Ch. 3 – John is Clever
It was Thurday. Thursdays were always busy days at the clinic. John wouldn't come to Baker Street. He would get off late and go home to Mary. Sherlock wallowed deeper into the sofa. Even though he'd seen more of John in the last week than he had in the months following his weddings, he wanted more. More of John. More running around London with the blood pumping in their veins. The two of them against the criminal masterminds of the world.
Then the front door opened and there was the familiar sound of John huffing from the cold before tromping up the stairs.
Sherlock peered at John from over steepled hands where he lay on the sofa. If he'd known John was coming he would have showered. And dressed. And made sure his hair wasn't sticking up at odd angles.
John however looked ready to face the unlawfulness that was London.
Comfortable jumper. Warm jacket. Trainers. Food. Gun.
A case!
"You weren't answering your phone," John said as way of explanation. He carried two plastic bags with the Tesco logo to the kitchen. He put the milk in the relatively clean fridge and the tea by the kettle. "What is this by the… I don't want to know."
Sherlock smiled to himself. They were mold spores. Harmless. He'd meant to toss them out yesterday. He was glad he hadn't. He was taking a gleeful pride in their banter, until his heart fell and his brain caught up. It's not flirting, not for John. This is just what friends do.
"So, phone?" John asked.
"Coffee table."
John slapped the device down into Sherlock's waiting palm with an exasperated sigh.
"Lestrade called me when he couldn't get ahold of you. Think you can take a break from this Moriarty thing? I called off from the clinic." John said.
That was how they found themselves in a small flat in Middlesex, staring down at the body of a young male. He had excellent grooming, something his girlfriend (5 years) must appreciate (going by the necklace around his neck. Anniversary gift). Messy gunshot wound to the chest, close range. The blood that wasn't spattered onto the walls was soaking through the carpet, red on white, spreading out in a circular pattern.
This was where his doctor would usually provide his services. Except his doctor was otherwise occupied with the victim's wallet. Sherlock scowled even though John wasn't watching. He could really do without this constant change in their dynamic. It was exhausting.
"John," Sherlock snapped and he trotted over. Once he was crouched by Sherlock's side things fell back into their usual place. He listened absently as John went through the cause and time of death. Sherlock jumped up, eyes still on the victim.
"The proximity of the wound indicates the victim knew his perpetrator. There are signs of bruising around the left eye, indicative of physical confrontation, most likely with a male of the same age."
Sherlock riffled through the wallet. There were the usual cards and identification as well as photos of the girlfriend. A very attractive girlfriend going by societal norms and perceptions of beauty. There was also one very old photo of a (school friend) boy. Sherlock flipped it over but there was no message inscribed on its back. The phone proved less than useless. All text messages and records had been deleted.
"Really Lestrade you called me for this? It's not even a 5. Jilted lover's boyfriend. Talk to his girlfriend. Check his phone records!"
"That's just it Sherlock, we did. The only calls he took were from family, friends, and his girlfriend," Lestrade said, sounding a bit desperate.
"Male friends?" John asked.
"Yeah no ladies," Lestrade confirmed. "Odd bloke," he muttered.
"Interesting," Sherlock mused. He plucked the cell phone from John's fingers and started scrolling through the pictures. Somewhere had to be evidence of a tryst.
"Sherlock I think you're ignoring the evidence," John said.
"Second cell phone? I thought of that but it's unlikely given the-"
"That's not what I meant."
Sherlock paused in his dissection of the phone's contents, thumbs hovering over the touch screen. He stopped to look at John, to observe the way he nervously shuffled his feet and rubbed at the back of his neck with his hand. This wasn't like Connie Prince. John could see something and he was reluctant to share it. Why?
"Go on," Sherlock prompted quietly.
"He had no female friends, not even acquaintances. It's alright for a bloke to have male friends but it's weird he wouldn't have a single female one. He must have been very desperate to keep up appearances, to give the impression he was faithful to his girlfriend. Probably wanted to get married, have some kids."
Lestrade had turned to listen, arms folded over his chest.
"Men don't keep a picture of an old school chum in their wallet, not unless there's something more to it. You can see where the edges are frayed from taking it out to look at it. It's a picture of an old lover, maybe his first."
"You think he's gay?" Lestrade asked.
"No he's not gay!" Sherlock snapped. "He doesn't come from an overbearing or religious family. There's no reason to hide his sexuality given the amenable climate of London towards homosexuals. Also his partner is female which is hard to miss given the nature of the more lewd images on his phone."
"You're right. He's not gay. He's bisexual," John interrupted.
Sherlock felt his worldview shifting and then settling back on John. A thousand synapses were firing as new connections were made, data strands knitting together to form a new picture. He looked at John and it was like seeing him for the first time. He could still read his military service in his stance and his new marital status by the perfectly polished state of his ring. What he couldn't see was John's sexuality. What was more he realized John couldn't see his. John's right. I'm an idiot.
Most people assumed he was asexual because there was no way to tell that he wasn't. Moriarty had known Sherlock would fail in his deductions when he played at being gay, using stereotypes to draw him into a conclusion. He had assumed Harry was Clara's husband instead of wife. Sexuality was different than occupation or religious affiliation and it wasn't something one could deduce from a cursory examination. Not only was sexuality deeply personal, it was also fluid. And his world view, even with his sexual orientation, was heteronormative. That's why he had failed to come to the right conclusion this time and every time sexuality had played a part in a case. He had assumed it was something trivial and unimportant and here John Watson was proving him wrong. And doing it in a way that made everyone around them realize how clever he was.
Something shifted over, making room for an emotion he hadn't felt for a long time. It started in his stomach then flooded his entire system. He'd been turned on around John before, within the space they shared on the sofa or in the adrenaline fueled moments following a case. This was new. This was arousal, a sensation so strong it made his legs feel weak. He knew he couldn't have what his aching body was demanding. That didn't stop the heat from dropping completely to his groin as John continued to speak.
"His lover is a male," John concluded.
"Well done, mate," Lestrade said. "That's enough to be going on, I think."
John was already walking away with his hands in his pockets. Sherlock made sure his coat was buttoned before following. He caught up to John only because he'd paused to hail a cab.
John wasn't pleased.
John was nervous.
He should be pleased!
"You solved the case," Sherlock said. He felt a blush steal across his cheeks. John's eyes were tracing the contours of his face. Sherlock could tell he'd heard something else in his voice, traces of desire maybe, and an open genuineness usually reserved for desperate times and situations. John's features softened.
"You would have gotten there eventually," John finally replied.
"Dinner?" Sherlock asked.
"Starving."
Notes: there was a kink meme prompt to have John solve a case instead of Sherlock because of the gaps in Sherlock's knowledge. John is a doctor and he's smart – just not a genius like our mad detective. I've also read fanfictions entirely centered on the fact that John is bisexual. I don't state it explicitly here. It's subtext. Loud subtext. The next chapter is titled "the Game Starts".