A/N: So this is my first Sherlock fanfic ever (so please be kind to me!). It will lean towards the JohnLock ship so all aboard!

Please review, as reviews are what puzzles are to Sherlock, and they get my adrenaline pumping so I can write more. Feel free to shoot any suggestions or ideas my way and I might use them in this story or future stories!

I only own the plot because if I owned the characters, they'd be in a lot of trouble. Since it's JohnLock it's most likely to be a bit OOC but I tried to stick close to their personalities as I could.

Chapter One: The Name Game

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John watched with an aching in his heart as his best friend lay on the black leather couch, on his back, silently smoking a cigarette. He knew these bouts Sherlock got stuck in; it usually presented itself in times of nonexistent cases or even just out of the blue for no apparent reason at all. Either way, it still hurt John Watson to see his friend in such a bleak state. He had gotten up with Sherlock when he couldn't fall asleep because his mind had been working in other ways, unhealthy ways.

He watched as the dancing waves of cigarette smoke swirled upwards into the air above Sherlock, who occasionally closed his eyes. Even this man who seemed so incapable of any feelings whatsoever sometimes managed to even let a few stray tears escape his grey tinted eyes. This only occurred on unusually bad nights, however, and Sherlock Holmes tried so hard to hide this evidence of his depression but it was no secret to John.

"Do you have any idea how oblivious the human race is to our eventual demise?"

He hadn't said a word in nearly five hours as he only let the ashtray fill up with his dead cigarette butts. John had started to think his friend had fallen asleep, after catching him yawning a few times. The unexpected question took John back and he took the time to take a small sip from his tea and looked up from his book. "I'm sorry?"

Sherlock took another drag from his cigarette that rested comfortably between his long, thin fingers. "We're made of stardust. That's what we were created from… and we live, and sleep, eat, drink, fornicate… only to go back up to the stars one day, and every single person just takes it for granted."

John knew where this was heading. It had been an unexpected question at first but it was usually the one thing he talked about during these spells. He chewed anxiously on his lower lip. He knew in his heart he should be grateful that his friend hadn't chosen to resort to the more serious means that he usually turned to when he grew bored or grief-stricken. Then again, chain smoking wasn't good for him either.

"I don't believe that's true. I don't think every single person takes their limited life for granted. Even if they do take it for granted, that's not to say that they're oblivious they're going to die one day. What if they believe that they're living their life to its fullest, having fun before their time is done?" John suggested, turning his full attention to his friend.

Sherlock cast a glance over to him before he looked back up towards the ceiling. He became quiet for a few minutes, as if he was absorbing the words John had said to him. "Those are some pretty extravagant thoughts for a hypocrite."

"Hypocrite? I'm sorry, Sherlock, you're the person who's always complaining when people lose loved ones and then they're the ones who wonder what it all means! You're just as bad as them…"

Sherlock Holmes either didn't hear the second part of John's sentence or he was choosing to ignore it. Most likely, it was the latter.

"Yes, hypocrite, John. You're not living your life to its fullest! You've shut yourself up in here with me and you barely go out unless there's a case…"

John chuckled in disbelief and shook his head, already becoming frustrated with this man. "Forgive me for coming back from a violent and bloody war with post-traumatic stress disorder! It's rather difficult to live any life when I have flashbacks and nightmares of all my friends dying around me. Anyway, you're the pot calling the kettle black, Sherlock! It's you who's not living his life to the fullest, besides purposely pissing off Anderson and Greg – "

"Who?" Sherlock asked, looking back over at John with furrowed eyebrows.

John wanted to stand up and go over to Sherlock to hit him with his book but instead, stayed put in his chair. He leaned forward though with his mouth agape at Sherlock. "Lestrade! You know, the guy who always asks for your help with difficult cases! I can't believe you don't even know what him by his first name. Anyway, besides your continuing habit of making them both angry, I wouldn't say that you're putting yourself out there to live any real life."

Sherlock sighed inwardly before he took another drag of the slowly deteriorating cigarette. "You know I live my life for exciting cases, John. Those are what gets my blood pumping, as well as yours."

"Yes, I'll admit that it does, but look at yourself when there are no cases! You shut yourself up in this room, chain smoke or worse. You shoot toxins into your body, hoping for something that will make your brain work like it does during the cases. That's not healthy, Sherlock! You need a new hobby," John attempted to reason with him.

