John Hamish Watson was extremely annoyed.
Would no one explain what was going on? Lestrade was walking several meters ahead, his head held high as he found himself in his element. One look at the rugged man could tell you he was in charge of the situation from the way he held himself. Christ, he even looked the part of the leader, what with his hawkish eyes and solid jaw.
Tailing Lestrade eagerly was Sherlock, his eyes already tearing apart the tranquil morning at the zoo into cold bare facts. John, for his part, was trying to keep his temper in check. All he had to go on was the zoo's plastic sign pointing in the direction they were heading. John peered at the sign eagerly.
The Snake House.
Not very helpful, but at least John could stop fantasizing the brutal gruesomeness of say, a lion's attack. Still, this did not sate John's curiosity.
"Is anyone going to-" John started, and then abruptly stopped when he noticed that Sherlock had frozen in the middle of the path. John hesitated only briefly before cautiously walking up to the young man's side. Sherlock's eyes were trained on a cage to their right. Inside was a small metal gymnasium and half a dozen chimpanzees. Sherlock's eyes were questioning, as though he was trying, but failing, to deduce something. John could practically see the question marks floating next to his head. Sherlock could sweep into a crime scene and identify a murderer in a heartbeat, but something about this cage seem to honestly puzzle the detective.
"Sherlock?" John asked gently. He regretted it immediately as Sherlock's concentration broke at the sound of John's voice. Sherlock inhaled sharply and flinched.
Flinched?
The young detective had actually had a physical reaction to John's sudden words, his eyebrows furrowing suddenly as though in pain. John immediately put his hand on his strange friend's arm comfortingly, confused by the sudden turn of events. John was used to Sherlock's odd behaviors and mood swings, but this felt different.
If asked, John wouldn't be able to say what exactly was different. Sherlock would slip in and out of his mind palace at the oddest and most inconvenient times. He was prone to strange or even absurd fixations of the simplest of things, whether it was the flight of a bird through the London smog or the softness of one of John's jumpers. John could easily brush aside this instance as Sherlock simply being Sherlock.
And yet, something held John back. He craned his neck and looked up at friend's eyes. The kaleidoscope of dark blues shone briefly with startling clarity.
His cobalt eyes held the look of a lost child. He looked almost... scared.
John's mind was sent reeling, and John reflexively tightened his grip on his friend. Something was horribly wrong. Something John hadn't seen-
John could feel Sherlock's arm tense as he snapped out of his revere. Glancing down at John before his eyes flickered away uneasily, Sherlock abruptly started walking, taking long strides in order to catch up with Lestrade. John stood still for a moment, shocked, before whirling around and running after Sherlock.
"Wha- what is it?" John asked, watching as Sherlock tightened his coat around himself despite the warming temperature. Sherlock ignored him, his shoulders hunched in a way John knew said to stay away. John ignored Sherlock's body language and grabbed his shoulder before the pair reached Lestrade.
"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" John hissed, making his friend face him. Sherlock looked down at John reproachfully. John held himself like a soldier, his grip firm and his back straight. "What happened back there?" John asked, his voice giving no room for argument.
"Nothing." Sherlock sniffed stubbornly.
"We both know that isn't true." John said sternly, his bright eyes penetrating. Sherlock squirmed uneasily under his gaze.
"You'll laugh." Sherlock said wryly, a shrewd smile gracing his lips that didn't quite reach his humorless eyes.
"You didn't laugh when you found out my limp was psychosomatic." John answered honestly. It had left a deep impression on John when Sherlock hadn't judged him for his limp. John would never forget his friend's acceptance, nor would he underestimate the power of a faithful friend. Something was bothering Sherlock, and John would be damned if he let his friend hide it from him. "I won't laugh."
Sherlock searched John's strong face. The army doctor's amount of loyalty never ceased to astound him. Sherlock slowly let out the breath, controlled and even.
"I-" Sherlock started, looking ahead anxiously at the obvious Detective Inspector. Sherlock lowered his voice, his eyes never leaving John's. "I- I don't like zoos." Sherlock said tightly.
John blinked.
This man, who constantly experimented on corpses, examined gruesome crime scenes, and made a point to catch nuclear bombers before teatime was uncomfortable at a zoo? Busloads of schoolchildren came through every day. Just meters away was a brightly-coloured booth selling cheap merchandise, complete with t-shirts and plastic safari hats.
The great Sherlock Holmes was actually intimidated by a zoo.
Why?
But true to his word, John didn't laugh. Instead he nodded and gave Sherlock's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
"Right." John said. "Well, don't worry. We'll be out of here as soon as we examine the crime scene, all right?"
"I'm not worried." Sherlock said defensively.
"I know." John replied simply. Whatever was bothering Sherlock wasn't worrying him... if John had to guess, it was haunting him.
John understood that feeling all too well.
"Come on." John said awkwardly, one hand slipping into his pocket and the other one traveling to Sherlock's back. "Let's hurry so we can leave- I haven't had my morning cuppa yet."
Sherlock's mouth twitched upward in a small smile as he looked down at John. Though Sherlock wasn't the sentimental type, John could see the unspoken thanks in his eyes and accepted it unquestioningly.
John didn't understand what had made Sherlock seem so… lost. Something about his expression earlier had been deeply sad. John didn't understand what had caused it, but he was determined for it never to hurt his friend again.
Together they walked along in companionable silence, Sherlock's long strides shortening as to stay by John's side.
John's arm was still against Sherlock's back comfortingly, though they both chose to ignore it.
At least, they both pretended to.
Suggestions are accepted and treasured- I have an idea of how I want the story to go, but there are still bits (mainly the middle) of the story that can be changeable.