- STOP!

Sherlock shouts at the cabbie and John's heart skips a beat while the car screeches to a halt.

- What?!
- They're here.
- Who? We're not even there yet, wha-

John closes his mouth when he sees the lights of the police cars parked outside Mary's house casting a bluish shadow around the neighborhood; Sherlock throws an excessive amount of money at the cabbie and drags his friend out of the car.

- What now?
- I'm calling Lestrade.
- AND? What are you going to say? Oh, yes, hi, John's fiancée was brutally murdered and he came to me first. Later! I should have called them. I'm such an idiot!

The doctor starts pacing up and down the sidewalk, until Sherlock grabs his wrist and almost twists it: John is panting and seems on the verge of a panic attack.

- What if-?
- No, John, calm down, they won't think of you as the main suspect. Think, focus.
- … because I was with you.
- Exactly. Now, deep breaths, stay calm and let me-

- Let you what?

A voice coming from behind makes them both jump.

- I heard car brakes and I thought, well, this is a good time for a jog around the block. And there you are.

While Lestrade walks up to them, Sherlock straightens his back and lifts his chin slightly in the air, narrowing his eyes at him with a little smirk on his face.

- I'm impressed.
- Not now, Sherlock. John?
- He was with me, then came home and found Mary.

Lestrade stops in front of them with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face.

- Did I ask you?
- He's clearly in shock and you want to waste our time with pleasantries and stupid question? What do you think happened?
- I'm not asking as a detective inspector, I'm asking as a friend, I want to know wh-
- No, you're asking because you're an incompetent moron who doesn't understand the basis of an-
- Sherlock, I'm sick and tired of this, one of these days-
- One of these days, what? You'll beg for my help as you always have?
- I swear to you, I'm gonna-

- ENOUGH!

John's voice rumbles through the air, hitting both men's ears, and a second later a gunshot shatters the silence: Sherlock and Lestrade squat down on the ground, hands on the back of their heads.

- Enough! My girlfriend just died, you idiots! I'm not going to stand here and ask for pity and compassion, but if you expect me to be the usual glue that holds you too together, well, you're bloody wrong! For once, for once in my life I'd love to be the broken piece that needs glue, I'd love to be the one with no responsibilities whatsoever, the one who always has a last resort to hold on to, but no, God forbid I could actually mourn in piece. No, God no, my future wife dies with a knife in her chest and oh, the so joyful promise of another person who wants to ruin my life and you stand here arguing like two schoolboys, bickering on who's the toughest guy, and guess what?

John points the gun at them, as if it was his index finger.

- None of you are! Because you need each other and I'm the one who's left with nothing. Every time I think I've found a place in this world something happens. I got shot, then you die, then she dies. WHAT'S NEXT! Fucking hell Greg, could you just leave it for once? And you, you wanker, do you really think this is the right time for your "high functioning-sociopath" bullshit? Your best friend just saw his girlfriend murdered by a psycho killer, because apparently one a lifetime is not enough!, and you start a fight with the only person who can help us? What is wrong with you?

The doctor stares at Sherlock with fire in his eyes, his gun now knowingly pointing at his chest; the detective doesn't look away, he holds his burning gaze, as if to put out the fire with a look.

- John…could you please…put the gun down?

Watson looks at his own hand, fingers wrapper around the grip, knuckles white from the pressure; he clears his throat and his knees buckle a little.

- Yes…yes, I'm sorry. I don't...know what happened to me.

Lestrade takes the gun from him and nods to the guys behind them so they'll lower theirs; John looks around him, a bit lost and confused, gaping at least twenty men pointing their weapons at him: he rubs his face with his left forearm to wipe the sweat away.

- Jesus Christ…what is wrong with me?
- It's alright, no big deal, neither of us thought you could actually pull the trigger but John…I still have to arrest you for disturbing the peace. I'm going to pass on the officer's assault because, as I said…

The detective inspector slowly turns his head to Sherlock and glares at him.

- …I was here as a friend. I won't make a scene or anything like that, I just need you to…you know. Spend a night in jail.

John lets out a shaky breath and tries to smile at him, then turns to Sherlock with a grave look on his face, before leaving with Donovan.

I'm sorry, I don't know what I was doing, please forgive me and forget about this, help Lestrade, please…

- Sherlock, I'm-
- Yes, it's alright. Go. I'll take care of this.

###

It's almost four in the morning when Sherlock joins Lestrade outside Mary's door.

- What was that?
- Unresolved issues, I suppose.
- Yeah, that much was clear.

The two of them climb the stairs to John's and Mary's room, Lestrade quickly leading the way with Sherlock following right behind him; when the detective inspector stops right outside the bedroom and holds his right hand in front of Sherlock, the latter grows visibly impatient.

- Stop. Nobody went in there except me. I was waiting for you and your superpowers. BUT! I'm going to need a full report on this. I want you to be thorough and professional; nobody else is going to contaminate the scene. You'll be the only one allowed in there, no forensics team, no Anderson, no nothing. Just you. I need you to wear the proper gear for that, you need a camera and you won't get out until I say it's okay for you to go. Are we clear?

Sherlock nods, both amazed and annoyed at new opportunity.

- Alright then. Suit yourself.

As you may have noticed, I adore John Watson, I really like writing his parts – especially the rancorous rants – and, most of all, I'm helplessly in love with Martin Freeman. While I enjoy the idea of a (temporarily) troubled Watson, I don't want him to be a weak man, someone who finds solace exclusively in Sherlock's presence. Yes, I love them together, I think they're the perfect match for each other, but I hate the idea of a morbid and confining relationship. That's it, just wanted to point that out. Thanks for reviewing, by the way! Hi, I'm 28 and I squeak with joy every time you do.