"You called the freak in, again?!" Donovan exclaimed in annoyance at the Inspecting Detective in front of her.
John clenched his fists as he approached them. He noticed that Sherlock was walking more towards behind him, instead of more in front.
"John, Sherlock," Lestrade nodded to each in turn. Everyone completely ignored Donovan.
"You said there was a note?" Sherlock said immediately.
"We've already got a suspect in custody, Lestrade. We don't need the freak," Donovan whined, only directing her attention at Lestrade as she spoke.
John pursed his lips.
"Yes," Lestrade answered Sherlock, while only rolling his eyes at Donovan.
"There was a picture left on the latest vitum, with a note on the back. The picture appears to have been taken as the victum was being beaten by the killer. Just before they died. The words on the back are a line from a poem by William Blake-" Lestrade was cut off by Donovan's insistent drawl.
"Yeah, the same poem her boyfriend used to propose with. She said no, he killed her, we arrested him, case closed. Now can we send that freak away?" She whined at Lestrade.
"Shut up!" John suddenly roared.
Everyone turned to see him standing rigid as a board, red in the face, fists clenched, and furious glare directed at Donovan. The shock from everyone was almost palpable.
John stormed over to Donovan, and stuck a finger in her face-as though he were scolding a young child.
"Now look here," John's voice was a deadly balance of quiet and calm, and it sent shivers down everyone's spine.
"I don't know what happened that made you so bitter, and such a slut, but just because you're an insecure pathetic excuse for a human, doesn't mean you can take it out on Sherlock. I don't care if you were bullied when you were younger, if you're jealous, or if you're just a bitter hag because you have no life and are cheaper than a prostitute. You will not call Sherlock a freak again. If you have the urge to do so, then do what you'd normally do and shove a cock down your throat. I don't care. I do, however, care when you can't stop at being an insecure, brainless whore and instead act like a five-year-old and insult my friend. Just do us all a favor, and keep your mouth shut, like a good bitch."
Donovan didn't take John's advice. Her mouth was hanging wide open. Along with Lestrade's.
When John finished with his rant, he turned on his heel, and then strolled up to Sherlock himself. John took a moment to bask in delight the pure, unhidden shock evident on Sherlock's face.
"You're not a freak. Stop responding to that."
Lestrade had thought that nothing he could ever witness would ever be as shocking. Until a moment later, when Sherlock shocked him even more, by swooping down and encompassing John in a tight embrace.
John immediately hugged back, and couldn't hold back his huge grin when he heard a very quiet and soft "thank-you."
"...This is what friend's do, correct?" Sherlock asked, awkwardly.
John smiled, and heard Lestrade snicker a bit. He pulled back from the hug, and smiled at Sherlock.
"You don't have to participate in, or enact any hugs or anything, if you don't want to," John reassured Sherlock, kindly.
Sherlock relaxed visibly, and nodded.
"So, um, would you like to see the poem?" Lestrade asked awkwardly.
In an instant Sherlock's mask was back on.
"Yes. You said it was a poem written by William Blake?" Sherlock asked, proffessionally.
"Yeah. The name of the poem is 'Eternity', and..."
The voices faded as John, Sherlock, and Lestrade walked towards Lestrade's office. Donovan listened to them, until they were completely gone. Then, and only then, did she close her mouth.
So, I've decided that I love the idea of John jumping to Sherlock's defense. Especially when he's the only one that actually takes it offensively.
Sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes. I don't have a spell-check or beta.
Disclaimer: Sorry, bro. Not mine.
What'd'ya think?