Unfortunate Adventures of a Straight Man Never Ending
John was over the moon.
It was the night of his sixth-form reunion and when in the beginning he opted not to go, Harry managed to force him into changing his mind by promising to finally attend the AA meeting Sarah introduced her to, if he went.
John, as Harry proclaimed, was afraid to return to the real and safe world of common sanity which he left when he went to Afghanistan and now that he was back, continued with the reckless abandon with disregard to his safety, deciding to trounce and laugh in front of the many faces of danger with his newly-found and similiarly danger-hungry friend, Sherlock Holmes.
Therefore, if she was to attend an AA meeting and face the scrutiny and grating sympathies of fellow alcoholics, he would have to attend his sixth-form reunion where he would have to face the flashbacks of one of his happier moments in life when he was once young, sought and admired as compared to now of being old, tired and crippled inside out. Either it was to prove Harry wrong, that he can return to the normality of society whenever he wished, or that he really wanted Harry to attend the AA meeting, John found himself at his old college's auditorium with a drink in hand.
John was apprehensive at first. From the very moment Susan (nickname The Watchdog for when she was appointed the library monitor and not because of her physical appearance, certainly not), scrutinised him head to toe before handing him his name tag and ushering him inside, he knew he found himself lacking, broken from the war, physically and mentally, and was afraid his old mates would see the same.
As soon as people recognised him, though, he was soon embraced as happily and lovingly as all those years ago, and Afghanistan suddenly seemed like a distant memory.
"So, Doctor Watson, eh?" Eddie (Ed the Brickhouse because of his build) teased, nudging at the woman beside him, "Impressive, ain't it, Laura?"
The blonde woman (nickname Marlowe from the WKRP fame, smart, buxomous and beautiful) blushed prettily, glaring at Eddie before turning back to John with a smile. "I heard you got hurt and sent back home. I'm so sorry about your leg."
John looked at her hand placed comfortingly on his arm and beamed. "Shoulder actually, but well, things happen."
As John and Laura shared a shy smile, Tracy (nickname TBC for Tracy Broadcasting Corp, for there were no secrets left sacred and untransmitted by her all over the school) suddenly gave a low whistle. "That's a pretty little thing. Wonder whose toy-boy is that?"
The other three turned around where Tracy was looking at and saw an attractive young man, just entered the auditorium doors and scanning the crowd looking for someone.
When John recognised who it was, he gave a muffled curse and quickly turned away.
"What's the matter, John?" Laura asked in worry.
"Nothing, nothing. Just-"
"John!"
"Shit."
The doctor turned around, marshalling a smile with a hint of warning in his eyes. "Yes?"
James grinned. "Glad, I found you. Sherlock's been trying to contact you and when you didn't pick up your phone, I suggested that we pop in to fetch you."
"Helloooooo," Tracy drawled, sticking out her hand towards James, "You're a friend of John's are you? And here we thought you're someone else's plus one."
"Sort of John's plus one," James replied cheerfully.
Laura, Tracy and Eddie turned to look at John in surprise.
"What?"
"Eh?"
"What?"
"What?" John sqwuaked, glaring at James. He felt Laura's hand fall away from his arm.
Quickly, James went up to John's other side that wasn't occupied by Laura and whispered in his ear, "I had to say that I'm your significant other to the mean-faced hag outside or she wouldn't let me in otherwise. She seemed excited when I told her that. I don't think she couldn't get me in here fast enough."
"Well, she's not here so drop the act," John hissed, "I'm not going anywhere with you two! This is my reunion party and I haven't seen my friends for a long time so go do whatever it is Sherlock and you need to do and leave me alone!"
"Ooooh," Tracy suddenly cooed, breaking John out of his whispered rant, "Now that's another dishy one. I wonder whose he is."
"That would be John's too," James said, waving at Sherlock, while John closed his eyes in pained resignation.
"I thought you were waiting for us outside," James said as Sherlock reached them.
"You were taking too long and time is of the essence," Sherlock said, looking around the hall in minute interest.
"Another friend of yours, John?" Tracy said, looking at Sherlock coyly from underneath her lashes as she gave him her hand, "Tracy McCay. And this is Laura and Eddie."
"Charmed," Sherlock said, taking her hand to give her a short shake which was more a brush of hands than anything. "I'm John's plus one."
"What?" Tracy turned to John and James. "By plus one you mean... I thought he was John's partner."
"We share," Sherlock said, straight faced, but John was damned if he couldn't see the small lift at the corner of the man's mouth.
"We make do," James said, sighing, "What with only seven days in a week and nine holidays in a year."
Laura blinked. "Nine?"
"We celebrate the Queen's birthday, of course," James replied.
"Of-of course..."
"Sherlock. James. Can I have a private word with you two for a moment? Outside?" John said tightly, "Excuse me ladies. Eddie."
