I decided to make this oneshot a series of little oneshots, and here is the first update :) And still - please tell me about grammatical mistakes I might have made ;)


"So, you see, just a dull little murder out of jealousy." Sherlock ended his monologue, leaving the whole Scotland Yard plus John staring at him. As always.

"Awesome." John breathed unconsciously. Sherlock smiled and put his scarf back on, that had been laying on the passenger seat of Lestrade's car. As rare as it was, the sun had come out a couple of minutes ago and it had actually been a little warm.

He closed his coat and looked down on the victim once more. It was a petite woman in her early twenties, red haired and stabbed to death.

Obviously murdered by her jealous boyfriend, as Sherlock had just pointed out. The only consulting detective in the world looked like always, all mysterious with this long black coat, with his pale skin, the sharp cheekbones and those colour changing eyes, sometimes blue, sometimes grey or even green with a tendency to yellow.

After a short "Well, thank you" from Lestrade he turned his back to the Di and walked away from the crime scene. John hurried to follow him like he always did.

He heard Sally Donovan behind them, hissing "freak". The ex-soldier fought the impulse to turn around and punch her in the face for that. He knew, he should have gotten used to the insults, she and Anderson expressed so often towards his friend, but it was impossible to him.

Just because they were to dull to see his brilliance, they hadn't the right to say such things. He had to tolerate Sherlock running around mocking about the low IQ of next to everybody - but at least Sherlock was more intelligent than everyone else.

He didn't knew if Sherlock had heard the insult this time but if he had, John knew, it would have hurt him. The self-claimed sociopath was great at pretending he didn't care about it, but he knew better. He could tell it from the way Sherlock's jaw clenched, whenever he heard Donovan and Anderson talking like that, from the way he was even more rude to everyone in those situations.

John might be bad at deductions, but he could read Sherlock after such a time. He knew, that his friend cared about other people, even if it doesn't seemed so. It had for example shown, when this American had hit Mrs. Hudson or when Mycroft had been rude to her. It had shown, when he had excused for ruining Molly's Christmas and in his look, when he had seen John with the explosives next to the swimming pool. Sherlock Holmes DID care, but he was great at not showing it too much.

"Oh, those two!" John heard the tall genius - obviously he'd heard Sgt. Donovan's comment. "How are they able to live with such tiny brains?"

"I'm able to live on my own as well - and in contrary to you." John tried to joke, but his friend didn't even smile.

"You're not as stupid as they are!" Sherlock told him and from him it was the closest thing to a compliment, he ever said.

They left the little park the murder had been committed in and the younger man hailed a cab. They got into it and John looked at his friend.

"You haven't eaten for days again, how about having lunch somewhere?"

He was surprised when Sherlock nodded without any struggling. His friend stared out the window, but he could see the shade of sadness on his face.

"Everything's alright?" He asked and the dark haired man shot him a look.

"I'm fine." He snarled.

The cad stopped in front of a little restaurant and the two men went in. They sat down in a corner near the door and ordered pizza.

About half an hour passed in silence, both were concentrated on their food, even Sherlock ate more than the usual one or two bites.

Then the door opened and John heard first a woman giggle and second the voice of... Anderson.

"Look, Sally, the freak's actually eating!"

John didn't know what he was doing, the next thing he knew was, that he stood in front of Anderson, grabbing the collar of his shirt shoving him against the nearest wall.

"Don't dare talking about him like this ever again!" He growled before turning his head to Donovan. "Same goes for you!"

His eyes went back to Anderson. "Stop this or you'll have to deal with me."

"So, why exactly should I fear that?" Anderson asked, obviously unable to see John's growing anger.

The ex-soldier's answer was a neat little punch in the face that made Anderson's nose bleed and Donovan scream.

John let go of Anderson and all calm he turned back to Sherlock who was staring at him in surprise.

"Come on, I don't want to stay here." He threw some money on the table, grabbed the wrist of his still immobile best friend and left the restaurant.

He was too angry to wait for a cab, so he just kept walking down the street, dragging Sherlock with him. The consulting detective was unusual quiet, since the encounter with Anderson he hadn't said a word.

A couple of streets later John stopped, leaning against a wall to calm down.

"Why did you do that?" Sherlock asked quietly.

The doctor looked at him irritated. "He insulted you." Wasn't that logical? Of course he wouldn't let anyone hurt his friend without consequences.

"You didn't have to do that." Sherlock looked sad, sadder than he'd ever shown to be.

"Of course I had to. You're my friend." He put straight.

"Thanks." Said friend murmured, raising his wrist, which the doctor still embraced, to his mouth and planted a little kiss on the other man's hand.

John stared at him in surprise. "What was that for?" He asked confused.

Sherlock smiled, the sadness had vanished from one moment to the next.

"I love you, John."

John stared at him for a second or two. The famous Sherlock Holmes loved him? The man who always called love a 'dangerous disadvantage'? A 'chemical defect, found on the losing side'? Could that be possible?

If his smile and the look in his eyes were anything to go by, it could. A wide smile spread over the doctor's face.

"I love you too, Sherlock."