For Bex, the best of the Bex! I bequeath you my first ever Sherlock fic! 3 Enjoy lovely!

Beta'd By: Amber, Ami, Jas, Karaleva, Laura, Lizzy, and Sam

John sighed as he tossed and turned under his duvet. Why was it so hard to find a position that didn't cause pain to shoot through his shoulder? It had been two years since he'd been shot, and still the bloody thing was giving him trouble. He frowned up at the ceiling before giving up on sleep. Heaving himself to his feet, John made his way to the kitchen to make himself a cuppa.

"John?" His sister's voice came from the doorway, and John withheld the sigh that threatened to escape his lips.

"Harry, go back to bed." Maybe if he focused on his mug hard enough, she would go away.

"John, you haven't been sleeping." Harry's voice grew louder, and John knew that if he turned his head she would be right behind him. "I'm worried about you. Have the war flashbacks returned? I thought they went away."

"I'm fine, just couldn't find a position that didn't hurt my shoulder." John gave in to his sister's prodding. He knew that if he avoided it, her questions would get steadily worse; it was best to just cut her off now. Silence engulfed the two, each caught up in their own thoughts.

"Alright," Harry leaned forward to run her fingers through his hair. "I'm heading to bed then. Try and get some sleep, alright?"

John hummed in response, relaxing into his chair as his sister shuffled back to her room.

Moments later he was able to hear snoring from her room, and John finally let himself gaze through the window at the falling rain.

It never rained when he was stationed in Afghanistan, and he had missed it while he had been away from England. Now that he was back in London, he missed the scorching heat of the sun beating down on the back of his neck. A scoff left John's lips as he took another sip of his tea. Maybe it was true what they say, 'the grass is greener on the other side' and all that jazz.

Once his mug was empty, John took it into the kitchen and left it on the counter to wash later after breakfast. A glance at the clock revealed that it was ten 'til five, so he made his way over to the small work area he had set up for himself in the corner and sat down at his desk. Quickly starting his laptop up, he set to work typing up what he remembered from patching his men while under fire.

Two hours later, a knock sounded on the door. John blinked as he was pulled out of his memories and turned to look at the door. His eyes narrowed as the knock sounded again, this time more persistent. The drawer on his left was quietly opened, and John pulled out the small browning he kept in there followed by a matching full clip. He swiftly loaded his weapon and made sure the safety was on before making his way over to the door.

"Hello?" he called through the door.

"John? John Watson? It's Mike from Bart's?" John immediately straightened from his half crouch and tucked his weapon into the waistband of his trousers. He had the locks undone and the door open within five seconds, a wide grin on his face.

"Mike! What are you doing here so early in the morning, mate? It's only ten past seven."

The man standing on the other side of the doorway grinned, shifting his briefcase over to his left hand before reaching out to clap John his right shoulder.

"I came to offer you a job."

John blinked at Mike's words before taking a deep breath and stepping to the side, gesturing to the middle of the room behind him.

"Do you have time to come in and talk over a cuppa?"

Mike's eyes twinkled and he nodded, stepping past John and making his way over to the sofa.

In what seemed like no time at all, John had prepared them both a cup of tea and settled opposite him in the armchair he'd taken to. The blonde man sighed and took a sip of his tea before setting it down on the coffee table and leaning back in his seat, eyes fixed on Mike.

"So why are you offering me this job, Mike? I turned down your other job because it was offered out of pity, and we both know I don't do well with teenagers." John chuckled along with Mike at that last bit.

"Because you don't need to have steady hands for this job and the woman hiring only wants the best for it." Mike smirked, gesticulating wildly . "And the best I know is sitting right in front of me."

"Alright, let's hear it then. What does this job entail?" John shifted in his seat as he asked, rubbing his leg as a throb of pain shot up it out of nowhere.

"Molly Hooper is a Pathologist and she has recently discovered that her and her husband are expecting. She needs someone to start part-time before she goes on leave so they can shadow her — make sure they'll do at least half as good as she does."

Oh.

"Molly said that once she's on leave, the new person will have to switch to full-time in order to take over her position properly until she gets back.

Oh.

"And," Mike grinned and he leaned forward, hands spread wide, "if you'd like, once she's back you can stay on as a part-time, or even just as an On-call in case there's a problem at home she has to attend to!"