Eddie and the two women nodded in bewilderment before John stalked out, the detective and the rent-boy following behind.
"Why? Just Why?" John ranted as soon as they were outside the auditorium.
"There are two possibilities as to what you are asking. One, why the charade," Sherlock stepped up close and said lowly, "It is an effective method to get inside without hassle. As I said, James was taking too long. Susan was only happy to help. Eager in fact."
John jumped when Sherlock patted his bottom as the man called out to the direction where John's back was facing, "Thank you very much, Susan."
When John turned around he saw Susan, red-faced and smiling at them in a delirious manner.
"I think she's about to hyperventilate," James commented lowly, draping and arm across John's shoulder, "Lusty fag hag."
John groaned before he started to drag the two men elsewhere where there was no one else to watch them. "Try again."
"Two," continued Sherlock, as if he hasn't stopped to cater to a woman's fantasy by groping his flat-mate, "Why the sudden insistence of taking you along - you're our armed back up and you've studied here so you will be able to help us in our search-"
"Is this the arsonist case? You weren't even interested in it before!" John stopped. "Wait, what do you mean - is he going to strike here?"
"His MO has changed. Something has disturbed his plan of action, prompting him to select the closest community establishment, where a theft of highly flammable liquids among other things was reported within this vicinity 30 minutes ago."
"Does Lestrade know?" John asked in worry, "Where is he?"
"Lestrade is on leave." Sherlock sniffed. "Dimmock refuses to listen to my reasoning and insists that since the third burning occurred at a school, he deduces that the next point of attack would not be at another school but instead the public hospital two blocks down. He's certain that the arsonists is operating on a political agenda and neglects the possibility of a personal one."
"Good God," John stammered, "A-Are you saying it's one of my year's alumni?"
"Possibly but unlikely," Sherlock replied, taking one of John's hand, palms facing up before placing his gun on it, "The first two places burnt down were buildings built in the 1950's, a government-funded orphanage and a public clinic specialising in pediatrics - the clinic shut down in the early 60's. One would have spent a long time in a place to become emotionally invested. The order of which the burning occurred correlates with the order of a person's important period in life. An orphanage, a children's clinic, a primary school... and the last building burnt less than a week ago - a pub - whose patronage are mostly pro-labour supporters. Specifically blue-collared workers."
"I- I don't..."
"Oh, think John!" Sherlock exclaimed, "The buildings which has been targeted showed no signs of being broken into and the arsonists is familiar with the layout of the building, selecting the best place where fire can spread quickly and efficiently."
When all Sherlock received were blank stares from John and James, Sherlock sighed in exasperation. "Which blue collared worked would have access to community establishments and often be within these buildings for a long period of time that he would become familiar with the layout without arousing any suspicion?"
"Blue-collared workers... gardeners, the kitchen staff, cleaners... wait, the janitor?" John's eyes widened. "And the orphanage built in the 50's... he'd be about 60 by now!"
"Not any younger than 40," Sherlock pointed out happily, "as the children's clinic was abandoned in the early 60's. Who was your janitor when you went to school here?"
John thought for a moment. "I-I can't remember his name... but we call him Creepy McCreedy. Some of the kids were right bastards about it and the rest of us won't even step up to help him because he has this way of looking at you that chills you through your bones."
"A viable suspect," the consulting-detective allowed, "Now, if you are an arsonist where would you start a fire?"
"Ah... I would guess the staff room or the library. Those are the ones without any fire sprinklers and by the time the sprinklers do work, fire fed by petrol would be too strong for it to be of any use," the doctor guessed.
Sherlock clapped his hands in delight. "Excellent John! Now, we will split up. You and James, take the library. I'll take the staff room."
"The staff room is straight down the corridor to the left," John directed before asking sceptically, "But you'll be okay alone?"
"He'll be fine," James said pulling at John as Sherlock sprinted away, "You've seen him fight. He can take care of himself."
"Right," John said, leading the way to the library, "But if the door's locked, then the arsonist is probably at the staff room and we're going there asap."
As soon as they were near the darkened library, John slowed down his footsteps, motioning for James to keep quiet and do the same. Cautiously he put his hand on the knob of the door and twisted his wrist. When the knob easily turned, John closed his eyes in consternation before opening them again. Gritting his teeth, he took a deep breath, opened the door and entered as silently as he can and it did not take him much further than three steps in when he was nearly overwhelmed by the strong smell of petrol. He could barely see anything and the only light that came in was from the moon, seeping through the barred glass windows of the library.
Suddenly he realised how foolish it would be to try shoot a weapon when petrol is already all over the place and he quickly unloaded the chamber before tucking the magazine inside his pocket. If anything, the gun would be good for clubbing any attacker, which John didn't manage to do because suddenly a fist landed on his face, sending his sprawling onto the ground.