Sherlock closed his eyes as he exhaled. "I have plenty of hobbies," he mumbled almost too softly. He remained quiet for several minutes before John watched him suddenly sit up and then bounce onto his feet quickly. "Right then! I'm off…"

He straightened up in surprise and looked up at his friend. "Off where? We were having a discussion, and you were feeling low…"

Sherlock fixed his button down shirt and tucked it elegantly into his black dress pants, having taken the fabric out after about an hour and a half of lying on the couch in his depressed state. "Well, I'm all better now. I figured I'd go talk to George – "

"Greg," John corrected automatically with exasperation.

" – and see if they have any cases they need help with," Sherlock continued without missing a beat. He began to put on his long, heavy black coat with his dark blue scarf.

John closed his book, set his tea down, and made a beeline for his own coat. He didn't truly believe Sherlock's episode of depression was over but he also couldn't let Sherlock go out of the building with a clear conscious. He knew his friend usually thought logically about things but he was weary of what Sherlock might do if left alone. "I'll come with. I could do with some excitement as well anyway."

"Really, John, you don't need to baby-sit me like Mycroft. I'm going to just pop over to the pastry shop around the corner to talk to Grant – "

"GREG!" John interjected. "And I'd just rather come with you is all. If something occurs, I've… got your back, sort to speak…"

Sherlock thought about this a minute and then almost smirked. "Well, come along then, John."

As the two friends exited 221B, they began to make their way towards the pastry shop that was about seven minutes away. The two didn't say a word to each other until they were less than a minute away and then John turned to Sherlock.

"Wait a minute, how do you know Greg's even going to be in here?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, as if the answer was too obvious. "John, really now… I believe you're slipping. We haven't done a case in so long, you've appeared to have lost your edge! It's Thursday late morning. Lestrade doesn't actually go into work until about 11:30, and it's –" Sherlock looked at his watch on his wrist. "11:05. So let's go talk to him, shall we?"

John couldn't deny his friend's extensive knowledge down to the last second. It certainly hadn't come with being close to Greg Lestrade, since Sherlock wasn't ever close to anyone. Sure enough, as they both walked inside the cozy coffee shop, they saw Lestrade sitting at a table, sipping his coffee and glancing up at the news on the television.

"Gareth -"

"Greg," Lestrade calmly corrected the consulting detective, although he had a slight edge to his voice.

"Right, Gregory. I see you're not doing anything particularly important at the moment. Might if we have a seat?" Sherlock asked before pulling out a chair and sitting down across from him.

John cleared his throat and inched his way to the chair between both men and slowly sat down. Lestrade made no attempt to stop them but he could see the irritation already forming in his eyes. Sherlock was the bane of his existence, John knew, but he didn't take it too personally since Sherlock Holmes was the bane of everyone's existence anyway.

Sherlock looked unusually antsy but John didn't miss his friend's eyes as they scrutinized every bit of Greg Lestrade, as if he was trying to pick out any flaws or anything out of the ordinary. Sure enough, he found something. "Looking a bit scruffy, aren't we, Lestrade? Hmm, your shirt's wrinkled and you missed a button… might you have slept over at someone's house recently?"

John glanced over at Greg for confirmation. The Detective Inspector groaned as he fiddled with one of the buttons on his shirt he had forgotten to button and then looked over at Sherlock. "No, Sherlock. Pardon me, I didn't shave or iron my shirt because I simply didn't have the time, and I was in a hurry, hence the missing button. Not everyone applies to your deduction of things. You're not always right, you know!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and smirked. "I can be, and am always right though. You didn't have time to shave or iron your shirt but yet you had time to come here to sit and have a coffee before work? Shaving takes about three minutes and ironing a button down shirt like that takes about fifteen seconds but driving to a coffee shop before work, that you live right around the corner from takes about five minutes -"

"Oh for bloody Christ's sake, I enjoy my leisure time, Sherlock! So sue me… what are you two doing here anyway?"

John couldn't stop himself from grinning at Greg's impatience with his friend but quickly formed it into a casual smile to answer before Sherlock could anger him any further. "Sherlock's got cabin fever and needs a case."

Greg looked from John over to Sherlock. "A case? Have you tried looking at yourself, you bleeding nut case?"

