Revenge
Sequel to 'An Interesting Turn of Events'
Oneshot
JOHN'S POV
John Watson padded softly down the stairs toward their living room rubbing his itching eyes with the palm of his hand. He scratched his stomach absentmindedly as he entered the living room and walked into the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway to take everything in, his arms dropped to his sides and he let out a large breath through his nose when he noticed the detective. "What are you doing?"
Sherlock didn't look up from his experiment. And why should he? John thought bitterly, of course, why should he… the self important, cocky bastard that he is?
John rounded the kitchen table and made a very frightening discovery which made him turn to the other man with anger. "Is that my phone?"
Sherlock's hands briefly paused while he searched for a suitable answer. "Is what your phone?"
John kept his eager fists in check and let out a calming breath. "The phone that you are currently dissecting."
Sherlock looked up finally and smiled. "Yes, you don't mind do you? My phone is too important to be meddling with."
John could now barely control his hands clenching into fists and aiming for the detective's unprotected stomach. "And that just makes it perfectly alright to destroy my mobile phone?"
Sherlock smirked as he continued to pick at the already disassembled phone. "Of course, you don't get as many interesting phone calls as I do."
John closed his eyes and calmed his breathing. This man was almost completely insufferable. "Fine." He snapped turning back to the coffee maker.
"Don't be angry with me, John," Sherlock's taunting voice called from behind. "I will buy you a new one."
John yawned and stretched his slightly aching limbs. "Good, good." He muttered as he settled into Sherlock's favourite arm chair to watch the news.
Sherlock looked over and John noticed his slightly irritated and rather uncomfortable expression before he returned to dissecting his phone. If Sherlock wanted to play that game then so could he, John thought and was more than a little pleased by Sherlock's irritation at having John take his seat as if it were his own. John: 1, Sherlock:… oh, John realised with amusement, I've lost count.
He flicked absentmindedly through the channels muttering to himself at the boring shows. He sighed and decided that telly was a lost cause so instead he switched it off and dedicated most of his attention to the daily mail on the coffee table to his left.
The front page wasn't very interesting. Apparently some glamour model just married her boyfriend who just happened to be in prison. John rolled his eyes at the dull front page. Who would want to know that?
He flicked over the page and noticed the second story of the paper: 10 More Troops Lose Their Lives In Afghanistan. His face fell suddenly. How depressing. How utterly depressing.
John closed his eyes and calmed his suddenly shallow breathing. The shock from the story was just taking him over, he couldn't let that happen. Not when Sherlock was in the room. He couldn't let that happen.
John closed the paper which made a crumpling sound in protest to his harsh treatment. He threw it down on the coffee table and just sat there, staring at the blank TV screen sipping his now cold coffee.
"Anything interesting?"
"Hm?" John hummed in confusion to the detective's sudden question.
"In the paper, is there anything interesting in the paper?"
John snorted his astonished annoyance. "Well, you've probably already read it. You tell me."
John took his empty cup up to the sink and rinsed it out before drying and placing it back in the fridge.
He didn't mean to be so irritable. Of course he didn't mean to be. Being extremely tolerant was something that you had to get used to living with the genius but he couldn't bring himself to be nice to the man. Not when he was purposefully trying to get him to talk about the story in the paper. No, not the one about the glamour model, the soldiers.
Sherlock obviously was trying to test his sympathy skills on John and he was not willing to be the guinea pig. No matter if he showed an interest. No matter.
He quickly jogged up the stairs and shut his door behind him with perhaps a little too much force. He could tell it was not going to be a good day.
SHERLOCK'S POV
Sherlock winced slightly when the vibrations of John slamming his door rocked the apartment. He heard some panicked footsteps running up the stairs from below and Sherlock sighed. Mrs Hudson. Of course she would come hearing him slam his door like that.
Thanks John, he thought sarcastically when he heard Mrs Hudson open the door into the living room hurriedly.
"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed coming into the kitchen. Sherlock didn't acknowledge her. Mrs Hudson knew how to deal with him. "I heard a door slamming. Was that John I heard? Have you two had another domestic?"
