The Devils Breath

by SoldierLover

John has accepted the fact that Sherlock is a permanent fixture in his life. He is not everything that John wanted in his life, but the good doctor is finding that he can't survive without the excitement provided by Sherlock. The question is how can Sherlock survive with out his good doctor? Rated M for drug references. Thank You 'I Worship Stephen Moffat' for being a brilliant Bet

Devils Breath

Okay so this rendition of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's characters belongs to BBC and all their affiliates. It's just for fun boys and girls, Moffat and Gatniss are the real genius's. Thank you to my wonderful beta, I Worship Steven Moffat, without whom your reading experience would not be the same.

Chapter 1 -

9:30 Where are you - SH

9:35 Not that I had to, but I did tell you that I was going out tonight – JW

9:36 Didn't answer my question – SH

9:43 I'm at Janets house – JW

9:44 Fine – SH

9:48 Ever notice how repetitive she is? – SH

9:50 Sod off - JW

10:37 John where's my gun? – SH

10:46 John?– SH

10:50 Mrs. Hudson asked that I stop you from ruining anything else in her house. – JW

10:57 It wasn't for the house, John. – SH

10:59 Come home ASAP. Have a lead. – SH

11:03 Oh its 11:03. You're 'asleep' now. – SH

12:35 Goodnight John Watson. – SH

12:37 Goodnight Sherlock Holmes - JW

12:38 I knew you were awake. Bastard - SH

John knocked on the doorframe as he hesitantly entered the living area of the flat him and Sherlock shared. The door was open and it was his flat too, so it wasn't as if he had to knock; John had simply walked into far too many awkward situations to forgo a knock. Popping his head around the corner John was surprised to find that Sherlock was not perched in his chair, nor was he sulking on the couch. In fact there was no sign of Johns exasperating flatmate.

For a moment he wondered where he could be, but as John had spent the night with a lovely woman the night before, he was not ready for Sherlock to come in and deduce why she wasn't right for him. So, with a sigh of relief, John moved to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

His mind wandered to the previous night with Janet. He had met her on a case, but she still did not seem to understand why his telephone continually lit up throughout the evening, or why John actually chose to answer it. John hadn't tried to explain it to her; he could barely explain it to himself. He couldn't deny Sherlock any more; in fact, he found that he tended to become bored when he was away from his annoying flatmate.

John had, however, set limitations. If he was on a date he wouldn't respond after eleven o'clock. Sherlock had so little dating experience that there was a chance that he believed John was asleep. John scoffed at the thought. Who was he kidding, there was no chance John would trick Sherlock that easily. It hadn't worked last night, and it wasn't likely to work any time soon.

The rest of Johns morning was surprisingly uneventful. He read the morning paper, responded to comments on his blog, and was just about to make lunch when he heard his elusive flatmate. The front door of 221B Baker Street slammed shut with such a force that he knew it could not have been Mrs. Hudson. John, who was just entering the kitchen, stopped and waited for his arrival.

"John!" Sherlock bellowed before he had even reached the top of the steps. Racing into the flat he stared at the empty chairs in the living area. His eyes wide with excitement, John was able to deduce that Sherlock had found a case less than twenty-four hours since they had solved the last. John noted this with interest.

"Yeah Sherlock, I'm right here."

Sherlock whipped around to face John, who was now leaning against the kitchen table nonchalantly. John smirked at the look on his mates face. A mixture of relief and irritation flew across his chiseled features. It never ceased to amaze John how complex Sherlock was. For a man who insisted had no need for emotion, he could sure throw quite a fit when he wanted to.

"You weren't here this morning." His words are sharp, obviously irritated by Johns ability to maintain a fragment of a social life.

"I told you I would be with Janet. I had a nice time, if you want to know." He hadn't had a good time, he had only said that to make Sherlock feel embarrassed. Sherlock was right she was bloody repetitive. John found himself silently cursing Sherlock for planting that idea.

