Taking Care of His Blogger

Sherlock Holmes was in his element. 46 hours and 32 minutes into the investigation, and all that stood between him and the brief but oh-so addictive rush of a case closed was evidence. Luckily for the walls of 221B, not to mention John's sanity, this criminal had proven himself to be particularly clever, and hadn't actually left any. A rare achievement; definitely an 8. Well he had left some, but nothing D.I. Lestrade could take. Annoying, but he did love the clever ones, and this one had managed to keep the ennui at bay for almost two whole days. All that was left was to catch him in the act. He looked over at John, who was crouched down at his right, Browning in hand, with a smile on his face.

But something was off. He managed to resist the urge for all of five seconds before he did the one thing John hated most: he deduced him. Illness? Possible, but unlikely given the lack of symptoms. Tired then? Sherlock thought back. John had managed about two hours the night before, and he had only just come home from a long shift at work when they'd received a call from Lestrade. Yes, that was it. John was clearly exhausted now that Sherlock had a lull in the action to properly look at him. Bags under his eyes, ache in his leg and shoulder beginning to set in, judging by his constant shifting and flexing. A nice shot of adrenaline would fix that nicely. And who better to give him exactly what he needed then Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, certifiable genius, resident madman? Who says I can't take care of John? Sherlock preened under the thought.

"What are you looking so smug about then?" John asked suspiciously.

Sherlock briefly considered telling the truth, but quickly dismissed the thought. "Merely pleased this case is almost over, I have a few experiments I want to begin at home." So much more fun to leave John in the dark.

"Leave it to you to already be on to the next puzzle. Don't you ever slow down?" His tone was exasperated, but Sherlock could see the amusement in his eyes.

"Not if I can help it, no." He responded with a twitch at the corner of his mouth. A suggestion of a smirk, but nothing too telling. Though he knew if anyone could read him, it was John.

None of that mattered now though, because the criminal was suddenly in view. Ah, yes, obviously. Mr. Swanson. Exactly as he'd told Lestrade. Would they ever learn? He glanced at John, and flicked his eyes in the direction of Mr. Swanson. John followed his eyes and then turned back and nodded his understanding. Sherlock allowed himself a moment to enjoy the electricity in the air. Then he sent a text to Lestrade and attempted to wait an appropriate amount of time for him to have received the text and begin to mobilize the police. He doubled his resolve from last time and lasted an entire 10 seconds before the temptation grew unbearable.

"Now." He breathed.

A/N Okay, so this is the story I've been attempting to write since before 'A Complex Man.' I'm posting this first part, even though I'm not particularly happy with it, to try and motivate myself. I've already got two more chapters more or less written, and knowing how I am about updates once I feel like I'm keeping people waiting, this should be the push I need to keep typing! Hopefully they'll be up soon :)

P.S. If you see any holes in the story, let me know. I'm kind of a 'choppy' writer, which basically means I write in chunks and then fill in the gaps later…which can lead to accidentally overlooked plot-holes and inconsistencies :s I am trying to work on this, it's just that the 'filling in the gaps' bit is just so boring compared to the major plot!

Please review! This is a new style for me, so let me know what you think! Worth continuing? Or am I a mad-woman for stepping out of my usual style?