So this is it. The case. The case to end all cases. Though I'm sure John will disagree with me and say I'll get bored again immediately after this is finished. I probably will, he knows me best.
So, to the case then. Lestrade called us this morning with the words "Suicide, Sherlock, we all know how you love it..." I'm very glad it was I and not John who answered to that particular phone call. "Come have a look at these." Well, frankly, he had me at suicide.
We, John and I, enter New Scotland Yard amid chaos. People scurrying to and fro, policemen filling out forms, who let them near stationary?, and Lestrade shouting down a colleague who was, unfortunately, not Anderson.
"How the FUCK did you think that was acceptable behavi- ah, there you are Sherlock, we've been waiting for you." He nodded to the colleague, "This will be resumed later. You may go."
"Thank you, Sir." He said hastily retreating, presumably to find some wall to scrawl his pictograms on.
"Trouble in the flock?" John remarked.
"There always is in a big case like this." Lestrade replied.
"Come on then, dish out the details." John said, his face brightening with such eagerness that I wanted to reach out and kiss him, right there and then, but that would have to wait til later.
"Well, three apparent suicides, a middle-aged man, a young, teenage girl and an elderly woman, each through different methods, each in different parts of London. So what connects them, I hear you ask-"
"Alright, spare us the dramatics, just tell us." I said residually, knowing how Lestrade would go on.
"Alright, alright, I was getting to that bit. They all left notes, on the same paper type with the same ink pen type and the same handwriting. That rules out any chance of a coincidence. But each was particular to that persons life and gave no reason for their suicide."
"Let me see one. Where are they?" I asked, though John did say 'demanded, as usual' on his blog.
"In my office, if we could only get there."
We'd been on our way since the start of the conversation but amount of people in the corridors meant easy passage was impossible.
"Excuse me," I called out in the loudest voice possible, "the call has just come in, someone's been shot in Kensington." A great hubbub insued in which we only managed to stop ourselves from being swept away by sheer dint of effort, but it passed in a few seconds and we managed to get to Lestrade's office without further trouble.
"I wish you wouldn't do that Sherlock," Lestrade whined, "I am going to have to fill out so many forms later."
"What? It cleared the corridor, didn't it? What's the problem, Greg?" He didn't reply but I saw John choke down a chuckle as we reached the office door. Lestrade unlocked the door and let us in. I remember nothing from that moment apart from the notes which, I presume, John managed to persuade Lestrade to allow me to take home as they are sitting on the desk in front of me.
No, I tell a lie, I do remember one moment.
We had just reached 221B Baker Street and I was muttering something about cabbie's and their shoes and how you never see them so that must reflect their personalities when John said "I just want to kiss you right now."
"Come on then." I replied.
And suddenly we were there, smooching, in the middle of the sitting room, jackets discarded on the armchairs to be attended to later. I felt John's hot breath on my neck, "Shall we continue this?"
I answered him by somehow getting us, still entwined, across to our bedroom, more for the modesty of Mrs Hudson than for actual need of a bed.
We got in and I whipped off John's belt while he undid my trousers, all while still snogging. Who said men couldn't multi-task?
I finally wrenched down John's undergarments and sat for a moment staring at his full, erect penis wondering, as I always do when I get the chance, how I, Sherlock Homes, the man with no friends, could do that to someone, could make someone feel that strongly about me. Me?
I felt his hazel eyes pass over me and heard my words repeated to me, "Come on then."
I pulled him towards me as I stood up, my hands on his delicious buttocks, my tongue tracing from his groin, up, circumnavigating his belly button, and up, up til our lips met and his cock jutted into my thigh.
He broke the kiss to moan "Sherlock..." I threw him down on to the bed and leaped after him, but I wasn't ready to stop teasing quite yet. Instead of getting right into it, I started nibbling his earlobe, my tongue just poking into the shell and I felt John splutter with almost orgasmic delight. He pulled me off and we, finally, got down to it. Let's just say, we really need to get a new carpet soon.
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