John stood up and made his way around the knee-high table. "Mike, thank you. I'll look into it later today."

The two men smiled and exchanged a quick hug before Mike was on his way out the door.

"I might have a job," John whispered into the quiet of them room, still a little shocked at the new turn of events.

"I'll say." Harry's voice coming from the door of her room caused John to jump a foot in the air, hand flying to the small of his back. "As long as you don't come back smelling like dead people, I'm excited for ya, little brother. I can't have you scaring off my dates after all."

"Ha, ha." John rolled his eyes as he straightened up, a grin pulling at his lips. "What dates are you talking about?"

"Why, you!" Harry giggled and rushed at him, hands reaching up to ruffle his hair.

"Stop it!" John pushed her away, shaking his head. "I've got to get ready to go meet Mrs. Hooper about the job; now piss off so I can get ready."

John squinted up at the large building of his old Alma Mater. With a deep breath, John straightened up and made his way inside. People were bustling around and he wove his way between doctors and students alike as he made his way towards the stairs. A sigh of relief left John at the sight of the lift a couple yards away from the door to the stairs.

When he stepped out of the lift and into the basement, a draft of cold air hit him in the face. He shivered, and then a voice spoke from in front of him.

"It's pretty cold down here, yeah?" Molly Hooper was walking down the hall towards him, lab coat swishing around her legs. "You must be John Watson; Mike told me you would be coming over."

"And you must be Molly Hooper," John replied with a smile as he met her halfway down the hallway. They shook hands and the next thing he knew Molly was stepping to the side and gesturing down the hall.

"Shall we?" The two began a slow stroll, and John cleared his throat before continuing the conversation.

"I hear congratulations are in order," John stated as he held the door open.

"Ah, Mike told you." Molly sat delicately on a stool before motioning John to do the same. "Yes, that's why I've been looking for help."

John shuffled over to the chair before collapsing in it and setting his cane down to lean on the counter. "What requirements do you need, and how can I best help you?"

"First, before anything," Molly turned and looked out of her office and into her work area, "there's a friend of mine that likes to come in and conduct experiments on some of the corpses that come in. We let him. If you have a problem with that then you won't be able to work here."

"Not a problem, I was in the military." John gave her a tired smile. "Now, what will I be doing to help you out?"

"John, can you grab the file for the vivisected 34-year-old?" Molly was sitting in a rolling office chair as John worked around her, going over reports. "Greg is going to be coming for the report on it today, and that one friend I told you about might be joining him today as well."

"Of course, how is Greg doing?" John questioned as he set down the bone saw and removed his bloodstained gloves. Shuffling over to the sink, he washed his hands and made his way over to the filing cabinet.

"He is excited — and scared out of his mind at the same time," Molly giggled as John settled in the chair across from her. "When the little bean is born, Greg is going to take paternity leave in order to help me out the first month. He's worried about how his department is going to handle his absence."

"As well he should; they're a bunch of dunderheads."

John looked up at the new voice that entered their conversation. A man stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his coat as he scowled at the couple in the room. John felt his breath stutter in his chest as he strode confidently over to their table. The man was beautiful. Black curls sat delicately atop of his head and he had a pair of bright grey eyes. His cheekbones looked as if they could cut glass and his skin was clear and pale.

"Now, Sherlock, what have I said about insulting people where the baby can hear you?" Molly scolded the man as she shifted in her chair before standing up.

"You are not yet in the stage of pregnancy where the child can hear me clearly." The man sniffed haughtily as Molly pulled him into a short hug. John cleared his throat at that before standing up and crossing his hands behind his back. Sharp grey eyes darted to him before the man turned his whole body to face him. A shiver ran up John's spine at the full weight of Sherlock's gaze.

"Military doctor with an psychosomatic limp; just where did you find this one, Molly?"

John froze in shock at the man's words. Molly had told him about Sherlock's deductions, but she hadn't told him how accurate or quickly he made them. Sherlock had only looked at him for, maybe, five seconds and already knew that his limp was in his head and that he served in the Military. It was utterly amazing, and John had to beat back the heat that began to rise in his lower stomach.

