A/N: Oh, and please review! I'm a new author, so I need all the confidence building I can get. haha
Possession
It was the third time this week. His usual call out to John, "Phone!" stuck in his throat when he felt the small cellular device vibrate in his coat pocket. Sherlock had seen the disgusted look cross John's face when he read the first two to him. He heard the tension and struggle in his voice. John assumed Sherlock would feel the same way towards the small words printed on the screen. His grey eyes would meet Sherlock's expecting an empathetic look. Sherlock would present it, but he didn't feel the malice John did.
He explained his feelings as respect, curiosity, or even excitement of having someone on the same level as he. But something didn't fit right with each of those. He was too eager for those rare texts. Those dark brown eyes haunted him too much, but not in the slightest threatening way. The way he thought about how that suit fit that slim body so perfectly was more than just respect. Unlike everything else that catches his attention, Sherlock desperately dismissed these thoughts and filled his mind with whatever else he could, no matter how menial.
How's the ketone experiment coming? I trust that John is no longer reading your texts for you?
JM
Sherlock snorted. He almost felt embarrassed that it would take him until the third text for him to have John stop reading them…and that Moriarty knew it would. The first two were harmless. Of the same sort – "What are you doing? Not that I know. Fluorine can be tricky." and "Try chlorine next time." Now this one. He seemed keen on Sherlock's chemical experiments, he never commented on anything else.
Superbly. He is not.
SH
First time he's replied. Short, concise. Nothing that could be beneficial to him. After he hit send, he just looked at the blank screen. When John spoke, he almost jumped. Guilt? Surely not. "Tea?" Always with the tea.
"No," he replied as he buried his thoughts of JM and brought his mind back to the experiment at hand. Hours passed. He'd already synthesized several aromatic compounds when he felt it. A reply.
Obviously. I enjoyed our evening the other night. The look on your face when you saw your beloved John strapped to blow, you pointing a gun at me; it all had me in chills. We need to meet.
JM
Ah, to the point. Sherlock's heart rate elevated by an increment of ten, which he found troublesome. He glanced up to John who was sitting in his chair, reading a newspaper and sipping another cup of tea. Serene. Nonchalant. Perfect. This is not want he wants. In his hand he held the potential of chaos. Excitement. Not boring.
Yes.
SH
Minutes passed and this did nothing to calm his newly discovered anxiety. He convinced himself it was because it was an invitation to catch the man who is tied to almost every major criminal action. It would be insight. An opportunity handed to him on a silver platter. Those brown eyes looked at him in his mind's eye. The next text sent him an address. He knew it. Mayfair district. Luxurious hotel. The corners of his mouth were turning up in a smile before he became aware of it. He quickly masked it when he caught John's curious glance.
"Finished with the experiment?" he asked, looking at the phone then to Sherlock's abandoned instruments.
Sherlock followed his gaze, then answered unceremoniously, "Going out." He snatched up his coat and scarf quickly and just barely heard John's question of where he was going as he shut the door to the flat. In a second he had a cabbie asking the same thing, and this time he answered. The back of the man's head didn't notice the small waver in his voice.