Sherlock accidentally dropped the circuit board in his gloved hand and sighed. "Don't worry Mrs Hudson." He said firmly, finally. "He is a bit sensitive from the story in the paper today."
Mrs Hudson gasped. "Oh! You mean the story about the soldiers in Afghanistan? Very depressing stuff, isn't it Sherlock? Poor lads!"
When he didn't respond she sighed and turned to leave. "Tell John I'm sorry about that and I'm going out tonight so I won't be home until 10 o'clock."
Sherlock smirked and glanced sideways at Mrs Hudson. "Going on a date, are we Mrs Hudson?"
Mrs Hudson blushed and smiled sheepishly. "Well, you and John shouldn't be the only men in my life."
Sherlock's lopsided smile grew. "I hope you have a lovely time, Mrs Hudson." Luckily, it wasn't fake like his usual smile.
Sherlock returned to his work on John's phone but he noticed Mrs Hudson hesitate and he smirked again. "Don't burn the house down while I'm gone will you Sherlock?"
"I won't." He said absentmindedly picking at the phone on the kitchen table.
She sighed at his lack of response but didn't argue the point any further.
Sherlock listened to her erratic foot steps (which were caused by her uncomfortable hip) down the stairs, very unlike John's soft, rhythmic thumps.
Sherlock carefully welded two wires together which sparked a white light as John entered the kitchen again, this time fully dressed.
"Get your coat." John commanded.
Sherlock looked up from his work and blinked slightly bemused. "I'm sorry, what?"
John sighed in annoyance and crossed his arms over his chest. "Get your coat. We're going to buy me a phone."
Sherlock frowned. "I'm busy."
John nodded in agreement. "Yes, dissecting my phone, so I need a new one. Give me the SIM card." John held out his hand expectantly.
Sherlock didn't move. Oops. The SIM card.
John blinked, unfazed. "What have you done with it?"
Sherlock rolled his shoulders. "I might have melted it and used it for solder."
John's eyes widened then he sighed and his shoulders slumped. "Fine. Come on then."
"You know you could just take my debit card and go on your own." Sherlock informed him.
"I know," John sighed and turned away from the detective. "But I wouldn't want to waste your money on something that won't last. I don't know much about phones."
Sherlock smirked. "You could've just asked." He said sweeping through the kitchen to turn off his electrical equipment.
"What do you mean?" John asked completely confused.
"You could've just asked for my help in the first place." He said jogging down stairs and flinging on his trench coat and scarf.
John wasn't far behind him slinging on his black jacket and following Sherlock out of the door and into Baker Street.
As usual it took less than a minute for Sherlock to hail a taxi to take them to the Carphone Warehouse.
The taxi was quiet. Sherlock didn't see anything outside the cab interesting so instead he concentrated on things inside the cab.
John seemed tired. He was leaning heavily against the side of the taxi and his breathing was becoming more and more even as the journey continued. He was falling asleep. It must have been the ungodly hour that John had made Sherlock stay up to watch the 'James Bond' films. Honestly, he couldn't see the draw to them but John seemed to like them so that was all the motivation he needed. John did, however, have a very strange taste in films.
Sherlock decided that because he was virtually asleep already it didn't matter much if he glanced at him.
So, Sherlock started with the most extreme 'glance' you could, he began to stare. And he didn't stop, even when the cabby began giving him strange looks from the rear view mirror. That momentarily brought him back into the real world. Glancing out of the window he frowned. They shouldn't be here. The cabby has taken them a completely different route to the one Sherlock had taken in other cabs so many other times. He sighed in annoyance and turned to look at the cabby through the rear view mirror. "Stop." He ordered.
The cabby pulled over to the side of the road and Sherlock nudged John lightly with his arm. John blinked and shaded his eyes before he was roughly shoved out of the cab by Sherlock himself.
Sherlock slammed the door shut and began along the pathway.
"Oi!" The cabby called to the tall man walking away. "Where'd you think you're going?"