"Sherlock-bloody-Holmes, what have I told you about introducing yourself with deductions?" Molly slapped his arm with a scowl. "This is Doctor John Watson, he is my assistant and my temporary replacement once little bean gets here. If you scare him away, I'll make sure Greg doesn't let you in on any of his cases."

Sherlock's mouth dropped open and he turned to look at her before narrowing his eyes. John snickered into his hand before a more familiar voice spoke from the doorway.

"Why are you glaring at my wife?" Gregory Lestrade walked through the door with a cup of coffee in one hand and a bag in the other.

"She pulled the no cases card," John replied as he limped forward to grab the bag, careful to not brush against Sherlock.

"What the hell did you do?" Greg shot Sherlock an incredulous look, his eyes twinkling with mirth. Sherlock sniffed and turned away as Greg set his coffee on the table and helped Molly back into her seat.

"He deduced John then dismissed him," Molly said as she settled against the back of her chair. "John has been nothing but helpful and I don't know what I would be doing if Mike hadn't found him for me!"

"You would've found someone who would cower in fear of you," John joked as he set the bag down on the table and grabbed a set of sterile gloves.

"Fear Molly? She's as harmless as a kitten," Sherlock scoffed, waving a hand dismissively through the air. John took a deep breath and started taking out the different evidence bags and laying them out on the table in order by size. A large shadow fell over the objects on the table and John glanced up out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock stood, staring down at the table and John's hands.

"Can I help you?" John questioned as he removed a sample of dirt from its bag and moved over to the microscope.

"He's watching to make sure you're competent." Greg spoke up from where he had settled down at the table to begin going over the file with Molly.

"I'm sure Molly would've fired me if I was incompetent." John directed that statement over his shoulder at his new shadow.

"Molly is too nice to do that, and she is far too late in her pregnancy to train someone else." Sherlock crowded closer and John let out a deep sigh before stepping away and motioning towards the machine.

"Would you like to take a look? The dirt sample is ruined by the blood and sand, so I'm unable to tell where it came from without cleaning it off, which ruins the purpose. I have to run chemical tests on it next." Sherlock stared at him for a few seconds, eyes searching for something, before he stepped forward and peered into the small eyepiece.

"Well?" John raised an eyebrow as he leaned against the counter.

"You are satisfactory, Dr. Watson." Sherlock smirked and turned on his heel. "Molly, I need to run an experiment on bruising again on someone recently dead and over the age of fifty."

Greg sighed and looked up at the ceiling, appearing completely and utterly done. "Is that for the Tanner case? We've solved that one already, Sherlock."

"And if I had knowledge on the bruising rate for dead people over the age of fifty, I could've solved it faster and without the blunders Anderson made."

Molly sighed. "Fine! John, do we have anyone that fits the profile he's given us?"

"There's the heart attack that came in this morning; a shooting that came in two days ago; and then there's the one I was working on before you had me grab the file. Death by poison." John motioned to the table on the other side of the room. "Which one best suits your needs?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow before reaching into the inside of his coat and pulling out a riding crop. John's throat went dry and he swallowed.

"A riding crop?"

"I have more control over the speed and force applied." Sherlock walked over to the corpse laid out on the table and laid the riding crop down next to the bone saw. "It's allows me to vary the situation."

John stared at the man in confusion as he began to take his coat off. "Is there a reason you're conducting these experiments yourself instead of reading about bruises in a medical or forensics book?"

Snickering sounded from behind them as Sherlock froze. A glance back showed Molly hiding her face in Greg's neck as the man didn't even try to hide his laughter.

"It's always best to prove something yourself," Sherlock sniffed as he laid his coat over the back of a chair.

John grinned and grabbed two pairs of gloves before holding the second out to Sherlock. "I hope you don't mind if I continue my autopsy while you work?"

"Of course not, Doctor," Sherlock replied as he snapped his gloves on.

Molly finished marking up the file she was working on and then added it to her pile. Greg was still reading over the vivisection case next to her, so instead of bothering her husband she settled in to watch her assistant and friend work side-by-side. John was currently weighing the brain a third time to confirm as Sherlock whipped the poor bloke's legs.

"They work well together," Greg spoke up. "I honestly thought Sherlock would react as he normally does to others."

