Author's Note: Prompt fill from SherlockBBC_fic, in which our characters' possessions start disappearing.
1. Sergeant Donovan's Identification
The body of victim Matilda Briggs lay ten feet away, gnawed into tatters by a most unusual animal, and all John could think about was Sergeant Donovan. John had had quite enough of hearing her calling Sherlock a freak.
It was grating, the way she worked it anew into every conversation. John wished he could be as uncaring as Sherlock: ignore the insult and objectively appreciate the skill with which she flung the word into his friend's face.
Knowing that Sherlock was impervious to the barrage was cold comfort. He simply went about his business as if the slurs were never spoken. In fact, at times Sherlock acted as if Donovan didn't exist: he was currently occupied with his mobile and scrolling through internet descriptions of rat species native to Sumatra. It didn't seem to matter to him, but John wanted to take him by the shoulders and shout, "It does matter. Don't let her treat you this way! You're amazing and she should appreciate your brilliance, they all should!"
He recalled Sherlock saying once, in reference to Lestrade: "I pickpocket him when he's annoying."
It gave John an idea... he wasn't adept at pickpocketing, had never even tried it before to be honest, but he resolved to one day ruin Donovan's day by stealing her identification.
The opportunity arrived two weeks later. He and Sherlock were at the police station consulting with Lestrade and Donovan. John noticed Donovan's coat draped over her desk chair. Pretending to pick up something he dropped, he filched the wallet from her coat pocket.
John was giddy as he and Sherlock left the station. Sherlock detected the altered mood, of course, and gave John calculating looks. Over dinner at Angelo's (where he had long ago made peace with the inevitable romantic candle), John's adrenaline rush dwindled. He began to feel he had made a dreadful mistake. He realized the severity of his theft and decided to confess.
"Sherlock, I... I think I've done something very stupid." He pulled the wallet out of his pocket and passed it over.
"What is this?" Sherlock opened the wallet, curiosity giving way to delight when he saw the identification. "No, it can't be... John, what have you done?"
"I've committed a serious crime!" John hissed.
"That much is obvious. " Sherlock absently turned the wallet over in his hands, processing. Another piercing look. "Somehow I never get your limits. What could Donovan possibly have done to drive my moral compass to such uncharacteristic behavior?"
John preferred to not explain his reasons; they suddenly seemed very complicated. Instead, he asked, "What do I do now? I can't just give it back."
"Give it back? Never. We'll add it to the collection of Lestrade's I have at home. It will occupy a place of honour." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "But let's not make this a habit. I refuse to be responsible for the corruption of a good, honest man like yourself. After all, we can't both be sociopaths."
Observing the worry lines lingering on John's face, he added, "Oh, calm down. They'll probably blame me when she notices it's missing, anyway."