Sherlock turned on the man. "I know every street in London and I know for a fact that you circled that business block three times before you actually got the right street. I'm not paying." He turned away from the stunned and flushed cabby before turning back with a pleasant smile and continuing. "Oh and by the way, you shouldn't report this. I would rather avoid the court case. It's not worth my time." And with that and a "Come along, John," he strode down the street toward the Carphone Warehouse.
John caught up to Sherlock and he jogged quickly alongside his long strides. "Sorry about that. I didn't notice we were being scammed."
"Don't worry about it, John." Sherlock said. "I always realise, plus you were tired. You fell asleep. It's not something you should feel sorry about."
JOHN'S POV
They entered the shop and John stood awkwardly by the door. "What now?" He asked… thin air. He snapped his head from side to side looking for the detective. He sighed with relief that he hadn't left him in that shop by himself. That would be hell. He didn't know what he was doing and Sherlock seemed to be the expert. Well, close enough.
He walked quickly to the man's side and noticed the phones he was studying and his eyes widened in horror. "No! No way!"
Sherlock blinked in confusion. "Why not? The I Phone 4 is the new touch screen phone. The reviews were really good and-"
"I'm not letting you buy that for me." John scoffed.
Sherlock stared at John as thought he'd grown another head. Although, he might've liked that. That might prove to be an interesting experiment. "Why on earth not?"
John barked a laugh and pointed to the price tag. "I am not letting you pay that for a new phone for me."
Sherlock glanced at the price and shrugged. "I doesn't matter to me how much it is. I still have some money left over from Sebastian's cheque at Scotland Yard."
John stuttered again. "But it's almost a hundred pounds!"
"So we'll get it on contract." Sherlock shrugged again. "It's fine."
Without giving John enough time to respond he strode up to the check point and tapped on the desk getting the cashier's attention. "I Phone 3GS."
John reached the desk just in time… apparently.
"Ah! John," Sherlock said dragging John over to the desk by his sleeve. "Would you like the £30 a month plan? It gives you unlimited internet access, 900 texts, and 900 minutes. That should be enough."
John was speechless… well, almost. "No! I said that I'm not-"
"I destroyed your phone remember? If you want a phone it's this or nothing."
John stared at the detective like he'd gone completely insane. "You are such a stubborn-"
"Excuse me sirs?" The pretty cashier started, she was grinning widely and there was a mischievous glint in her pale blue eyes. John didn't like it at all. "We give special offers to newly weds."
John stared at her open mouthed. "Excuse me? Newly we-"
"That would be wonderful thank you." Sherlock said smiling widely at her while he filled out the forms.
"Sherlock hold on a second-"
"Not now, dear." He said slipping the forms over the desk and taking the box that contained the phone from her stiff and stunned grip. "Well, thank you very much for the discount and the lovely service but we really should be going."
John was then dragged from the Car Phone Warehouse with an arm around his waist. Sherlock waited until they were out of site of the shop window before he released his grip on John's waist.
John almost stopped walking but Sherlock didn't so he had to keep going, at least, until he got answers. "What the hell was that?"
Sherlock didn't spare him a glance. "That was teaching her a lesson."
John grabbed Sherlock's arm and he sighed before stopping and turning to face the angry soldier. "'Teaching her a lesson'? The cashier? What are you talking about?"
Sherlock sighed a ripped his arm from John's tight grip. "There was no newly weds discount. She was lying. She could see how upset you got over the phone and she got cheeky. The manager should be getting at her by now."
John just stared, dumbstruck, at his companion. "So, she gave us a discount that didn't exist? How much did you take off?"
Sherlock smiled cheekily at him. "About half. See? I didn't pay that much for it after all."
John gaped at Sherlock as he hailed a taxi and spoke briefly to the driver. Before he had the chance to get in the back John caught his arm again. "Why did you do that?" He asked completely seriously.
Sherlock stared back at him, also completely serious. "She was annoying."
John couldn't help but laugh at that. Sherlock, even though he was being completely serious, cracked a smile as well.
