So, my second story! Yet again, this is eventual Slash, so please leave if you dislike that.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters.
Bored.
It had been almost a week since that last case.
Bored.
God, his brain was going to explode.
Bored.
What was the point of criminals if they took the Easter holidays off? What happened to 'crime never sleeps?'
Sherlock ignored the fact all the blood was rushing to his head, wondering vaguely what Lestrade would call it if he did die from boredom. Probably suicide.
The flat was completely and unbearably silent. Only the very faint hum of traffic from outside breaking the dullness. The light from outside shifted in through the window, giving the otherwise dark room a slightly eerie look. Not that Sherlock cared.
He lay, draped down the chair so his back was on the seat and legs over the top for what felt like a long time, before pushing himself off into a roll and lying on the floor, wondering if there was any improvement.
He needed a case. Preferably sooner rather than later. This was just unbearable.
He considered breaking into the morgue. Or maybe Lestrade's office. But he'd managed to break into both places several weeks ago, and had been extremely disappointed by the lack of challenge.
He crawled up onto the sofa, and stretched out. His body was beginning to protest. Three nights without sleep, and already he was shaky.
The lack of food probably wasn't helping either. But he hadn't been hungry, and it was to much of an effort to go out to the shops.
What's the point of being a detective if there are no crimes? he wondered moodily, during the struggle to keep his mind from shutting down.
And what about Moriarty? He was proving considerably less exciting than he had first hoped. After all, they had parted with Moriarty promising to crush him beyond repair. And yet, rather disappointingly nothing had even had a whiff of Moriarty for months.
So he was just as dull, boring and predictable as everybody else.
Bored.
"Christ! Get Mrs. Hudson will you Sally." were the words that woke Sherlock the next morning.
He didn't move, listening the hurried tread of Sgt. Donovan. So, Lestrade was here.
"This better not be a social call." he sneered without opening his eyes.
"Oh. You're not dead then." said Lestrade, the worry in his voice overriding the joke.
"No, rather obviously not."
He cracked an eye open to gaze coldly at the DI, fingertips already buzzing with anticipation. A case had arrived. According the the mantel piece clock, it was midday.
"Yes well... Good," Lestrade leant forward, a sigh breezing through his nose. "You don't look well Sherlock." he said.
"Don't I?"
"Don't play dumb with me. When did you last eat?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, closing them again after a moment. He didn't need anybody mollycoddling him. He was an adult, and perfectly aware of his limits. Food was only required infrequently, and until then there was no need for it.
"A few days ago." he said, with an exaggerated sigh.
"Christ," Lestrade repeated. "I'm not letting you out the house until you eat something." he said.
Sherlock managed to pull himself into a sitting position, trying not to show the slight trembling in his hands.
"I can look after myself." he snarled defensively.
"The evidence would suggest otherwise."
Sherlock had thought of the perfect scathing retort, but he was cut off my Mrs. Hudson, trailed by Sgt. Donovan, entering the room.
"Sherlock dear! What have you done to yourself this time?" she asked anxiously, plopping herself down on the sofa beside him.
"Nothing. Lestrade insists on fussing." Sherlock said, shuffling away from her.
From the interesting promise of a case, his day had now gone horribly astray.
"He hasn't eaten for a 'couple' of days. Do you have any soup or anything?" Lestrade asked.
"Yes. I'll go and get some shall I?"
"No, Sally, could you please...?"
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, I should have come up and checked on the poor dear. But I didn't know..."
"You're not to blame, Mrs. Hudson. His a self-destructive idiot, that's all."
"I know, but all the same. Where would he be without us?"
"I am still here you know," Sherlock snapped irritably, bored of their monologue. "And I don't need anybody, certainly not you two." he added, with a vicious edge to his voice.
Mrs. Hudson just tutted, and Lestrade patted his shoulder, ignoring the way Sherlock shied away from the contact.
They were used to it.
"Tell me about the case." he said, sitting a little more upright, and frowning as his head swam.
"If you promise to-"
"Yes. Yes. Now talk." Sherlock promised, feeling the familiar coiling of excitement.
A case. Finally.
"Fine. I'm not sure how much it will interest you. But I thought..." a stony glare brought Lestrade back onto the right track. "Yes, well. Murder, we think. This morning, about ten. An Adam Winster. Shot through the head. Apparently a cold crime, but we haven't seen any similar around the area."
Sherlock nodded, watching as Sally pressed a tin of soup in Mrs. Hudson's hands, glaring at Sherlock as she did so. He returned her gaze with equal dislike, only to be brought back to Lestrade.
"Number one suspect is his boyfriend. John Watson. Has no alibi, and was the one to find him. Only ten minutes after the death. Apparently he didn't hear anything, even though he was in the room above the murder."
"Seems a fairly simple case. Even you should be able to work it out."
"Well yes. But I don't think Watson has murder in him."
"And on your instincts, you have called me in?" Sherlock scoffed.
"It's that or nothing,"
"Fine. Anything else linking Watson to this crime?" Sherlock asked.
Lestrade was right, it was better than nothing. And maybe something would come of it.
"His gun was used. He's ex army, so is probably a good shot. The only real thing in his innocence is the fact it was his boyfriend."
"Of how long?"
"Almost a year and a half."
"Hmm."
It still didn't sound very interesting. But at least he would be able to decide one way or another. And sometimes these cases had potential.
"I'll do it."
Lestrade nodded. Before Sherlock could make his escape however, Mrs. Hudson returned, a mug of soup in her hands. She pushed it into Sherlock's pale spidery ones, lips pursed.
He hesitated for a moment under the stern look of his landlady, not housekeeper, before wrinkling his nose and taking a sip, ignoring the burning of his throat and tongue.
"Have as much as you can keep down. I don't want you chucking up at the crime scene." Lestrade, arms folded as he watched Sherlock.
He managed to drink about an inch of the soup, before feeling his stomach churn uneasily, and being forced to hand the cup back, taking a few breaths.
"You've barely touched it." Mrs. Hudson said, annoyance plastered over her features.
Sherlock was stopped from noting she had just pointed out the obvious by Sergeant Sally Donovan.
"We could take it in a flask. Malnourished people should have lots little and often." she said, her fake worry not fooling Sherlock for a moment.
"I don't-"
"Perfect Sally. Do you have one, Mrs. Hudson?"
And so it was that half an hour later, Sherlock followed Lestrade up to a small flat with the flask of soup under one arm. Ridiculous. He was not malnourished for one thing.
Of course the rest of the yard found it highly amusing, despite Lestrade trying to calm them down a little. In Sherlock's opinion he didn't try very hard however. He was sure several took pictures.
Throughout his examination of the hallway Lestrade constantly nagged him to have a bit. He was sure it was more out of revenge than concern.
He was crawling around the floor by the skirting board, flask still pinned under one arm when he became aware of a new presence in the hall. He didn't glance up, hitching the flask higher in his arm, glowering at it as he did so.
"Do you want me to take that?" asked the person from behind him.
He whipped round, meeting the gaze of the newcomer, first with slight curiosity, and then as their eyes met, nervousness. His stomach had clenched, and it wasn't the usual hunger pangs. It was something new.
"Sherlock, this is John Watson." said Lestrade's voice.
But as he stared at John Watson, nobody else existed, only those blue eyes, set in a friendly, kind face.
There we go! Chapter one, complete. I hope it was enjoyable. Look forward to the next chapter in a couple of days. Reviews would be delightful, some initial thoughts will certainly be helpful!