DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and especially not those awesome characters. ACD and BBC owns them and the copyrights.
Rating: Will be R overall. I think.
Pairing : Sherlock/Lestrade; Lestrade/John; and maybe Sherlock/John/Lestrade
lengh: 1649 words
Betaed by Cha and Fengirl88 : guys you did an amazing job.
Experiment # 2753
Watson came back to the flat, and stood stiffly in front of his insufferable flatmate.
"Mm?" said Sherlock without acknowledging him, eyes still fixed on his violin.
"I need to apologize", John said with the coldest voice he could muster. "Whatever your intentions are towards Lestrade, I had no right to insult you."
Sherlock dismissed him with a flick of his hand.
"Already forgotten Doctor. No worries."
That went well. Sort of.
A few weeks came and passed, but John was still confused. He was angry with himself for his outburst with Holmes. He was disappointed to have given up instead of standing up for his opinion. The World's Greatest Detective didn't hold any grudge against him, having probably decided it was not an important matter.
Not important in his whole experiment.
Experiment.
The word was hurting . Stinging a little bit every time. A rebellion in his mind. A rebellion against Sherlock.
He tried to bury this feeling deep down. Didn't want it to burst out unexpectedly.
He just thought about it at night, lying in his bed, in the dark, thinking over every little thing he hadn't seen at the time.
The second he had realized, that day precisely, after months of blessed ignorance, when his eyes, finally, saw.
Stupidly he had a fleeting thought of Sherlock, he would have been proud of him, he was so sarcastic when he was talking about John's brain and his blindness:
"Look. You look and you don't see! How do you do that?" asked Sherlock every time furrowing his brows. Which was the cue for the regular "What do you have in your brains, it must be so dull, you're so vacant..."
The guy was elegant in his insults, and while talking to John, he was including him in a sort of circle with Lestrade, and unfortunately Donovan and Anderson too... You can't have it all, can you?
Everything had begun during the Great Game with Moriarty. They were following a lead, and Sherlock took them with him in a taxi to go back to Baker Street. Breaking his usual pattern he had indicated that John should take the extra seat and shared the large one with Lestrade.
The move had been subtle. He had pressed his knee against Lestrade's slightly. A mere second. And then had gathered his long legs, a few inches away. Almost touching.
An accidental touch, to any other observer.
Gabriel hadn't seem to mind and John had stopped thinking about it.
Sherlock was buzzing with adrenaline during his game with Moriarty, he was so excited. Like in a sexual trance.
He was following lead after lead, clearing the case before the deadline every time. It was exhilarating. Always a step ahead of Moriarty, allowing him time to think over other things.
And Lestrade was there.
In every single moment of this game. He practically moved into Baker Street, spending a great amount of time trying to help Sherlock with the mess of data pinned on the wall in the flat's main room.
Surprisingly, Lestrade's presence had a soothing effect on Sherlock instead of throwing him into one of his dark moods, his unfair tantrums against the police in general, Lestrade in particular and Anderson as an easy target. Sally too.
They had spent hours trying to figure something out with those notes. The case was going well in the end, after the help provided by the guy in the Government Office. Mrs Hudson had helped, brewing tea, giving them biscuits and sandwiches to eat, not once saying she was the landlady and not their housekeeper.
John saw them together for the first time, since his investigation with Connie Prince's brother, in Lestrade's office. When Sherlock sent his message to Moriarty. When the bomb had exploded.
The end of the game had been frantic, very emotional and full of unfair things.
Mycroft with his nagging insistence had been a blessing at the time. Forcing John away from the flat, away from Sherlock too.
John could pinpoint the details with a clear mind now.
The way Sherlock gave his approval to Gabriel with a discreet nod, when he was interviewing Miss Wenceslas. John had seen it, but as always, hadn't registered the fact.
Sherlock's attitude, his way of occupying Lestrade's office, his desk. Playing with the tartan scarf. Eyes unfocused, his mind on obscure leads.
Lestrade's sudden irruption at the pool, providing the distraction that had saved their lives. Both of their lives.
Moriarty had fled.
Later, Gabriel had crouched down near John, putting his hand on his shoulder.
"Are you all right Doc?" he had asked John, his eyes searching his.
"Yes...Yes...I think so..." Watson had answered shakily
Obviously, nearly dying twice in less than five minutes, makes your body shake pretty badly. He would know that next time.
He had seen Sherlock gaze at them. An intense concentration on his face. Gabe stiffened a bit , he closed his eyes a second, squared his jaw and rose. He faced Holmes, looking him up and down.
"You seem all right. Not in shock this time?" said Lestrade in a mocking tone.
"No. No photograph for your team this time" answered Sherlock with humour, tension flying away in an instant.
"Could I give his gun back to Doctor Watson, Holmes?"
"Yes. Of course. Detective..."
Sherlock had put the gun delicately in Lestrade's outstretched hand. Brushing the open palm slightly.
John had turned his head and had contemplated the respective merits of standing versus throwing up. Standing had won and he had got up slowly. Sherlock was there in an instant, his arm around his friend. Supporting his weight.
Gabriel drove them back to Baker Street. Sherlock had accepted only because it was the Detective's private car.
"It was risky Sherlock. And incredibly stupid. For the greatest genius alive, sometime you are stupider than a schoolboy",muttered Lestrade under his breath, while driving.
"I texted you."
"Nevertheless. It was a big risk. If this psychopath had exploded John's bomb, you wouldn't be here any more."
"Neither would you. There was a lot of Semtex", said John, in Sherlock's defense, again excusing his flatmate's stupid moves.
"Never mind that, it's my job. You, both of you, are civilians, and there is nothing else to say: it was stupid". Lestrade had insisted.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and stretched his arm, giving a flick to Gabriel's head.
"Oi... Stop that, Holmes. You want to be in one piece when you arrive at home?"
"Stop your nonsense then, and you'll be able to keep your attention on the road. I am a consulting detective, and John is a military doctor, danger and violence is part of our job too", stated Sherlock quietly.
"Right..."
The end of the trip was silent and uneventful, Gabriel opened the car door and held it open for them. Sherlock stepped out, and grabbed John's hand to help him.
From the corner of his eye, John had seen, without acknowledging it, again, Sherlock's fingers on Lestrade's hand on the door.
The Detective came with them upstairs, busying himself in the kitchen, fixing them a cup of tea. Or rather, putting the kettle on.
He had explored a bit, and had come back from Sherlock's room with a blanket, had given it to the detective who had wrapped it round his friend. The poor doctor had been touched by his interest.
"A blanket is not necessary Sherlock", John had protested with a smile, "I'm not in shock!"
Lestrade had answered first.
"Right Doctor, so explain to me why you are still shaking? Take a cup of tea, drown it with anything you may like and then go to bed. Rest for a while... Please... I have to go..."
Lestrade had waited a few seconds, trying to meet Sherlock's gaze. He had given up, nodded briskly and fled.
Since those dramatic events, John and Sherlock had continued their investigations, John supervising the financial aspect of their "job". Unfortunately, Sherlock was more interested in strange cases than lucrative ones.
Occasionally, Mycroft asked for their help. Jobs always well paid. Cases always interesting, Mycroft knowing his brother's mind.
Sometimes it was Lestrade.
Sherlock hadn't texted the Di, it was always him who texted or emailed. Asking for help.
But he never called.
Sherlock cracked his cases in a few hours almost every time.
The friendship between Sherlock and Lestrade still there, but with a bit of stiffness.
Bitter.
End of part 2
Thank you for being here, if you are still reading.
San