Author's Note: Okay guys, here's chapter two! I hope you like it, I found it really quite difficult to write... writing detective mysteries are hard! Anyway, I'll try and update tomorrow but I may not because I'm heading off to my mate's henparty for the rest of the week and therefore I won't be able to update until Monday at the earliest. I hope you'll bear with me. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

The Body

'Morning Sherlock,' John mutters as he enters the kitchen, sleepily rubbing his eyes. Sherlock, naturally, is in his habitual position on the couch, absently rubbing the two nicotine patches on his inner forearm. He quite obviously has not slept all night. John sighs deeply. Despite the man being incredibly annoying most of the time, for some reason John still cares about his well being. 'You really ought to try and sleep you know.'

'Sleeping's boring. I need to think.'

John rolls his eyes and takes a mug from the cupboard, plops in a teabag and switches on the kettle before he realizes.

'I'm going to have to go to the shops. Again.'

'No need.'

John glances over at Sherlock, still immobile on the sofa. 'What?'

'I said, no need. The milk is in the fridge. I presume that's what you want from the shops. Water is always available and the last I saw we had about ten boxes of teabags, so I imagine milk is what you thought we were out of.'

John gapes slightly. 'But we were out of milk. I used the last of it yesterday. I remember. And Mrs Hudson doesn't go to the shops on Thursdays...' John tails off as he realizes something. If he didn't get the milk and Mrs Hudson didn't get the milk, then that must mean...

A slow handclap from the sofa. 'Well done, John.' Sherlock finally opens his eyes, rolls his sleeve back down his arm and pulls himself upright. Casually he steps onto the coffee table and then off it as he traces the quickest path to where John is standing in the kitchen. 'I know I need to apologize to you, John. I thought about it last night and I understand that my behaviour is causing you problems. I will try and tone it down in future. I bought the milk as a peace offering. And a few other groceries, I know how the chip and pin machines annoy you.' There is a ghost of a smirk on Sherlock's face.

John searches Sherlock's face for a moment or two. A face he has become more familiar with than any other. He knows the high, arrogant cheekbones almost off by heart. The high forehead (denoting a large brain) and the full lips, currently twisted into what almost looks like worry despite the hovering smirk. The endlessly messy dark curls and those piercing light blue, almost gray almond eyes, that always have the annoying habit of fixing John to the spot. They are currently anxious, meeting John's inquisitive stare almost hesitantly.

John is suddenly filled with a rush of affection for his flatmate. It gives him an absurd amount of pleasure to think that Sherlock Holmes has made a concerted effort to apologize to him. John senses that Sherlock still isn't entirely sure what he is apologizing for, but the fact that he has seen the need to do so makes all the difference.

'It's fine, Sherlock.'

Sherlock frowns. 'You said that before and it obviously wasn't. I know I can be annoying, John. I will try... I have to. I can't afford a place in London on my own, neither can you, I might add... and I will not ask Mycroft for financial help.' As John stares at him, Sherlock's lips twitch upwards into a rare smile. 'Like it or not, we're stuck with each other.'

John pauses and then speaks. 'I owe you an apology too Sherlock. I shouldn't have said... what I said last night. I'm sorry. It wasn't true and it wasn't fair.'

John tries to not notice the sudden hurt that flickers in Sherlock's eyes, the hurt that is swiftly covered over like it has never existed.

'You're hardly the only one to say that, John. Believe me, I'm used to it.'

But you're not, John thinks. Your very expression says otherwise.

'Well, anyway,' he finally mutters. 'Thank you for getting the milk. It was very... considerate of you.' Sherlock beams at him and John feels his breath catch. It's not as if Sherlock never smiles. He does, only very rarely, and even then it is usually only a small quirk of the lips as if to briefly indicate to people that he does find whatever the situation is vaguely amusing, and then it is business as normal. Never has John seen Sherlock smile this widely and unreservedly and it's quite startling. It is fairly evident to John that Sherlock has never been called 'considerate' in his life.

