It was the perfect hiding place. The one place he was guaranteed to never be found. Perhaps the only way he was safe. For a time. Always only for a time.
For now, John was in a very good position.
The good doctor was currently stood in the kitchen of 221B Baker Street, watching his eccentric flat mate run a series of experiments on pieces of a cadaver that he'd taken from the mortuary at St Bart's. John wrinkled his nose at the fingers, ignoring the curl of his lip as he turned away.
"Sherlock, what precisely are you looking for?" he asked carefully, hoping to find out why there were not only fingers on the table but an ear in the sugar bowl and a fresh jar of eye balls in the freezer. Sherlock threw a condescending glance over his shoulder at the smaller man.
"I'm simply running test to see a myriad of different ideas that op into my head, John, get used to it." John sighed, making his way with his cuppa into the living room and sinking into his red chair. Nothing in the newspaper seemed interesting, so he moved to open his laptop and type on their latest case.
As John typed, he silently thanked his lucky stars that Sherlock refused to believe in the even vaguely supernatural. The case on the Hound of Baskerville had almost broken that in him, and it would have meant moving on for his favorite sidekick. He very much did not want to start a new life just yet. He rather liked living next to Sherlock. Living in shadow was far from new for him, so living in someone else's shadow was only an easier way to get by.
The detective in question grumbled as his phone pinged, demanding that John get up and fetch his phone for him. It was on the table at his elbow.
"Read it to me," the younger man sighed, not taking his eyes off the scopes of the microscope, a slide having captured his attention completely.
"It says 'got a case, seems weird, you might appreciate. Grisly, come at once. 2373 Northumberland Street apt 32 –Lestrade.' Are you going to take it?" John asked, looking out the window. It was dark. He was hungry, having hoped all day for a quiet night that he could go for a walk, alone.
"Yes. Don't answer him, I'll show up there in a bit." Sherlock looked up at John, brow furrowing. "Do you not want me to?" he asked, showing an odd amount of concern. John furrowed his brow in return, bristling.
"No, I um...I was just hoping for a quiet night is all," he sighed, turning back to the table to put Sherlock's phone down before he wandered off to find his shoes and shooting coat.
"Hello, Lestrade." He heard Sherlock's voice echoing down the hall, rumbling baritone attempting to be quiet. John paused, his shoe half on his foot. "I don't think I can come tonight, unless it is particularly necessary?" Another pause. "Then send the report and the body to Molly, I'll look into it in the morning." The click of Sherlock shutting his phone made John smile. He finished putting his things on anyway, determined to go out and return before Sherlock knew he was gone. It was usually pretty easy when the younger man was wrapped up in his hobbies. However disturbing they were.
The doctor walked out into the main area, throwing his coat on and patting down his pockets. He felt eyes on him and turned around.
"Where are you going? I just ditched a case because you wanted to stay in!" he fussed.
"I didn't say that I was staying in, I said I wanted a quiet night. I need to run out for a minute; I'll be right back." The lie was pathetic, and Sherlock saw right through it, but he shrugged it off and left anyway. As John walked down the stairs and out the door he could feel the lingering thought form Sherlock's mind following him like a vice, wondering. Sherlock never could leave a good mystery unsolved. John hoped desperately that he'd leave this one alone, before it broke them both.

Sherlock moved from his place on the stool in the kitchen, running across the living room to the window. He wondered terribly what John was up to. The older man had been unbearably clingy lately, almost drowning Sherlock in affection as if he felt like the younger man was the only thing keeping him afloat. Sherlock shuddered, peeking out the window onto the wet street below. John was walking across, ducking into an alley almost a block down. The detective's eyes narrowed. He rolled his eyes and went to get his great coat.
The game was on.

A/N: comment if you think i should elaborate. it will get filthy and graphic, knowing me.