He paced the flat nervously. His short, curly ebony hair hung past his blue-green eyes but he payed no mind. His mind was racing, going hundred miles per hour. 'What if he's hurt? Or he is sick? Or maybe he got caught in traffic? He could be in trouble. I should probably call him. But what if he's still on the plane? What if-'
he cut himself off. He needed to keep calm.
He was most likely okay. Actually he was very safe. The man had made sure his brother had helped escort him home, and besides, only one out of ten planes crash and even then, not many people get hurt.
Soon his doctor would walk through that door and he could hug and snog him to his heart's content. The man stopped in his tracks as he heard his phone ding to say he had gotten a text. He quickly cleared his mind and walked over to it.
'Four suicides. This one left a note. Please come to Brixton, Laurison Gardens -GL'
With his earlier thoughts forgotten he jumped in joy."Brilliant! Four serial suicides and now a note! Ah, it's Christmas!" He yelled and he could vaguely hear Mrs. Hudson yell something about indecency from downstairs.
He grabbed his trench coat off the rack and slipped it on along with his favorite scarf and dashed down the stairs and gave the older lady a kiss on the cheek and told where he would be going. The brunette quickly walked out the building and got a cab to the crime scene without a thought.
•~~~~•
The blond man quickly stepped out of the gate and into the waiting area. He was short but his muscular figure and boyish charm fit perfectly. He was wearing a pair of army fatigues and had a cane in his right hand, which he leaned on.
He looked to the tall man beside him that held a duffle bag and black umbrella, and flashed a grateful smile. "Thank you Mycroft for doing this. I know your very busy with government business." The auburn haired man waved his hand dismissively and smirked. "No worries John. I'm sure Sherlock would kill me if you didn't make it home safely."
The younger male, John, smiled broadly at the name Sherlock. It had been three long years since he had seen him in person. They couldn't video chat much because of the poor reception in Afghanistan and the calls were limited. "Make sure you tell Athena, if that's what she still calls herself, that I say hello." Ah, yes. He had remembered the many times he had been kidnapped by the so called 'British Government' and had been stuck with the quiet woman. They had actually became good friends over the years, just like him and Mycroft.
They both walked out of the airport and onto the street. They shook hands and Mycroft dropped the duffle bag at John's feet. John picked it up with his free hand and quickly haled a cab and gave the man an address, 221b Baker Street.
Once he got there he handed the man a roll of bills and got out with his bag and cane. As he knocked on the door he wasn't surprised that Mrs. Hudson had opened it and not Sherlock. "Oh John dear, you're home!" The woman squealed in joy and kissed both his cheeks. John smiled and gave her a hug and a hello.
"So where is Sherlock? I have missed him." Mrs. Hudson smiled fondly at him as they walked upstairs. "He got a call to go out investigate, you know how he is. He will be back soon." John frowned and opened the door to his shared flat. "Oh. I thought he would be waiting for me."
When he opened to door he saw that the flat hadn't changed since he left. The same two chairs and a skull on the mantle. The dinning table was covered in different science materials and chemicals, beakers and flasks filled with mysterious liquids. He dropped his duffel on his chair and leaned more on his cane.
"Do you know where he went? I would like to surprise him." Mrs. Hudson smiled again and told him where his man had went and John walked as fast as he could with his limp.
•~~~~•
Sherlock had just arrived at the scene and Sally had already started to annoy him. "What are you doing here Freak?" He let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "Lestrade invited me." He said monotonously. "Why would he invite you?" She spat at him. Seriously, what had he ever done to this woman? "I think he wants me to take a look." He said and added a fake smile at the end. She glared and held her radio to her face. "Detective Inspector, the freak is here." She narrowed her eyes as she got the approval to lead him to the door.
"Come on. I'm not leaving you alone to mess up the whole scene." As they walked to the door the were met by Phil Anderson. Sally quickly left to get back to her post and left Sherlock to the even more infuriating person. "Listen here's this is my crime scene and I don't need you to contaminate it." He snarled and led Sherlock to the room where DI Lestrade was waiting.