John turns away and busies himself with making his tea, trying to calm his disordered thoughts, and when he turns back to Sherlock, the detective is no longer beaming, although a small smile seems to continually tug at his lips.

'Have you heard from Lestrade recently?' John asks, for lack of anything else to say. Sherlock flings himself back down on the couch.

'No. I think I might have annoyed him when I got back from Morroco.'

John finishes making his tea and carries it carefully into the living room, placing it on the table beside his chair before falling back with a sigh. 'What did you say this time?'

Sherlock glances over at him sharply and then returns his steady gaze to the ceiling. 'Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the truth. That they are all a bunch of incompetent idiots who wouldn't be able to spot clues unless they leapt out at them wearing penguin outfits and doing a lap dance.'

John blows on the surface of his tea and fixes Sherlock with a glare. 'That, Sherlock. That right there. You can't go around saying things like that to people – especially not Lestrade and his team! They work hard, damned hard, you know that!'

'I do,' Sherlock agrees. 'But what is the point of hard work without results? It's pointless.' John sighs, shakes his head a little and there is silence for awhile as John drinks his tea and Sherlock continues staring at the ceiling.

Finally John checks his watch and heaves himself up from the armchair. 'Right, I'm off to work.' Sherlock doesn't respond and John fidgets a little. 'Perhaps you should go out today – get some air or something. It can't be good for you spending day after day in the apartment while there's no case to work on.'

'I don't want to go out – I can't see how I'll be any less bored outside than I am in here. Besides I need to think and I can't when my head is filled with distractions.'

John opens his mouth to reply when his phone rings. Still glaring a little at Sherlock he pulls it out of his pocket and checks the ID.

'Sarah,' he informs Sherlock, for no particular reason. Sherlock does not respond. 'Hi, love... yes I'm on my way in now, just leaving the apartment... yes, I'll see you soon. Okay, bye.' He clicks the phone off and hears Sherlock huff and then snort with derision.

John stares at him. 'Okay, what is it now?'

Sherlock rolls onto his side and opens his eyes, fixing John with that blue stare. 'It's interesting how she feels the need to talk to you on the phone even when she knows she'll be seeing you in a matter of minutes. Rather a waste of time and energy. Not very smart.'

'She just likes to hear my voice.' John finds himself defending Sarah, even if a small part of him actually agrees with Sherlock. Over the past few weeks, Sarah has taken to ringing him up just to talk about nothing – even when, as is the case now – she knows that she will be seeing him in person very shortly. John doesn't quite understand it either, but he knows better than to openly agree with Sherlock. The detective would be even more impossible to live with than he is at the moment.

John picks up his briefcase and heads for the door. Just as he is about to leave he hears Sherlock call from the living room.

'I know you agree with me John, you just don't want to say it. Your thoughts are unbelievably easy to read... don't ever take up a job as a spy.' There is a pause. 'Or a politician.' John's hands curl into fists briefly before he takes a deep breath and strides out of the door, slamming it behind him.

Even the prospect of seeing Sarah doesn't calm him down as he stalks off down the street towards the tube station.

Eight Hours Later

'I bought you your coffee sweetie.' John winces slightly. He wishes that Sarah wouldn't call him that when the other GPs can hear her. It strikes him as slightly unprofessional. Nevertheless he thanks her warmly as he takes the cardboard cup from her hands.

'Thank you, Sarah,' he replies. 'Has my three o'clock arrived yet?'

'Not yet, but when she does I'll send her in.'

Rather than leaving then, as she would normally, Sarah sits opposite the desk and looks at him. John shifts in his seat, glancing down to the carpet before looking at her again.

'No more patients for you at the moment then?' he asks. She smiles slightly.

'No, I've got a welcome gap in my schedule.' She studies him for awhile longer. 'What's wrong, John? You arrived with a face like thunder this morning.'

John puts his coffee down on the desk and wonders how to respond. 'It's nothing really it's just... Sherlock.' He doesn't need to say anything else. Sarah nods understandingly.

'What's he done now?'

For some reason this irritates John slightly. Much like everyone else in the world, Sarah finds it difficult to understand or connect to Sherlock. John knows that she views him with suspicion.