"He's a puzzle to Sherlock." Molly glanced over at her husband before turning back. "A man who went to war and healed, who was shot in the shoulder and yet has problems with his leg, and who didn't react to his deductions with hate. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he declared his love and proposed marriage!"

Greg stared at his wife in shock before collapsing with laughter. Molly slapped him with the back of her hand.

"I'm serious!"

"Alright, alright," Greg chuckled and held his hands up. "Let's say they do end up together, how long do you think it'll take?"

Molly wiggles her eyebrows. "Are you willing to make a wager, Mr. Lestrade?"

"You're on, Mrs. Hooper."

John was at his desk later that night, typing up his reports for Molly when his phone rang.

"John Watson speaking."

"I've got a case where the body has slash marks on his skin and puncture marks on his bone." Sherlock's voice came through the small device and John straightened in his chair.

"That's very interesting and all, but why are you calling me about it?" John questioned as his heart began to beat faster.

"I need a cover for a stake-out. Meet me at this address in twenty."

A ding came from his phone and when John pulled it away from his ear, the call had ended. There was a text from an unknown number waiting for him.

Angelo's Italian Bistro

-SH

John raised an eyebrow and clicked on the link, chuckling when his GPS was pulled up. The place was two blocks down, which gave him plenty of time to get dressed and make it there a little early. He took a deep breath and pulled up another chat thread.

Hey Greg, is Sherlock working on any cases?

-JHW

Not right now, we finished the slasher case this morning. Why?

No reason, Ta Greg.

-JHW

"Harry! Get in here!" John shouted as he stuck his head out his bedroom door, pocketing his phone.

"No! I'm busy at the mo'!"

"With what?! I've got a date with a bloke and I need help picking a jumper!" John held his breath and listened carefully. A loud thump sounded followed by his sister cursing as she ran down the hallway. John laughed and shuffled over to his bed before settling down. Harry slid into the room, her socks allowing her to make it halfway across before she stumbled to a stop.

"You got a date?" Harry gasped out, leaning over to place her hands on her knees. "And it's with a bloke?!"

"Remember the man I told you about from work?" John set his cane down and settled in to watch his sister go through his closet.

"The one that whipped corpses for fun?" Harry replied as she pulled a large dark blue jumper out and threw it at him. "With the cheekbones?"

"That one, yeah, he wants me to meet him at Angelo's in twenty for a stake-out. I talked to Greg though, and he's not on any cases at the moment." John grinned and caught the pair of trousers Harry tossed at him. "Therefore, it's a date."

"You're going to be perfect for each other," Harry declared as she threw herself on the bed. "He's just as weird as you are."

John rolled his eyes and then walked her with his pillow. "Get out; unless you want to see me in all my wonderful, naked glory."

Harry gagged and then rolled off the bed, making her way to the door. "Clara is coming over for dinner tonight, let me know if you're bringing the bloke home or not because I'm intending to ask her to stay the night."

John smiled as Harry shut the door. Ever since his sister got sober, her and Clara have been talking again. He was very hopeful that he would be able to once again call Clara his sister. And from the way things were going, he would be doing so by this time next year.

And hopefully, he would have a permanent date to the Wedding.

Wear the purple shirt. John won't be able to resist it. I know I wasn't.

If things don't work out between you and the good doctor, I'm always available for dinner.

I don't need your help, nor do I want it.

-SH

And yet you're wearing the purple shirt. ;)

John took a deep breath and then made his way inside the building, scanning the room for black curls.

"Can I help you, Señor?" A large man with kind brown eyes and a mustache questioned with a large smile.

"I'm waiting for my dinner partner. Sherlock Holmes? I'm a little early," John smiled back sheepishly at the man as he replied.

"My normal table please, Angelo." A deep voice spoke from behind John, and it took all of his willpower to not jump in surprise.

"You eat here often then?" John questioned as he followed the two men over to a table by the large window. Warning bells danced across John's nerves and he shoved the feeling down. He wasn't at war right now, he was on a date.

"This man is welcome to eat here whenever he likes!" Angelo beamed as he pulled Sherlock into a one armed hug. "He's saved my life after all. But you don't want to hear about that, you're on a date! I'll get a candle for the table while you decide on your order; it's more romantic."

John glanced over his menu at Sherlock to see if he would object to the phrasing, and smiled to himself when no such protest came. It looks like this was a date after all.