I would just like to say that this is absolutely based on something that happened to me. Goddammit.
It was simply, really. Of course it was. The very fact that the body was not where it should be told more than if it were left where the murder had occurred. The killer had worn gloves, no finger prints. God, and that just made the Yarders flail about like some oxygen-starved puppy. So reliant on their forensics now. When would they just learn to step back and see—
But he's trying not to concern himself with that right now.
Sherlock feels the eyes of the entire forensics team slipping across his back. Anderson is behind him, going on about fantastic sounding motives and unrealistic methods. That he's trying to one-up Sherlock is painfully obvious and god would he just shut up?
"Wrong," Sherlock states, pausing long enough to ensure Anderson has stopped forcing air through his vocal cords, then continues, "Mr. Johnson was not the killer. Observe the blade marks on Mr. Gagne's neck, see how they angle? Only someone who is right handed would angle the blade in such a way. You would have seen in your interview with Mr. Johnson that he is left-handed if you had been paying attention to his pockets. Mr. Gagne was not killed in this room, as you have already deduced due to the lack of blood. Rather, the murder took place in a parking garage somewhere near here. The residue on his jeans is found only in areas of high auto-traffic with no exposure to weather. It must be near because Mr. Gagne walked to work, which the timing suggests he was doing before someone rather rudely pulled him into a darkened corner and slit his throat. The footprints outside the house—which also indicate a rather large male with fallen arches, you may remember that Mr. Johnson was quite short—show someone carrying a human-sized burden. No, the murderer was Jon Devereaux, who you will find is Mrs. Gagne's lover and who recently discovered she was married."
The room is silent for a moment and Sherlock feels the familiar but never tiring thrill of being right. Suddenly, a hand is on his back.
Anderson get your slimy—"Don't touch me!" Sherlock lets his voice fill the room and turns angrily and a little incredulously.
He sees John quickly pull his hand away, guilt and resignation evident on his face. Sherlock is too shocked for a moment to say any thing before the timing is lost.
There is a silence now in the room that even Sherlock is capable of labeling as awkward. Frustration quickly builds in his chest.
Stupid, stupid. Should've just checked first. He's the one person I would've allowed to do that and now it's gone. Barely the beginning and I've already condemned the relationship to stagnation. He thought he was getting somewhere, he thought he was getting close to me and he was, god he was. And he goes and tries to express familiarity like a normal person and I slam the door in his face.
Sherlock can see their transparent thoughts flashing across their faces. All the Yarders glancing at one-another, merely confirming what they've always known: Sherlock Holmes is incapable of normal interaction, he doesn't even want it.
And they're right, to some degree. He doesn't really care whether or not he has the capacity for "normality." It's too cumbersome. But with John… something about the man was appealing to Sherlock in the way that no one else was. He hadn't quite pinpointed what it was, exactly, but there was definitely something. Sherlock had been proud to call John his friend when they'd encountered Sebastian, even if John had initially rejected the label.
But over the ensuing weeks, John seemed to have made the transition for himself, if the friendly hand was any indication of it. And now those first tentative steps towards friendship were gone.
Sherlock turns to face John. He lets no emotion cross his features, his pride will allow him no admission of mistake. At that moment he hates himself, for being unable to overcome his own barriers and explain to John, to say that it was actually okay, he'd thought it was Anderson, etc. etc.
But no. Sherlock exits the room in a flurry of coat and apathy. He knows John will follow him out anyways, and he wishes for once John would realize how despicably terrible Sherlock Holmes really is when it comes to other people. Because it hurts to see John with that expression, John should realize that Sherlock needs to be punished for this and ignore him for a few days. Yes, that would put him in his place. This whole event was a signal of what was to come: more pain for John, more misunderstanding, more of Sherlock being unable to conquer himself even when faced with a truth he'd been waiting for his whole life.
Sherlock almost wants to cry when he does indeed hear John's footsteps behind him.
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