Sherlock sighed and then looked at the Inspector once again. "Oh please, Lestrade, I'm way too boring. Give me a case, any case! Just not a boring case…"

John searched his friend's face and knew that Sherlock never purposely set out to be entertaining or amusing but it simply just happened sometimes. A part of him wished that Sherlock had the normal human personality that tried to make jokes instead of always be serious but that's just how he was; he was always serious because he believed that the world was nothing to joke about, that because one day they'd be stardust back up into the sky, there was no point in making silly jokes.

"Do you mind, Sherlock? I only have…" Greg looked at his wrist before sighing and taking another drink from his coffee cup. "Fifteen minutes to enjoy myself. You look like death warmed over; why don't you grab some coffee?"

"Actually, I do mind! I'm going out of my mind because I mind so much! And I don't want any coffee! Just give me a bloody case or I swear, I will ingest all the cocaine in the world and shoot all the morphine that exists in this country into my veins!" Sherlock yelled suddenly, nearly causing me to jump.

Greg looked at Sherlock as if he had grown a second head off his shoulders and suddenly grabbed his briefcase before setting it on the table and opening it. John and Sherlock both watched in curiosity as Lestrade pulled out a file and threw the manila folder at Sherlock who caught it and eagerly opened it. He scanned the file quickly, far more quickly than John ever could've, but then again, his friend's brain worked a second a minute instead of a mile.

"Oh come on, Lestrade! Really?" Sherlock moaned in disappointment.

"What do you mean, 'really'? You wanted a case, I gave you a case!" Lestrade exclaimed, giving Sherlock a bewildered look.

"Well, my apologies, then. I should've been more specific! I want a better case, a good case!"

John looked at Greg who tongued his cheek. "I'll make you a deal, Sherlock. I'll give you a better case if you can tell me the final solution to that case," he bargained before smirking.

Sherlock sighed and threw the file back in front of Greg. "Alright then. The manager of the company embezzled the five hundred thousand pounds to pay for his overseas gambling debt. His wife found out he was in debt, threatened to leave him, and the manager shot his wife. He panicked, thinking he'd be found out again, and disposed of her body but was seen by someone nearby, and someone who knew him. Possibly a good friend or maybe even a relative. This person blackmailed him until he became under so much pressure that he finally snapped, and put the gun to his head. Before he did this though, he wanted it to look like he had been murdered by his friend or relative but he didn't think about the angle in his distressed state. He shot from the side instead of the mouth or the back of the head, which would've been the angle of a murder. The blackmailer didn't have any photographic or physical evidence of his wife's murder so he received no jail time for the actual offense of blackmailing, however, police for one reason or another did some shoddy police work and it appears that he'd be accused of murder until you threw this file at me. He shouldn't receive any jail time except for the blackmailing since the manager committed suicide, which he most likely wouldn't serve any more than eleven years for."

John and Greg both stared at him in a combination of shock and awe, Sherlock's talents never ceasing to amaze them. Greg quickly recovered though and then looked defeated. "Well done, Sherlock… are you satisfied with yourself then, showing me up?"

"Incredibly, the file now, as you promised," Sherlock insisted, holding out his hand.

John smiled at looked over at his friend as Greg perused through his briefcase one case for another case. "How did that feel?"

Sherlock glanced at John and smiled back. "Wonderful, John. I can only hope for a slightly tougher case this time, though."

Greg scowled at him before he threw the second manila folder at him and then glanced at his watch before he stood up, throwing his coffee cup away. "Have fun with this one, Sherlock Holmes. I doubt you're going to be bored again anytime soon."

John watched him turn and leave the coffee shop before he looked down at the folder. "What does it say?"

Sherlock closed it and then stood up, looking too secretive for John's liking. "Not here, John. Let's go back home and look at it."

John couldn't help but smirk at the expression on his friend's face. "It must be a good one. You're looking like the cat that swallowed the canary…"

"Not. Here. Let's go," Sherlock spoke firmly, lowering his voice before motioning towards the door with his neck.

John stood up and followed Sherlock out. He could feel his adrenaline pumping with excitement as they made their way back towards the apartment and up the stairs. John closed the door before he glimpsed over at Sherlock. "Tea?"