John knew that Sherlock didn't have any understanding of regular relationships and his naivety reached far beyond intimate relationships. The man didn't know how to even be friends with someone Honestly, it as a miracle that John had stuck around as long as he had. The really sad part was that even John knew that, he couldn't leave

"Right, well, erhm..." Sherlock's voice trailed off as he tried to determine how he was expected to respond.

'He looks like a nervous teenager,' John found himself musing. Putting him out of his misery John took over the conversation.

"So, what does Lestrad have for us?" It was all the encouragement he needed, and the consulting detective resurfaced. There was that look. The look that meant Sherlock was becoming manically excited over something grotesquely inappropriate. John adored that look.

"A string of seemingly independent and isolated murders throughout London. Four separate locations, four separate couples, the male companion has attacked the female companion and killed her with his bare hands. Lestrade's trying to say that the events are unrelated. I swear, how thick can you people become? No offense of course. There is no such thing as a coincidence."

"Well the men, are they still alive?" John was attracted to the game, there was no denying it. He knew it was only a mater of time before he was as enamored with the criminal activity as his partner.

"Don't be dull John, of course they are alive, they're the ones that killed the women."

"Well why don't we just ask them then?"

At this Sherlock stopped to look John head on, as he had been pacing the room in a frantic attempt to walk through the problem. John knew immediately that he had found the pin that had ignited the fire for Sherlock. His eyes stopped jumping around in his head and locked with Johns as he spoke.

"Not one of them remembers. They have nothing obviously in common. Two of the couples were just shags, one was married, and the other couple was dating. The last thing all the men can remember is being in a public setting, one at a restaurant, one was at the cinema, and the other two were at different pubs nearly across the city. So what made them do it?" Sherlock rubbed his temples, greatly emphasizing the last sentence.

John felt himself slip in to the mode. "Couldn't they be lying? It could be some sort of cult stunt yeah?"

"No, that's too simple."

"Not everyone is as clever as you Sherlock, sometimes things are just that-simple."

Sherlock's hands pressed together under his chin and a slight hum escaped his parted lips. John assumed that was to be taken as a response. Obviously John's deductions were worthless to the brilliant Sherlock Holmes. Scoffing softly, John pushed away from the table he was leaning on and went to find himself some lunch. Settling on a sandwich and more tea, he got to work.

As John busied himself in the kitchen he continuously glanced back at his flatmate. Sherlock was obviously deep within his mind palace, searching for the missing clue. His eyes were skipping back and forth, sifting through an endless stream of information. John was familiar with the Method of Loci, but had never been successful in putting it into practice. Sherlock's mental abilities were startling, if nothing else.

Making sure to set the second plate down a little louder than entirely necessary John brought Sherlock back to reality.

"Eat."

"I don't need it. Vessel." Sherlock offered the word as an explanation, his eyes still glazed and unfocused and his fingers still nestled pointedly beneath his chin.

"Dammit that is not an excuse Sherlock. I am a medical doctor and there is no way I can stand by knowing you haven't eaten in 2 days. Eat and then you can go back."

Sherlock gave him a defeated look before picking up the sandwich.

"Tea?"

John was placing his own cup to his lips as Sherlock spoke.

"The kettle's still hot."

Sherlock simply looked at him placidly.

"Fine!" John exclaimed with a little more resentment than he expected. Shoving the hot cup into his friends' hand he stomped back to the kitchen to make a new cup for him self. He didn't care if he sounded like a child.

Sherlock didn't mind either. Smiling slyly, Sherlock placed the untouched tea back on the table and watched as John maneuvered around all of Sherlocks experiments in the kitchen to make himself a new cuppa. For a short moment Sherlock found bliss in watching Johns anger. He found the emotions of his flatmate and doctor quite amusing, and insightful.

A thought fluttered across his mind quickly. So quickly Sherlock barely noticed it, but he did notice it. And the thought shocked him.

What would he do without his doctor?

Thank you for reading everyone. Please take a moment to leave me a comment. Feel free to praise, criticize, tell your life story, whatever. All the best 3 SoldierLover