'Just the usual. It doesn't matter. It's just part and parcel of the deal, I suppose.'

Sarah taps her fingers against the wood of the desk, obviously thinking. Finally she takes a breath and speaks quite quickly. 'You don't have to live with him if it's difficult for you, you know.' John glances up sharply. She carries on. 'I mean... I know you like him and everything, but recently you seem more and more irritated by him. I... I was actually wondering if maybe you wanted to, come stay with me for a bit.' John stares. 'You'd have to pay half the rent of course, but, it's less than you're paying at the moment.'

John's mind is whirring. Is Sarah actually asking him to... move out of Baker Street and move in with her? Isn't this a bit sudden? After all, they've only been properly dating for a few months.

But then just yesterday you were announcing to Sherlock that you were going to move out. What's the problem? Isn't this a perfect solution?

Now he comes to think about it, John realizes that he never had any intention of moving out of Baker Street. It was just something that came out in the heat of the moment. And the idea of what Sherlock might do without John there to keep an eye on him is too terrible to contemplate. Slowly John becomes aware that his mouth has dropped open and he must look something like a landed fish out of water. Probably not the best look to be wearing when your girlfriend has just asked you to move in with her. Indeed, a slight expression of hurt is wavering in Sarah's eyes as she looks at him.

Just as he is about to reply, though with what he has no idea, his phone beeps, indicating a text. Relieved to have a distraction he mutters, 'Hang on a minute,' and digs his phone out of his briefcase.

Come to the Yard. Very important. SH

John rolls his eyes. It seems Lestrade has finally met with a case which is causing problems for his team and has decided once again to call in the world's only consulting detective. Hopefully this new development will stop Sherlock being bored for at least awhile. Hurriedly he taps a reply.

Sherlock, I'm at work.

He raises his eyebrows apologetically at Sarah and mouths 'Sherlock' to her. She sighs and gets to her feet, giving him one last unfathomable look before leaving the room. Before he has a chance to wonder what that look could mean, his phone vibrates again.

Oh yes. Well, come afterwards. Police are idiots but this might be fun. SH

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

John has just arrived at Scotland Yard when he sees Sherlock barrelling towards him from the lobby, swiftly followed by Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade who seems slightly out of breath.

'John! Thank God you're here, I've been so bored! I couldn't go to the crime scene without you because I need an assistant and heaven knows I can't work with Anderson.'

Lestrade catches up with him and breathes heavily a couple of times before speaking. 'You do know that Anderson is there at the moment, Sherlock?' he asks. 'We've been able to hold off on moving the body until you arrive, but he has to be there to examine the scene.'

Sherlock runs a hand impatiently through his curls and hails a taxi. 'Yes, yes, I know he'll be there, but the point is now John will be there as well. That makes all the difference.' He throws one of his patented small smiles at John and the doctor feels an odd warmth creep up from his toes.

A taxi pulls up and Sherlock wrenches open the door and throws himself into the back seat. John always feels slightly amazed at the way Sherlock's body seems to obey his every command from his brain. He's a tall man and yet he seems to be able to fold himself into the smallest of spaces with very little difficulty, and always manage to look graceful doing it.

'Come on, John!' Sherlock calls impatiently, already on his phone and tapping away. John turns hurriedly to Lestrade who is smiling slightly.

'Where exactly are we going?'

'Chapel Street, just off Belgrave Square. There's a small alley... well, you'll see when we arrive. I'll be right behind you.'

John nods and clambers into the car next to Sherlock, feeling extremely clumsy. The cabbie turns around with a bored expression. 'Where to?' he intones dully.

'Chapel Street, just off Belgrave Square please.'

Sherlock glances up. 'Oh yes, I forgot to ask where it was. Good thinking John.' John smiles and settles back in his seat as the cab pulls into the traffic.

Twenty minutes later they arrive and Sherlock hurls himself out of the car and heads off down the street at a swift walk, leaving John to pay the taxi. Just as the cab drives off again Lestrade arrives with Donovan in tow.

