As usual I own nothing but worship Moffat and Gatiss for the genius they have created.
Many thanks for all the reviews for When the Line is Crossed and the requests for a follow up. Here it is. Please read and review...all criticisms are welcome!
thanks reading.
Parallel Lines Never Cross
Sherlock didn't remember leaving Bart's. The only vision that swam in front of his eyes was the contents of the waste bin containing all his ruined experiments. Fury flooded his veins like the 7% solution of cocaine that he used to inject in the years before John arrived on the scene.
221B Baker Street.
John sitting quietly drinking his third cup of tea. Reading the newspaper.
The first that John knew of Sherlock's arrival was the shuddering of the windows as the front door was slammed back into its frame.
"Happy bunny this morning then" John mused.
He didn't muse for long. Sherlock strode up to John, casting the paper aside and pulling John to his feet by the collar of his new stripy jumper.
"Get. Me. Some!" Sherlock hissed into John's face.
"What? NO!"
Sherlock hauled John up again so that only his toes were grazing the floor.
"GET. ME. SOME. NOW"
There was something in Sherlock's face that made John hesitate.
"Sherlock, put me down. I can't get you anything while you are hanging on to me" John used his calming doctor voice.
It seemed to work. Sherlock slowly let John go.
"Ok, Sherlock, what is this about? You go out less than an hour ago and come back like a raving lunatic." John straightened his jumper while waiting for Sherlock to replay.
He looked over to where Sherlock was standing at the kitchen table.
Sherlock was looking at his experiments.
John thought there was almost a look of anguish on his face.
"Sherlock?"
Sherlock turned to face John.
John was shocked. The hurt and anger on Sherlock's face was marred by a mask of spitting hate.
"Sherlock? What's happened?" John took a step towards him.
Sherlock turned back towards the table and the look he gave it should have incinerated it on the spot.
"Get rid of this John." Sherlock swept his arm, indicating the table "Dispose of it all and everything in the fridge."
John looked at him in confusion.
Sherlock lived for his experiments.
He'd threatened John with a slow and lingering painful death if he even breathed on them.
Now here he was telling him to dispose of them.
"Sherlock? Really. I mean...these are important. You've worked on these for...well...ages."
"They are of no importance any more. Please do as I ask John but first please get me some cigarettes. And then I would appreciate it if you just leave me the fuck alone."
With that he swept out of the kitchen and into his room.
Slamming the door so hard that the glass in his bathroom door shattered.
John stared at the door.
Sherlock had sworn.
Sherlock never used profanities.
Never.
Ever.
What in God's name had happened to Sherlock.
Bart's!
He'd gone to Bart's.
Molly.
No...Molly...she wouldn't have upset Sherlock this much. She couldn't...could she?
The more John pondered this while standing by the table, the more confused he became.
A voice distracted him.
Muffled by the door.
"I take it that you are not intending to grow the tobacco for my cigarettes."
John sighed. Even furious Sherlock was a sarcastic bastard.
"I know where you hide my secret stash...just get them and leave them by the door."
John dismantled the front of the speaker from the stereo and retrieved the offending items and threw them at Sherlock's door.
"Matches!"
John swore...for fuck's sake. He picked them up and threw them to join the cigarettes.
John sat back in his chair and tried to deduce in his best Sherlock manner, just what had happened in the 56 minutes that Sherlock had been absent from 221B Baker Street:
He'd been annoyed when he'd returned home last night.
He'd been his usual self leaving this morning.
He'd been heading to Bart's.
Bart's. It had to do with something that had happened there.
John looked towards Sherlock's door and then at the kitchen table. He was certainly NOT going to dispose of any of Sherlock's experiments at the moment. It would be quite like Sherlock to change his mind in half an hour and then berate John for the next six months for doing as he was told, when he should have known that Sherlock didn't actually mean what he said.
John pursed his lips and nodded.
Bart's it was then.
TBC