"Well, enjoy your phone. I'll see you back at the flat." He said and jumped into the back of the taxi. John's laughing reduced to some dry giggles and he began walking back into the street. He heard his name called and he turned back toward the road. Sherlock was leaning out of the window. Crazy man, completely and utterly crazy. "Pick up some dinner before you go. We've got nothing in the fridge."
John nodded and raised a hand in goodbye. "Sure."
As the taxi drove away carrying it's very own crazy genius John stood in the middle of the path at a complete loss. What should he do now? Shrugging he continued down the path until he came across and nice looking café. He sat in the far corner of the café after ordering a large black coffee, still feeling the after math of the late Bond night.
He sighed, blinked sleep away, and opened the box containing his new phone.
He moved the phone around in his fingers. He couldn't deny it was a snappy looking phone, sleek and black. He followed the instructions of how to turn it on and pressed the only large, black button on the front of the phone. It gave a very loud ring tone and suddenly fell silent. He glanced around the café at the other customers and he smiled apologetically to a few who were giving him the 'I don't know what your doing but quit it' look. The phone was complicated. It definitely didn't make anything easier that the screen was touch sensitive. Any time he tried to pressed a button (on the touch sensitive pad) he would press something wrong and suddenly the phone would be showing the time and date of Hong Kong.
He sighed in frustration and, frustrated, clicked the off button. "That's not the best way to start off with your new phone." Came a warm voice to John's left.
Slightly dazed John glanced at Sarah uncomprehending. "Oh! This?" He said while she came to sit in front of him on the table. "Technology hates me." He said sheepishly rubbing the back of his head.
"Give it here." Sarah said reaching a hand over the table toward him. John hesitated, as he usually does, but handed the phone into Sarah's capable hands. He watched her work, her dainty fingers twisting and turning the phone in her hand telling him about the different holes and buttons on the device. As John watched the image of Sherlock with the pink phone from their case 'A Study in Pink' came to mind. He smiled as he imagined Sherlock deducing all about his life from his old phone, he somehow missed it, his old phone. That was one of the first things that Sherlock had deduced about him from; his sister, Harry, her drinking, and their never really getting along.
John shook his head quickly. He shouldn't be thinking about that man now. He had been the reason he needed a new phone anyway, wasn't he?
He returned to the real world and started listening to whatever Sarah was talking about. He still wasn't all that sure what it was he was listening too but he didn't really care. He just heard as she opened her mouth and sound came out. That's all.
And suddenly he realised he was no longer just hearing, he was sleeping because one minute it was perfectly quiet and calm and the next minute he was being jolted back into the busy lunch time café… or not?
He stared confusedly at the suited man sitting where Sarah had been not moments before, or so John thought. He blinked the sleep away and snapped his head from side to side. The café was now completely empty and it was beginning to darken outside. Shocked, John looked back to the man in front of him and then noticed that the man wasn't alone. Two other men sat beside him, both on either side of John himself.
"Hello, John."
John turned his head slowly back to the suited man in front of him. He knew that voice; that voice filled with bitterness and hate. He faced his old gunnery sergeant, Logan Peters. John stared at the man openly. He hadn't changed much. He still looked as cold and unfeeling as ever, still had those large, black bags underneath his eyes. Ever the insomniac. He was wearing a crisp black suit and some black sun glasses were tucked into his chest pocket. His hair showed obvious signs of being dyed black. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth were enough to prove his suspicion correct.
Logan smiled coldly at John. "Long time no see, Dr John Watson. You look gorgeous."
John cleared his throat quietly and nodded sharply.
Peters smile grew at John's obvious discomfort. "Come with us, Dr Watson."
"I'm sorry, I can't. I have somewhere to be." John said standing and walking past the seated men to the door.
"That was an order, soldier." Came Logan's frosty reply.
John turned with exaggerated slowness and stared at the now angry agent. "I don't take orders from you anymore."
With those final words John left the café promising to himself that he would call Sarah the second he got home to make sure nothing bad had happened. How could he have just fallen asleep? Had they put something in his coffee? Had he even had something to drink?
