As soon as they were seated in a cab, Sherlock produced his phone from his jacket and allowed his long fingers to dance over the keypad. The occasional glance to his right informed him that John was deep in thought; brow furrowing and rising, lips twitching slightly as he worked things through. It was an endearing little idiosyncracy, and one that secretly amused the great consulting detective.
It wasn't long before John's thought processes had run dry, and he returned to open questioning.
"So the killer took the head device...thing... and the glass with him."
"Apparently."
"So does he plan to use them again?"
Finding what he wanted, Sherlock locked the keypad and pocketed the smartphone in one fluid motion. "I doubt it, too conspicuous. Too boring."
John's eyebrows raised. "Boring?"
"Someone who goes to such lengths to replicate something like the Ludovico device and use it at a screening of the film it originates from is clever, very clever. They are also very dedicated to what they do, and would have gotten a thrill out of their success." He paused as John huffed, probably at the inhumanity of it all. "But it would be a cheap thrill, a one-shot of enjoyment. No, he's got other plans."
There was a silence before it registered with the doctor. "You're expecting it to happen again."
"Almost definitely."
"So a new film, a new victim- a new special touch?"
At this, Sherlock stayed quiet. John didn't like it when he did that. It usually led to sinister things.
"You already know, don't you."
It was a statement, not a question. And Sherlock stayed stoically silent. That was as good a confirmation as John needed. "Oh Jesus," he sighed, sinking back into his seat and running one hand down the side of his face. "Have you told Lestrade?"
"No."
"No?" There it was, the anger and disappointment and outrage that Sherlock had been subjected to so many times before. One single word from the former soldier carried such wealth of emotion, but was lost on the stony logic that seemed to make up Sherlock Holmes. "No, you haven't told him. Someone is going to be killed, and you haven't told the proper authorities. Oh but that's you all over, isn't it."
Something had changed. This was real anger, a truly deep rage. But even this outburst of pure feeling barely scratched the surface. Sherlock seemed to have a different kind of morality to everyone else, one that sometimes looked to be a family trait. But Mycroft had chosen (at least, John assumed he had chosen) to be a protector of the British Empire, proving that he had at least some sense of care for the British public. Sherlock's disinterest at the cold fact of an impending murder – a murder that he could easy help avoid- was something that John still couldn't get used to. Every other time, John had been able to push his own feelings aside to help Sherlock do what he said needed to be done. But this was one time too many.
"Driver, stop please."
"John-"
"I don't want to hear it, Sherlock." There was finality in his voice that stopped the other man from replying. "Whatever you have worked out in that head of yours, I don't want to know. Playing games with people's lives like this is just-" he trailed off as the cab came to a halt at a corner. "I'm not doing it this time. This time I'm don't want to be your sidekick, your... your blogger."
The door had opened and slammed shut before Sherlock could form a suitable response. After a moment, he was aware of the taxi driver looking questioningly at him in the rear view mirror.
"Kingston University," he said levelly. "Knight's Park campus."
Author's Note:
Poor John's had enough this time. While I love how well John and Sherlock work as a team, I absolutely loved how John seems so much more human than Sherlock at times. I wanted to write an example of it, and here it is.
Of course Sherlock already has it figured out. But can you guess what he was looking up?
Apologies for my updates being sporadic- I only write this story during quiet days at work, it seems to be the only time the inspiration strikes me!