Donovan nods curtly to John in acknowledgement. 'Afternoon Doctor Watson. Where's the freak?'

'Don't call him that,' John mutters angrily. Donovan blinks and then smiles coldly. John feels an urge to hit her. 'Sherlock is down there.' He indicates the direction the detective took and then starts walking, ignoring the inspector and Donovan.

After about thirty seconds he comes upon a small alleyway on the left, the entrance to which is barred with blue and white tape. He ducks under it and joins Sherlock who is standing immobile and staring at the body on the ground.

Anderson walks up next to Sherlock.

'I'd like to see how even a freak like you can get anything from this,' he announces. 'There's nothing.'

Sherlock steeples his fingers under his chin. To a casual observer he would look completely unbothered by Anderson's sentence, but John can see a slight tightening of Sherlock's jaw and sees him blink a couple of times. 'Don't be ridiculous Anderson. There is always something, you're just too stupid to see it.' Slowly he steps forward, craning his long neck at every angle as he analyses the body. John knows that Sherlock is brilliant, but even he is thinking along the same lines as Anderson at this point. It is hard to see how even Sherlock could find a clue from this.

The body is that of a young woman, perhaps in her mid to late twenties. Certainly no older. She is lying on her back with her arms neatly at her sides and her hands resting on her hip bones. Her legs are gently bent at the knees. She is completely naked... no clothes, no jewellery... absolutely nothing. There is no obvious sign of injury and apart from the fact that her skin is tinged slightly blue from exposure to the cold she could merely be sleeping. This is what Anderson means when he says there is nothing.

John is aware that Lestrade and Donovan have arrived, but they too stay put, watching Sherlock go to work.

Sherlock walks around the body a couple of times, examining it from every angle, his eyes scanning everything. Finally he drops to his knees and lifts the arm slightly, seemingly examining the woman's armpit. He carefully places the arm back in its previous position and then runs a hand through the woman's blonde hair, frowning to himself. Next he examines the woman's hands and feet and nods to himself as though he has found something he anticipated.

He gets to his feet and strides back over to where John and the others are standing.

'She was abducted about three to four days ago and was murdered probably early this morning, judging by the rigor mortis I'd say about ten to eleven o'clock, but I'll leave that to John to confirm.'

Lestrade coughs. 'Okay Sherlock, I'll play along. How the hell can you know she was abducted much less murdered? And how would you know when she was abducted if she was?'

Sherlock throws up his hands. 'Oh, it's so obvious! Her hair is dyed as is indicated by its slightly brittle texture. The fact that the roots are showing through about half a centimetre and the fact that her eyebrows are dark as well supports that notion. Her fingernails and toenails are painted and shaped. The shape is still there but the polish is chipped. That indicates that she takes good care of herself, but for whatever reason she has been unable to perform her usual beauty rituals for sometime. She wouldn't have let her roots grow out like that, and if she went to the bother of shaping and painting her nails, she wouldn't have let them become so chipped.'

John shakes his head in wonder. 'Amazing,' he murmurs to himself. Lestrade blinks.

'Okay, but three to four days? How do you know that?'

'Her armpit. The hair there is about three to four days' of growth. Judging by the rest of her appearance and the conclusions already drawn, it is safe to say that she would never allow her armpit hair to grow to that extent. Therefore she was abducted about three to four days ago. But you're missing the most vital clue of all... and the most obvious.'

John sighs. 'Naturally.'

'The back of her hand. There's an ink stamp on it. Why do people usually have ink stamps on the backs of their hands?'

John thinks quickly. 'Admission stamps, right? But where...'

'Oh come on! It's not that difficult! This is a young woman in her twenties who takes great pride and care in her appearance and who lives in London. She has a stamp on the back of her hand. It has to be a club! She was clubbing on the night she was abducted, I'll bet you anything. The most important thing to do is identify the club which uses that particular stamp and watch their CCTV footage.'

XXXXXXXXX

'Okay, so the club that uses that particular stamp is The Vibe...'

'Innovative name for a club,' Sherlock interrupts sarcastically. Lestrade throws him a dark look and continues.

