I should have mentions that POV's will be changing throughout chapters. They are labeled.
My outline/idea, Shawn's story.
Disclaimer: We do not own Sherlock or any of the characters. They belong to Mr. Mark Gatiss and Mr. Steven Moffat.
John's POV
"He's clearly died of asphyxiation, but trauma to the trachea and bruising are post mortem, was there anything in the windpipe?"
"No, nothing was found." The DI of the Cumbria area mentioned, leaning over the body next to me in the unfamiliar morgue. Sherlock swung open the door, returning from a lab upstairs.
"Actually, there were traces of pollen in his throat, pollen found in these parts in autumn. Autumn pollen, in the winter? Turns out, the same pollen was found around his head but nowhere else on the scene. How did it get there? The pollen was frozen in icicles formed at the base of a hill that water has been running off into a river for ages. The pollen is trapped in the ice in the winter months, thus an icicle was collected and was used to suffocate the victim. The killer then turned the body to drain the lungs and throat of the victim. Since this is not the first victim to be killed in such a manner, all you need to do is stakeout the hills to the North, around River Eden. Good day." Sherlock swiftly pulled out his cell and texted her to come and pick him up, seeing as how the job was done.
As I followed him out to the front of the hospital, I put up a hand and opened my mouth but found myself colliding with him before he turned and was staring at me with disdain.
"I know you already ate. Plus, Irene and I have plans tonight." He turned back around and pushed through the double doors. He let one drop on me but I pushed through, catching up to him at the curb.
"I can recall plenty of times when we went out even if I ate, times when we went out even if you didn't eat when we got there. I just—" I stopped, getting nervous under his intense stare.
"You just, John?"
"I miss talking to you outside of work."
"Really? I like our relationship as it stands now. We still work well together, we find clues, track down culprits and don't have to worry about the…emotional part. Less of a bother for the both of us. Well, for you, anyway. I'm hardly fazed, to say the least." My chest stung from his words. But at least he still knows me, knows how to get under my skin. That has to count for something.
"You always knew how to do that." I whispered.
"Do what?"
"Cut me with your words."
He paused and fidgeted with his cell until he finally spoke.
"I guess we could have coffee sometime, after cases and such." My heart leaped ten feet, but I had to tuck it back and stay level-headed.
"I'd like that." I smiled at him and I saw his mouth twitch a bit. It was more than enough for me.
Minutes of silence hung over us until a sleek, black Rolls Royce pulled up to the hospital and The Woman stepped out of the passenger seat, in a wine-colored dress that clung to her every curve and angle. She gave Sherlock a kiss with her crimson lips and winked at me, making my blood curdled with anger. She scooped him into the back seat of the car, veering off back towards London.
Something wasn't right. Something was nagging at me and I couldn't quite grasp it. Sherlock and Irene had been together for about 3 and half months and they were active, to say the least. I know this because Mycroft told me and, regrettably, showed me. I know I was the one who asked him to spy, but he seemed a little too happy to give me the sordid details. I've asked him to stop, since it's only been hurting me. He gave me his word, and we haven't spoken since. The pictures have stopped, but the memory lingers.
No doubt, she isn't calling him The Virgin anymore. Not that he was one after he and I became intimate, but still. The thoughts haunt me to this day. I really shouldn't be in any position to be angry; I was the one who kicked the hornet's nest, but at least I was willing to put the pieces back together. Sherlock didn't want to face our issues and just walked out, and found his clean slate. And he found it, with her.
I still want to fix us. I want to make things right. I miss him and I miss us. Most of all, I can't shake this feeling that she's hiding something. If only I knew what. It'll be a challenge, nearly an impossible task, but I have to try, I need to know. I'll keep my eyes open, I'll have to be strong for whatever I find, not knowing how tame or how horrible it is or has the potential to be.
—-
I was waiting at Mickey's Brew, a coffee shop a few blocks away from Baker Street. My knee was bouncing a bit; I was getting a little too excited about these coffee meet-ups lately, but they were just what I needed after a day at surgery or after a case.
He was 15 minutes late. But I wasn't really complaining. The fact that he's been willing to have coffee with me for the past few weeks has been great. Our friendship was picking up right where it left it, and we'd been getting along almost better than before.
We laughed about Lestrade, he listened to me chat about Mike and I listened to him harp about Mycroft. We talked about cases for awhile, until the conversations were becoming thin. We started delving into small talk. He'd tell me about his new experiments and contraptions, I'd tell him about going antiquing with Mrs. Hudson and work at Bart's. When the subject of Irene came up, I tried my best to be civil. After a few times of talking about her, he saw that I was uncomfortable but willing to listening. His eyes voiced his appreciation and he decided not to bring her up since then.
