed and you can sit around being bored, how does that sound?" John spoke, he pretended to sound agitated and began to walk off knowing that this would get Sherlock's attention.
"Fine, I'll do it. But you're paying for tea I feel like a Chinese tonight," Sherlock answered. Watson smiled to himself; he was slowly starting to figure out how to get his best friend to actually do something.
"Agreed, now give me your hand," John requested flicking his fingers out and watching as Sherlock's eyes glanced at the outstretched hand, he could nearly see the thought process in Sherlock's eyes thinking whether or not he was actually going to do it. Sherlock took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders before reaching out and linking hands with John he pulled him onto the ice. The consulting detective swayed on the ice, his feet automatically went forwards and he had to pull them back before he once again toppled over. Sherlock dug his fingers into the back of the smaller man's hand and reached out for the barrier to steady himself. John could feel the nails prick his skin, he looked and saw the others knuckles pressed tightly against the pale skin and his mind quickly remembered the victim's hand.
Regaining balance and composition at the side, Sherlock straightened himself out, one hand grasped onto the barrier, the other in John's hand.
"Ok that wasn't too bad, now we need to start moving, I want you to slide your right foot forward and slightly raise your left, you can still hold onto the barrier and I promise I won't let go of you so if you lose balance I'll make sure you don't fall over," John kindly encouraged. The taller man stayed still for a moment, his focus solely on his feet, John noticed the constant wobble in his balance.
"You promise you won't let go?" Sherlock asked nervously for reassurance, he wasn't so worried about showing his weaker side to John, besides the man was the first person to ever see him petrified so seeing him like this was nothing.
"I promise entirely," John repeated skating slightly forward to ready himself for Sherlock's attempt. The younger man closed his eyes momentarily assuring himself that he would be fine and John would make sure that nothing would happen to him. He trusted his flatmate with his life, so he can definitely trust him now.
The detective moved his foot forward; it felt like it had a mind of its own as the rest of his body swayed backwards and because the ice was so slippery his foot kept moving forwards and it was like a weight had been pressed on his chest that continued to push him in the opposite direction his foot was going. It felt so confusing.
"I don't like this John," Sherlock said, his voice shaking as he felt like he was going to fall over once again, John tightened his grip interlocking his fingers with Sherlock's. It seriously was a good job he no longer cared what people thought about his sexuality.
"Just calm down and lean forward it will balance you out," Watson explained as Sherlock's face began to show clear signs of panic. He hated the feeling when you know you're about to fall over but there is nothing you can do to stop it from happening, your only hope is to stick out your hands and try to cushion the fall as much as possible.
"I can't, I'll fall over," Sherlock yelled now feeling like someone had a rope tied round his torso and was pulling back while another rope was tied to his foot and pulled it forwards.
"No you won't, trust me," John replied pulling his hand frontward to get Sherlock to follow. The consulting detective surprisingly did what he was told and leant slightly forward, the position still felt uncomfortable but he regained at least some control.
"See, now I want you to push forward with your left foot and once you start to move step onto your right, like you're walking but make it like a long step while making sure you lean slightly forward, ok?" The smaller man clarified. The detective nodded and followed instructions; he managed three steps while keeping his balance still holding onto the blockade for support before stopping again.
"Hey you're getting better already," John smiled cheerfully; the other man repeated the action feeling somewhat proud of himself.
"Ok the best way to learn is to take risks and see if you can manage it, right how about we give it a quick go away from the side ok?" Dr. Watson stated. Sherlock was a quick learner and besides it wasn't likely that he'll be able to get him back onto the ice again so he would have to learn the basics today.
"I-I don't think I'm ready for that yet," the taller man mumbled letting his speech slide, usually he was more than capable of doing two things at once but this was a very different situation.
"I think you are, here's the deal, we'll move just a few feet away from the side and I want you to copy my footwork if you feel like you're going to fall over then give my hand a squeeze and I'll take you straight back to the side ok?" He said, he could already feel the marks being left by the others nails, Sherlock however hadn't noticed how hard he was already squeezing but that was rather easy to do when not concentrating on that. The other nodded before reluctantly letting go of the railing and letting his flatmate pull him away from it.
Sherlock felt the ice beneath his feet sliding the blade ruthlessly forwards and backwards without his own control. He turned his attention to John's feet and watched how he moved, Sherlock had always been pretty good at copying people as they did things so without concentrating too hard on the movement he duplicated the movement himself and found it surprisingly easy to do. Before long he was skating slow exactly in time with Watson, he wasn't perfect and he continued to wobble but he had worked out his balance and could now move forwards.
"See isn't too bad is it?" John inquired proud of his quick teachings.
"I guess no-" Sherlock started leaning forwards a little too far, quickly losing all balance. He grasped hold of John's hand fiercely, John instinctively skated forwards trying to reach the nearest railing, but it was too late. Sherlock toppled forward, dragging John down in front of him. John landed harshly flat onto his back with Sherlock shortly following on top with an oomph.
"Ouch," Watson yelped feeling the surprisingly light weight of Sherlock on top of him, "I guess I spoke too soon." John gasped for breath; it was a little shocking after all.
Sherlock quickly pushed himself up from lying flat out on Johns chest so he was now straddling him, which again he quickly realized the position.
"I guess you did…this looks a little compromising…" Sherlock gasped, the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins. They both looked at each other and burst into laughter. The laughter was quickly silenced by a buzzing noise in Sherlock's coat pocket, he reached out for his phone realizing he had a text.
Nice moves little brother. Mycroft.