Greg Lestrade was watching several other policemen inspect the body. He looked up as he saw Sherlock and smiled. "Alright, everyone out." He ordered and they scurried off. Sherlock strode in and took a look at the body. "Female, in her late thirties or early forties, obviously murdered."
Sherlock looked at the letters that she had used her fingers to carve into the flooring. 'Rache.' Sherlock looked at all her jewelry and saw all was clean, except her ring. He took it off and saw that the inside was clean but not the outside. 'Married but having an affair.'
Just as he was about to tell Lestrade, Anderson cut him off. "She was German. Rache means revenge." He smirked at his "smartness" and glared smugly at Sherlock. The brunette rolled his eyes and said, "Wrong. She is from out of town but not that far. She packed an overnight bag so she knew it wouldn't be far. Rache is Rachel and she didn't have enough time to carve the last letter before she died. It was done with her nails so it had to of hurt. She's trying to tel-?"
This time Greg's radio cut him off. "Sir, there is a man here who says he is looking for the Freak."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Who would want to see him? Hopefully his landlady hadn't found those eyeballs that he had put in the microwave. "Who is it Sally?" The detective investigator asked. "He refuses to say his name but he is wearing army fatigues."
That got his attention and his head quickly snapped up. "John?"
He stood from his kneeling position and rushed out the door and down the stairs. He could hear Anderson and Lestrade yelling after him but he continued to the front door. He stopped as soon as he saw the man who Sally had been talking about. He could feel his eyes tear up and a small smile make its way onto his face.
The short sandy haired man was standing there waiting for him. His smile quickly left as his mind registered the cane and the shoulder that had been slightly hunched. He walked over to him briskly. "John." Said person smiled fondly and and let out a small "Hey, Sherlock." He limped over to him and they gazed into each other's eyes. "You got shot. Oh god, you got shot!" The taller man yelled, panicked. "Yeah, in the shoulder and a psychosomatic limp in my leg. My shoulder got me discharged, so I'm home for good this time."
He tried to calm the other but Sherlock was worrying about his shoulder. He smiled and grabbed the man by his scarf and kissed him hungrily. For those few seconds they were oblivious to the world and the many people who watched them. When they ran out of air they parted and hugged gently to make sure John's shoulder wouldn't be hurt.
Lestrade chose that moment to clear his throat to break up the happy couple. John looked up and his cheeks flushed crimson. "I-I'm, w-we." He stuttered as he saw that many people were looking at him.
Sherlock slipped his arm around John's waist and smiled broadly. The consulting detective gestured between Greg and John. "John Watson this is Greg Lestrade, Greg Lestrade this is John Watson." The realization on John's face was adorable. "Oh so you're the detective investigator that has let Sherlock help on cases. He talks about you a lot." John smiled thankfully and Lestrade could see the gratitude radiating off the man. "No problem. It's been a privilege working with him, but how do you know him?"
John's face heated up again and Sherlock held him tighter. "H-he's my husband, actually." Sherlock's smile softened at the flushed face of his lover. Lestrade, Anderson, and Sally had all gaped at the two. 'Married?!' Sally who had regained her composure first, glared hardly. "Who would want to marry the Freak? Are you like him or something?"
John's smile faltered and he clutched his cane harder. "By 'like him' you mean being able to know that you are having an affair with a married man who just so happens to be wearing the same deodorant as you, then yes I do think we are the same. I married a High-functioning Sociopath and he married an officer of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and an army doctor. I would also like it if you didn't insult my husband when I am around."
His smile quickly turned to a smug smirk when he saw that Sally had backed off along with Anderson. He looked up at Sherlock to see his husband's pupils dilated. Sherlock always got like the this whenever he deduced people. John looked back to the other three and threw a quick farewell and led Sherlock home so they could 'catch up.'
Greg watched the departing couple with amusement. It wasn't everyday that you saw Sherlock smile. In fact he though he didn't have any friends, other than himself, but a husband. John Hamish Watson-Holmes was obviously a perfect match for the worlds only consulting detective.