"What are you doing here? I thought you were dead?"
"All the best criminals are dead criminals." Came the offhand reply. "Look at Jesse James, or if you prefer to look closer to home, the Kray Twins."
"Jesse James was a thief and a murderer who was killed by one of his own men, not a role model I would aspire to emulate." Sherlock sneered.
"And the Krays were a pair of psychotic mummy's boys, with a predilection for torture." John added, his gun never wavering from the intruder sitting in front of him.
"Ah, but you miss the point. They are all remembered, no matter the mode of their death or their state of mind." One elegantly clad shoulder shrugged, the exquisitely tailored jacket rippling with the movement. "My name will be on everyone's lips, and I'm not even dead yet."
"You could be soon." Sherlock crossed to the couch, being careful to stay out of John's line of fire.
"Oh I don't think so." Shrewd eyes took in the doctor's protective stance, the calm readiness. "No Doctor Watson, you're no killer. And unless I make a move towards your… your what? Partner? Lover?"
"Friend." John answered, his voice harsh.
"Yes, your friend. Well, unless I make a move towards him, I don't believe you'll kill me in cold blood."
