Authors notes: I want to apologize beforehand for my inability to write in proper brittish-english, which this fic would have needed. Even though I consume large amounts of BBC programing this has not made me as familiar as one might think with the Queens english.
Sometimes it was an ordeal to get through to Sherlock Holmes. The man lived for days inside his own mind, and during these times he would swoosh in and out of the apartment treating John as a piece of the interior inventory. The doctor might forget his flatmates unresponsive nature and try to converse with him over the newspaper or when entering the apartment after a days work getting nothing but silence or, at best, mumbled half-sentences that made no sense, in return.
This annoyed John Watson, but he told himself that is was not personal. It was just the ways of Sherlock Holmes and if one would want to share in the excitement of his life, one must also have patience with his moods. And John had patience. He had patiance with the midnight violin sessions. He had patience with the smell of chemicals. He had patience with the theft of his property, even though he yelled at Sherlock when he for the third time in a single week hacked the password John had locked his computer with. He had gotten a response from Sherlock then, the infinitely brilliant scientist of deduction not being able to comprehend the logic that he would get out of the sofa and fetch his own computer from the bedroom, when Johns was so conveniently placed of the coffeetable. To prevent this from happening again John now kept his laptop in his bedroom, putting an entire bothersome flight of stairs between his search history and Sherlock Holmes.
John had patience because he knew that when the time came that Sherlock needed someone to confide in, or work his theories with, that one person would be John. And though he would never admit it to anyone, least of all himself, he enjoyed that. While Sherlock might treat John with the same interest one might pay to a seldom used armchair from time to time, it was nothing compared to how he treated the rest of the world. Sherlock might tolerate Lestrade and have some lukewarm feelings for Ms. Hudson, but he only ever really looked at John as something close to an equal.
And they were nice, those looks. Not LIKE THAT. But still, it was nice for infinitely patient John to get some recognition.
That is why John hated Capitan Jack Harkness.
Sherlock had been in a mood for a little over a week. For eight days he was cooped up in the flat doing experiments in the kitchen and some days not moving from the sofa at all, just staring at the ceiling. At one point five days into this mess John had given Sherlock a quick check-up when he was fast asleep just to make sure he was not using again. But no, no traces of cocaine or any other substance.
When the call from Lestrade came on the ninth day it was a blessing, as it ripped Sherlock from his apathy and got him back on the streets of London.
The murder was most peculiar. The first victim had been a middle aged woman who apparently died in her home. The police had not even suspected murder until the ghastly details were revealed. The woman had drowned on her livingroom floor. A camera monitoring the victims street revealed that no one suspect had come in our out of the building at the estimated time of death and it had not appeared that the body had been moved, and there was no sign of struggle in the flat. The second victim was a UPS employee found in the back of his van amongst undelivered packages, also drowned on dry land. When a third victim was found drowned on a back-street in Fullham Lestrade had pulled some strings and called Sherlock to the crime scene.
Upon arriving Sherlock was no longer the unresponsive shut-in, but a blood hound that had just caught a sent. Striding between the police cars and ducking under the yellow tape that separated the murder scene from the rest of London he was at his best.
The body was on the street, underdressed in the chilly October air, the females face turned upwards toward the bleak light from the office buildings. Her face was peaceful, lips slightly parted and one hand gently resting over her chest.
"She can't be more than 25" John said, crouching down to get a closer look at the young woman.
"24, according to her ID" Lestrad answered "She still had her wallet on her"
"Nothing was taken?" John asked as he with one latex-covered thumb pulled one eyelid open.
"Not as far as we can determine" the detective inspector replied "That necklace she wears is 18 carat gold, and the money was still in her purse. 100 quids"
"Sherlock, what do you..."
But Sherlock was not paying any attention to John, Lestade or the murdered woman. He was looking at a man who was currently talking to one of the patrolling officers. Sherlock blankly stared at the man, with an expression as if a thousand half-heard thoughts whistled through his head at once. The man ducked under the yellow tape and came straight towards them, his long jacket flowing behind him.
"I'm sorry, and you are?" Lestrad greeted while being handed the mans credentials.
"Capitan Jack Harkness" the introduction was meant for Lestrade, but his outstretched hand went to Sherlock. "And who are you?"
His accent was American, his smile wide and the look he gave Sherlock anything but discrete. The consulting detective hesitated for a second before taking the capitans hand.
"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes"
"Well, nice to meet you, Sherlock Holmes" Jack held on to the detectives hand for a moment to long before letting go "You're the super-detective aren't you? I've heard about you!"
"Consulting detective" Sherlock corrected, still not taking his eyes of the man "You have heard of me? From where?"
"Oh, you know, guy like you, word get's around" "Does it?"
"Anything else would be a shame, really" another flash of unnaturally white teeth was fired in Sherlocks direction.