In his daze, he heard James yell and forced himself up, shaking his head to clear it. Dimly, he saw James being pushed to the wall by a man and John charged, grabbing the attacker, spun him around the punched him in the face.
It was McCreedy 2 decades older than when he last saw him but he could remember the cold piercing eyes within the furious expression of the wizened visage. The ex-janitor was surprisingly sprite for his age, and tenacious too, as he managed to match and take on any hits John dished out and soon John found himself growing tired. Finally John has had enough and with a roar he put all his energy, rage and panic into his next punch and with a sickening crack on the jaw, the old man fell down, unconscious and bleeding on the mouth.
When the ex-army doctor was sure McCreedy was down for the count, he finally let himself relax, bending down to place his hands on his knees and taking deep gulps of air.
"Y-You alright?" John panted, looking up to peer at James in the dimness of the room.
"Fuck, that was hot."
"Huh - Hmph!" James was suddenly pulling John up by the lapels of his shirt, licking his slack lips and delving into his mouth before John thought to push the young man away.
"Shit! What is wrong with you?" John demanded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Sorry," James said, not contritely, "It happens sometimes."
"Sometimes? Sometimes? What about that time with the- the- You said you'd- you'd-"
James smiled at John's refusal to talk about the first case they were in together with Sherlock. "I was just joshing you that time. I'm serious now."
"Seriously need to be put on a leash, that's what," John snapped, smacking the rent-boy's hands away as he tried to reach for John again, "Go find Sherlock and call the police. I'm going to find something to tie McCreedy down."
James expression lit up. "Oh! Can I watch?"
"Just go!"
It was a full fifteen minutes before the police arrived at the scene and as they led McCreedy away and bagged the evidence, John walked up to Sherlock who was waiting for him at the parking lot, with James in tow.
Looking at James blissed out expression, Sherlock gave a sigh. "This is why I hate bringing you along when there's fighting involved," he said to James as if to a difficult child, before turning to John, "Did he make an attempt of a sexual nature on your body or did you manage to escape before he did anything armorous?"
John sputtered. "W-What-"
Sherlock looked at John's red face and said pityingly. "Blow job?"
"No! Just- He just kissed me!" John yelled in a mortifying manner.
If John was looking closely, he would've seen the twinkle in the consulting detective's eyes.
"Well," Sherlock said, turning back to James, "He kissed me first, you know."
"That was under duress!" John was heard protesting.
"Ah!" James countered Sherlock, "But was there tongue involved?"
John indignant response was instantly choked down when he heard a cough from behind. Turning slowly around, he saw Dimmock looking at the three with a bored and tired expression on his face, and just a few steps behind him was Laura looking shocked and embarassed.
"I-I was... It's been quite an evening, it's- Well, good to see you again, John," Laura finally managed, stepping forward seemingly wanting to kiss John on the cheek before changing her mind and shaking the man's hand instead. Before John could say anything, she has already turned around on her heels and walking quickly away.
John turned back to Sherlock and James with an angry look. "You two did that on purpose."
"She wasn't right for you, John," Sherlock told him patiently, "If you have looked closer, you would've seen the tan line from her wedding ring that she took off for this occasion and it was clear she planned on having sex with a man other than her husband because she has shaved her legs with a man's shaving cream rather than a woman's which I can tell by the smell of the brand."
"At least I would be getting some!" John said petulantly.
"She also has the smell of baby food on her blouse," Sherlock said, giving John a disappointed look, "Would you want be the reason for a poor child to live in a family of a broken marriage and not feel guilty about it?"
John stared at Sherlock agape, before he closed his eyes in frustration, letting out a gusty sigh. "Okay, fine. You're right. Of course."
"Right," Dimmock said, opening his notebook, "If I can take your statements now-"
Sherlock groaned dramatically, "Statements, statements, statements! Is that all you people think about?"
"Well, no, we also take bets on who's shagging who and so far I've won 50 pounds from Anderson," the DI replied easily.
Sherlock saw the look-over the man gave John and asked, "As to who made the first move? You've bet on John. Why? Is it because he was ex-army?"
"More because you wouldn't know what to do with an attraction if it bit you in the ass," Dimmock replied.
Sherlock gave Dimmock a look that was either conceding to what the DI has said or wanting to prove him wrong. They weren't to find out however, because John realised who and what they were talking about because he suddenly burst out loud.
"You've been betting about me and Sherlock shagging?"
Close by, two sergeants busy cordoning the area turned to look at the source of the outburst.
"That pool started off?" one of them said in disbelief.
"Well, that's stupid," the other said, "Everyone already knows they're shagging."
-the end
A/N: That should do it. I hope the plot makes sense and if it doesn't, I hope you enjoy the ride anyhows :)