His friend gave him an almost insulted look. "Tea, at a time like this? Go ahead and make yourself a cuppa. I don't have time for tea, John. I have a case to solve."

John nodded, unable to help but feel a bit hurt at the lack of companionship of their crime solving team. "Right, of course you do. Tell me the details from in there. I can hear you…"

John walked into the kitchen part and put the kettle on before he reached up into the cupboard and grabbed a mug, listening for Sherlock's voice. When he didn't hear anything for several moments, he decided to break the silence. "You know, I wish one day you'd be able to say 'we,' instead of 'I.'" I know that you're used to being alone in your ventures but you can't deny that I help you in some way, no matter how minuscule it might seem to you. It'd just be nice if you could give me a bit of the credit as well!"

He dumped a Tetley teabag into the mug before he rested his back up against the counter. John didn't know why, but guilt suddenly flooded him. "I'm not saying to give me all the credit, Sherlock… I know a lot of the solving is your doing. You and your… mind palace. You really are the smartest of us both, I'd be thick to think otherwise. You know how smart you are… you're absolutely brilliant. I just sometimes think that I'm your tag-along, second wheel. I just feel… maybe that, sometimes I'm useless, and I know sometimes you think I am too… but I guess, where I'm getting at is…"

"Oh for God's sake, John Watson! You're not bloody useless! If you were, we wouldn't be living together and I sure as hell wouldn't be bringing you on my cases with me!" Sherlock yelled from the living area.

John smiled to himself now, taking it as a high compliment that Sherlock Holmes said he wasn't useless. He poured the hot water over his tea bag and let it steep for a few minutes before he walked back into the living room, taking the file from Sherlock, who no doubt had memorized it in the six minutes John had been in the kitchen making tea.

"Go ahead and look at it, John. Start shooting me suggestions once you've read it over," Sherlock replied, yawning as he lit a cigarette.

John sat down and gave him a disapproving look. "Really? You've got a case now! You don't need to smoke, Sherlock."

He lay back down on his back like he had been earlier and took a long drag of the new cigarette before he waved me off. "It helps me to relax and think, John. Just read the case file."

John turned his attention back to the file. He rubbed his eyes tiredly but forced them to refocus.

Name of Victim(s): Amelia & Joseph Hutchinson

Cause of Death: Joseph H. – Poison

Amelia M. – Unknown

Time of Death(s): Joseph H. – November 30th of this year at 10:26pm

Amelia M. – November 30th of this year at 10:29pm

Address: 91 Lollard Street, London

John looked over the rest of the details of the file, this task taking a good several minutes and already felt frustrated. There were so many questions he had that seemed small and insignificant but he decided to ask anyway. "This doesn't make sense, which is why I can see why you were happy with this one… but why does it say 'Amelia and Joseph Hutchinson' in the first line, but then gives different initials for each of them in the second? I mean, just because they're dead, is that supposed to signify they aren't married anymore? That's a pretty sick joke if you ask me. Sherlock?"

John looked over to see his friend had fallen asleep finally, his arm hanging off the couch with the half smoked cigarette still between his bony fingers. The ashes on the cigarette had formed a long, fragile line and threatened to fall at any second. John stood up quickly and grabbed the ashtray before he knelt down by Sherlock and carefully took the cigarette from him before stubbing it out onto the tray, extinguishing it. He set the tray on the table again before he looked over at his friend, grateful that he had finally been able to fall asleep.

He felt compelled to place a blanket over the top of his friend but then hesitated, unsure if Sherlock would even appreciate the gesture or not. He walked over to the wall and turned the heat up instead. John set the file on the table and grabbed his tea before he took it into the bedroom with him, not wanting to disturb Sherlock as he read. He quietly closed the door and laid down on the bed, his mind still on his friend.

It was amazing; Sherlock couldn't sleep until a mysterious case is put in front of him. It was something that should've kept him awake, kept his mind racing with possibilities as he made deductions but it was also ironic that he couldn't even keep his eyes open to deduct. John smiled to himself and chuckled, realizing that Sherlock had been so relieved to finally have a case, a puzzle to solve after having gone almost two weeks without one that he could finally let himself relax again. He opened his book back up where he had left off and began to read, waiting for Sherlock to wake up and declare the game to be on once again.

I apologize for the shortness of this first chapter but if you feed me reviews, I might be able to promise a longer second chapter!