"Sherlock!" John did not know why he felt so annoyed all of a sudden. It did not help that the consulting detective did not even look over in his direction upon answering. "Yes, John?"
"The body!"
"Yes, the body" John hoped that he imagined Sherlocks eyes wandering over the capitans rather muscular build while uttering the word. Then the detective snapped around on his heels, giving his full attention to the woman on the ground. "Can you tell if the downing was wet or dry?" he asked John as he dropped down next to the doctor.
"Not for sure without an autopsy but I'm 98% sure we are looking at a wet drowning"
"How'd you know that?" Capitan Jack asked, standing next to Lestrade.
"Well, Mr. Harkness..." John started. "
Please, call me Jack! Or Capitan Jack"
"Like Johnny Depp, then?" John snapped.
"You know, eight years and no one made that joke yet!" Jack laughed "But it's not the first time I've been compared to Depp though!"0
"What are you capitan of, really?"
"Airforce"
"Your ID says 'Torchwood'" Lestrade noted.
"Yeah,the capitan-part is unrelated to that"
"Which airforce?" John asked, trying to sound polite.
"Oh, you know, overseas" Jack said with a wink at the doctor.
"American then?"
"You could say that"
"I was placed in Afghanistan for two years with some american troops, some of them airforce. Which regement?"
"Fourth division, but it's been quite some time since I last saw war"
"Really? No glory in fighting the terrorists?"
Jacks eyes went darker, and he suddenly looked a lot older as his smile faded.
"Well, when you've seen the darkness humans are capable of doing to each other, the absolute worst in all of us, it sort of takes the fight out of you" then he smiled again "Or me at least, but people used to call me a coward. I was a lot better of as a coward though"
John realised that Sherlock had intensely listened to every word.
"Any theories?" Lestrade asked the consulting detective, who was silent for a while before he answered;
"No"
"NO?" Lestades arms went up in a gesture of surprise and despair "Sherlock, I need you to make sense of this, because the department's got nothing!"
John was just as chocked as the detective inspector. He had never before seen Sherlock dumbfounded.
"It doesn't make sense" Sherlock angrily rose to his feet "It is as if someone put out a puzzle, but the pieces are not even from the same cartridge. Things fit together but it does not form a picture"
He ran his hands over his face and then clasped them, pushing the tips of his indexfingers to his lips, composing himself.
"I need to think and we need to give this body an autopsy" Sherlock mumbled into his hands "I can't concentrate here. I am going to the lab. Lestrade, call me when you have anything. John?"
John rose and followed Sherlock, who was heading back towards the busy street only a couple of meters from where a young woman had been robbed of her life in a very strange way. When he passed Capitan Jack Sherlock paused for a moment.
"It was... very interesting meeting you, Jack" he said.
"It was nice meeting you too, Sherlock" Jack smiled "I'll be around to keep things interesting for a while longer"
"Very good"
Then Sherlock continued on, and John trailed him with a bad feeling he would never admit as jealousy.
The cab-ride was a quiet one at first. Sherlock was staring out the window looking miserable, his mind racing. John could almost see that spectacular brain working underneath skin and bone.
"Are you alright?" the doctor asked, concerned for this friend "You've never been out of theories before?"
"He lied" Sherlock mumbled.
"I'm sorry what?"
"He lied" Sherlock repeated, turning to face John "Capitan Jack Harkness. He lied. Not about everything he said but a lot of it. Why would he lie?"
"Well, Sherlock, sometimes people lie to... " John was taken aback by his friends question, but sometimes his lack of understanding for social code made itself apparent " They lie to.. make them self look better, or seem a little more interesting... to others"
"Oh, but he would not have needed that! Just look at him!" Sherlock snapped "No, this is something else. If the murder is like pieces from three puzzles mixed together this Capian Jack Harkness is like a dozen smashed church windows stuffed into a shoebox. Nothing about him makes any conclusive sense. He is obviously a soldier, but he has no scars. He seemes like he would be in his early forties, yet some of his manners are much older then that, things you would see old men do. And that jacket. It's authentic and in splendid condition, like time has not touched it at all. And what is Torchwood?"
John had forgot to ask.
Authors last notes: I like to point out that my intention was for Sherlocks interest in Jack to be similar to the interest he has for Irene Adler in the books, meaning that it's not romantic but rather because the person fascinates him on an intellectual level. Theoreticly, if a man like Capitan Jack that would come in Sherlocks way, would he be able to read him like he does others, because there's so many things that he can't be taking into consideration - like the possibility of the other person being a time traveling imortal from several thousand years in the future. It has to screw with Sherlocks senestive reasoning. Also, no,John is not in love with Sherlock, but I think he likes feeling special. Okay, this is my first shot at anything relating to this fandoms, so give me your imput if you have any!