'We've requested access to their CCTV footage but it may take them some time to respond.'

'So what are we supposed to do in the meantime? Just sit and wait?' John rolls his eyes and glances at Sherlock. Sherlock huffs and starts pacing the room.

'You will tell me the minute something happens, won't you?' he throws at Lestrade who sighs heavily.

'You know I will Sherlock. We expect to hear back from the club by at least tomorrow.'

'Well, that'll just have to do, won't it?' Sherlock strides from the room, wrapping his scarf around his throat as he goes. John gestures helplessly towards Lestrade apologetically. Lestrade smiles wryly.

'Don't worry Doctor. Just get him home and try and keep him from killing himself with boredom before tomorrow. Like it or not, we need Sherlock Holmes on this case.'

John nods and follows his flatmate out of the Yard, catching the same taxi just in time.

XXXXXXXXXX

'Do you want a cup of tea?' John calls from the kitchen. Sherlock doesn't reply. John finishes making his and wanders into the living room, collapsing into his chair with a sigh. Absently he glances at his paperback on the table beside him. He might try and get a few more chapters read tonight... or maybe he'd work on his blog...

He should have known better. Within a minute of him picking up his book, Sherlock has glanced up from the couch, glaring at John.

'Where's mine?'

John blinks. 'What?'

'Where's my cup of tea?'

'You didn't say you wanted one.'

Sherlock huffs angrily. 'I nodded, isn't that enough?'

John gapes at him. 'Sherlock I was in the kitchen. I couldn't see you.'

'We've been flatmates for awhile now, John. You should know me. I always know when you want a cup of tea. I know pretty much everything about you.'

John puts his mug down on the table. 'Sherlock, do you realize how annoying you are sometimes?' In his head he amends that statement to 'all of the time'.

Sherlock looks at him, his expression distinctly mischievous. It is an oddly childish look for him and John finds himself suddenly wondering exactly why he is so angry with Sherlock. It's difficult for him to be angry when the detective looks at him like that, with that damned smile lurking on his lips.

'You tell me frequently, John. I fail to see how I could be oblivious.' Sherlock twists his hands together and frowns. 'I just... there has to be another one John. I can't work properly with just the one body. There need to be more so that I can figure out the pattern...' John stares at his flatmate. He knows Sherlock doesn't mean it so coldly but still – these are people he is casually talking about being murdered.

Sherlock notices and recognizes the look on John's face. 'Not good?' he asks softly.

'Bit not good, yeah,' John replies, in what has swiftly become a bit of a catchphrase between them. Whenever Sherlock is being particularly insensitive or oblivious to normal human emotion he asks that question, and John always responds the same way. Sherlock's lips quirk upwards into that small smile.

'Sorry. But you know what I mean. It's not that I want another person to die... far from it. It's just that without a second body there's so little to go on.'

John relaxes back into his armchair. 'Well, I wouldn't worry. I'm sure there will be a development sooner or later.'

Sherlock nods silently and then his phone goes off. He swipes it up from the table and his eyes widen slightly at the text he has just received.

Did you get my little present? Just something to get your attention, my dear. More to follow – better figure it out quickly! JM

John glances up when he hears the text arrive and frowns at Sherlock's suddenly slightly distressed expression.

'You okay, Sherlock? What is it?'

Sherlock swallows and puts the phone back on the table. What should he tell John? The last time Moriarty had got involved in their lives, John had ended up with a significant amount of semtex strapped to his chest. Even though John had been a soldier, anyone would have been frightened in that situation. Sherlock will never forget the sudden terror that had ripped through him when he realized exactly what was going on... when John had opened the parka and let him see...

He had to try and keep John protected from this. John didn't deserve to have his life tormented more by James Moriarty.

Sherlock pastes a smile onto his face and glances up at John, who is looking at him anxiously. 'Nothing important.'

Well, I hoped you like! I'll be writing like a demon tomorrow because I'm going to be awol from Wednesday onwards (a mate's hen-do week and I'm maid of honour... VERY busy, lol) I will try my best to update next week.