So we talk about the small stuff and enjoy our time together, pay for our coffee and go back to our lives, until another case, and until another coffee break.
I check my phone for the time again, 35 minutes late. Where could he be? I scope out the café to see if he was at another table. The normal crowd, tourists, brewers, no Sherlock. When I finish my sweep of the room and turn my head back, I find Irene sitting across from me. I nearly jumped from my chair at the sight.
"Hello, Johnny boy. How are you?" Her pearly, white teeth shone at me between her red lips.
"I'm well. Thank you." There was a long pause as she just stared at me, grinning. Her eyes were bright, but there was a splinter of something devious in them. It made me squirm in my seat.
"Um. I don't wish to be rude, but, why are you here? Sherlock was supposed-"
"I know, he was supposed to meet you for coffee, but he's not going to be able to make it." She leaned in and whispered, "He's been a bad boy and I'm not letting him out of our bed until he's learned his lesson." My stomach turned but I tried my best to keep my composure.
She pulled out a mirror and a tube of lipstick and retouched her lips, continuing without looking at me, her tone much more bitter than before. "I came to tell you he won't be coming."
Her phone went off, with that erotic text noise emanating from it before I could speak. She put away her makeup, checked it and bit the tip of her finger, mouthing the words, 'Naughty boy.' I felt my heart fall through my feet.
"Okay, well, I guess I'd better be off. Nice to see you, Ms. Adler." I stood and took a step, but her hand grabbed my wrist; my army instincts were begging me to knock her off and pin her to the ground before strangling her, but the doctor and gentleman in me wouldn't stand for it. I turned back and met her gaze, ice cold and piercing.
"Why don't we have a cup?" She wouldn't let me leave until she was satisfied. I nodded and sat back down, before she finished with, "Making him wait will rile him up for later." She wasn't going to stop, but I could get an insight on The Woman and what she could possibly be up to, so I would sit and take whatever she threw at me. The waiter came by and took our orders.
She ordered hers black and I ordered a cappuccino. The waiter left us and she laced her fingers together, and rested her chin on the bridge they made.
"So, Johnny-"
"It's just John." She stared at me sternly.
"Sorry." I ducked my eyes down and she shook it off; letting her feel dominate was the only way to get anywhere with her.
"So, Johnny, I've heard some things."
"What things?"
"You had Mycroft spy on us." I froze, not knowing what to do or say.
"I don't mind. I just wish you'd pay for what you find. I love putting on a show, for the right price."
"I haven't been getting anything from Mycroft for-"
"I know." She cut me off, her words on the brink of venom.
"But, since you were Sherlock's first, I think I'd be willing to give you a few freebees. You know, just a taste." My heart began to race a bit, a swell of nervousness and anxiousness engulfed me; I was fearful for what she was meant by that. She pulled some stills from her purse and put them before me. I tried my best to keep my eyes locked with hers, but her stare was chilling me to the core. When I looked down, I caught an eyeful.
They weren't blurry, window shots from CCTV, they were Polaroid's and large prints. Up close and personal. Sherlock tied up, gagged, in all kinds of compromising positions and angles. I could see every bead of sweat, every scratch and bite mark, every bit of him exposed. I shoved the photos back to her side of the table and waited for my coffee, ready to pay for it and leave.
"This one is my personal favorite," she pointed to a shot of Sherlock screaming. She chuckled low and continued, "Pictures never do justice. If only you were there to hear the noises he was-"
"Alright, enough!" I shouted, gaining some attention from the other café patrons. She grinned deviously. She wasn't backing down now, not now that she knew how badly this was hurting me to hear.
"You miss your Master, pet? Such a pity, he's on my leash now. It's what he wants. Well, it's what he begs for, I should say." When the coffee came, I took mine, tossed a few quid on the table and stood. She hopped up and quickly pressed her form against mine, keeping me from exiting. I could smell her Parisian perfume as she leaned in close to my ear and ran her nails along my other cheek.
"Don't expect too many coffee dates in the future." She gave me a little scratch of her claw and slid her fingers from my face as she turned, tossing, "Later, Johnny boy," over her shoulder as she pushed through the door and into the crowded sidewalk, lost in a sea of faces.
I hope you enjoyed it. Review if you like!