Suddenly he heard a bleep from his new phone. Confused he took out his phone and read the text that could only be from one person.
The text read, Come now. Important.
John stared at the phone in utter astonishment. He'd had the phone for less than five minutes before Sherlock took off, how could he know his number already?
John shook his head in confusion but decided it would be easier to ask him when he got back to the flat then ponder about it for ages. It wasn't like he had anything better to do so answering a demanding text like that would be pointless. He'd just go there.
I wonder what could be so important this time, John thought absentmindedly glancing out of the taxi window across the busy London streets.
Opening the door to their flat John froze in place for the second time that day. He stared at Sherlock sitting in his favourite leather chair his legs crossed and his hands folded neatly in his lap. Sherlock shot him a very feral grin from his place on the chair, his pale skin glinting in the moonlight streaming from the windows behind him.
"Wh-What is all this?" John stuttered gesturing to the many items of clothing that was littering the furniture and other piles of books and equipment.
Sherlock shrugged but the predatory grin was still there. It gave John a very odd feeling in the pit of his stomach having that look directed at him. "I had an accident with your wardrobe."
John walked further into the room and picked up some trousers that were exactly his size but brand new and certainly not his. "But none of these clothes are mine."
Sherlock's smile grew. "Yes, they are."
Confused John looked into Sherlock's face and noticed the almost invisible glint of mischief in his silver eyes. John's eyes widened in shock. He hadn't! He couldn't have…!
John ran up the stairs of their apartment and into his room he threw open the doors to his walk in wardrobe and stared at the sheer emptiness within. There were coat hangers littering the floor and the metal pole that ran along the top was completely bare.
John stared open mouthed at his bare wardrobe and felt anger surge within his chest. He stormed down the stairs and into the sitting room to stand in front of Sherlock's smirking face. He wanted so badly to wipe that smile off his face but knew that he had to be the mature one. "What have you done with my clothes?"
Sherlock shrugged and motioned toward the kitchen. "I lied this morning."
John shook his head in pure rage. "Don't change the subject-!"
"I'm not changing the subject." Sherlock snapped out interrupting John's potential rant. "The reason I didn't use my mobile phone for the experiment. I decided to make a controlled explosion to see just how controlled I could make it. My experiment wasn't as successful as I would've liked."
John blinked in utter confusion. "And where exactly do my clothes come into it?"
Sherlock's smile turned slightly sheepish and John raised an eye brow. "Well, I couldn't be certain of the radius of the blast… so I lined your clothes around it and on various pieces of furniture."
John closed his eyes and managed to school his ragged breathing. "So what you're saying is you blew up my clothes."
Sherlock shrugged. "Such a crude way of putting it, I mean really I only singed them but I knew you wouldn't want to wear them blackened and crispy. Any way I bought you some new cardigans."
John refused to feel happy at the thought of cardigans. He missed his own cardigans; he didn't want Sherlock's stupid excuse for some woolly comfort.
John sighed in obvious annoyance but couldn't keep the lopsided grin from his face. He had so much to think about; how to work his new mobile phone; why the hell Logan Peters was coming back and asking for him; if these new clothes are even nice; and the strange predatory smile that only grew when Sherlock cried, "Right now John! Take of your clothes!"
John almost choked on his own spit, charming. "Excuse me?"
Sherlock stood and strode up to the doctor in manic glee. "I'm still wrecking my revenge on you from the time I spent with your… lovely sister."
John stared, open mouthed, at the detective. "You are not telling me that, the phone, the clothes…"
"Sarah…" Sherlock finished for him.
"Sarah, as well? My God, Sherlock! That was all for revenge?" John exclaimed in shock and horror, he'd never really and truly had the detectives evil grudges against him before, so he was shocked he'd go to such a degree for John's misery.
"Yes, John, yes it was." Sherlock said with a smile that clearly screamed the cat-that-got-the-cream. "Now," Sherlock murmured returned to his low, deep voice leaning in so his breath fanned across the doctors face. No need to raise his voice when his prey already looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Take off your clothes."