Aryes: Hey guys, look at that! Got the next chapter up! Been really busy and now finally got Hell Zone Chapter #3 out! Woot~! This is it guys! THEY MEET! I hope it's a good meeting and I hope my Sherlock deductions are on point! I thank you guys for reviewing! I love the reviews! They make me work harder!

Warning: Yaoi (Male x Male), also deductions of murder and suicide and scary army flashbacks/nightmares so please refrain from reading if any of these disturbs you! I am not at fault because I have warned you~!

Disclaimer: Do not own BBC Sherlock or any of the quotes I have used from it!

Hope you enjoy~

Chapter 3: The Voice of Reasonable Fate

'You're lying John Hamish Watson.'

The man's voice was completely strange to John, as though SH221 was a new species entirely. The voice had been almost dark and grating, moreover the deep intelligence that rang through was beyond normal. The accent on the man was thicker than John's own, but the thing that troubled John the most was when he layed down to sleep at night, he heard the man's voice in his ear. John Watson's own brain betrayed his interest in the other man as his mind desperately tried to picture what the man could even look like. The blonde doctor wasn't a really nosy person he would say, but for some reason, this man made him want to delve deeper. It spiked up curiosity he had hidden long ago from the world after all, being a soldier when he was younger had taken all the curiosity he had and hid it away. Curiosity could get you killed in the army and John had learned that real quick if he wanted to live.

John heard a little voice in the back of his mind direct his thoughts towards sleep as his eyes seemed to open slower and slower with every time he blinked. Ah yes, he needed to work all week next week didn't he? Such a bummer that would be, he wouldn't have time to play Hell Zone at all and if everything John heard was true about the hospital's renovations, he probably wouldn't get to play for a while. The blonde man felt himself stretch his limbs while he sat in front of his laptop that he had just used to compose an email to the new apartment complex that was going to takeover from where the old realtor's had been working from. The prospect was scary considering their old management had been lenient on many things and if these new people saw the old debt's that John had racked up from the days he had been having PTSD and drinking till the cows came home, things could get ugly for John Watson real quick. The doctor pushed himself off his chair and crossed over to his bed as he shut down his computer with a single click, the message sent and hopefully received well by the new company. The email was mainly to explain why there was such a low credit on his credit score.

John felt his whole body completely sigh in relief when he got under the covers of the bed and just enjoyed the comfort of his own small but particularly inexpensive home. His whole body seizing up in his lazy state and every part of him relaxed, John smiling as he tried to dream of something other than his own personal nightmarish dreams. Why couldn't he have normal nightmares like people dream about? Why couldn't he just have a spider on his arm or fall off an extremely high thing? No, he had to have a replayed nightmare of his friend dying and trying to drag him down with him. The fact that the nightmare was so usual was in itself something to fear. Had John really become immune to the pain of watching someone die? Of course he felt sadness, or maybe anger because he could've done more to help, but now when he saw a dead body he no longer felt that devestatingly empty feeling.

You see, John Watson thought of that pain you felt when someone died, that empty feeling, was similar to someone digging in the dirt. Every time someone around you died, there was a person in your gut that shoveled out some terrible emptiness out into the open. Well, where the dirt had been there was a giant hole in John Watson's heart, he had lost so much in so little time that the digger kept digging and digging until there was nothing but a hollowness left. There had just been a point in John Watson's life when the word death couldn't make him cringe or feel pain for anything. In his army years he had seen death, he had seen true pain and agony, in his army years nothing could compare to the lack of compassion he held for things. Humans were so fragile and even though he tried so hard, he couldn't protect anyone at all. What use had he been towards everything! He had lost more lives than he had saved, he had been on the battle field and been the only one to return back. That was the past now but even to this day he...

John blinked in self questioning as he realized something, 'Even to this day, I still remember everything that happened.'

There was only the silence of his mind as his physical body felt a sudden rush of panic, the memory never leaving as he watched his friend falling in the line of fire and then...John cringed suddenly and gasped as a ghost of pain shot around his scar as though he had a muscle cramp, but it was worse. It pained him something terrible, it was so excruciating that John's harsh grip on his shoulder tightened as tight as he could on his shoulder blade but there was only the pain of the scar. Nothing could match the imaginary pain as it mounted, but as quickly as it came it subsided.

'You are lying, John Hamish Watson', the deep voice of memory make him scowl slightly, he liked to think he didn't lie that much, but he had been being truthful then. SH221, an overly intelligent individual who never spoke to anyone, well at least as far as John knew, spoke to call him a liar. The doctor had to wonder what type of person would say something like that to someone without any remorse. SH221 seemed to write down accurate statements so easily, even when they were negative statements as though he wanted people to prove him right.

To be honest, John wasn't completely sure, but that's what he gathered based on their team games. The other man wanted to find the flag first, wanted to boast about it, the need to be praised was written all over the man's actions, but in truth, John was impressed by the other man. He briefly once again thought about what the man was like in real life and then once again with a sigh pushed the strange set of thoughts aside. What did it matter, the chances of him meeting that man by coincidence was astronomically low, so laughably so that it was more probable that he would die of tea poisoning!

Oh how the sound of his phone ringing made him excited. Why do you ask? Simple, it was a relief from the boring norms of life, and if there was one Sherlock abhorred more than anything, it was the norm. It was so unexciting and limiting to his natural thoughts, in fact it was the reason the world was so exhausting to him, it required all his energy just to function with any degree of empathy towards the world. Sure there were things that excised his high function processes, games and puzzles, but nothing quite beat the boredom away like dealing with someone broke the norms of society. It was like a game of cat and mouse, it was much more interesting though when they fought on even grounds though, but he took what he could get.

The morning light shone through his window, it was a bitter weekday which meant that people would be more likely at their work places which would clear the streets a bit for the crime scene. In an instant Sherlock picked up the phone with undulled enthusiasm and turned off the call and texted Lestrade.

"Is there a case?"

In an instant came the reply, because the man already knew Sherlock hated calls more than anything.

"Yes"

The simple reply made the man stand and adjust his tie, he pocketed his phone and walked down the creaky wooden staircase, not even bothering to shut his flat door. "Sherlock, are you leaving?" asked Ms. Hudson and Sherlock didn't even look back as he responded to her question, "Yes." He shut the door behind him without another word and got into the taxi that had pulled up to his address, in the taxi's back seat was Lestrade, the older man pocketing his phone as Sherlock sat himself in the seat next to him. "You could have answered the call Holmes," Lestrade grunted as the taxi jolted to action and Sherlock closed his eyes, "Homicide?" The question hung in the air for a second before Lestrade sighed, "We think so."

"But you do not know? Surely your brains can figure out that much?" Sherlock commented dryly and the other man grimaced at his words and huffed, "Sorry we can't be certain for this one. There was no note, the room he fell from was locked though, and I haven't gotten a look at the guy yet but I assume that the man probably died on impact." There was silence and then there was the stop the taxi by a corner, "We're here." Both of the men exited the vehicle and the older man led the way to the scene of the crime, the scene was apparent in every way, yellow tape everywhere, police cars and the sound of sirens. The place where they were was across the street from a small hospital, people huddling around the crime scene.

"A hospital," the detective murmured and continued onward, Lestrade lifting the yellow tape for Sherlock.

"Why is he here?" a very well-known voice announced, and the raven haired man inwardly grimaced at the voice's origin.

"Ah, Anderson, and where there is one moron there is-" Sherlock started and was cut off by, "Lestrade this is a suicide, not a murder! Why is this little psychopath here?"

Sherlock made a face and then continued, "-another." Lestrade made a face at Donavan who stood next to Anderson and both were standing next to the body.

"You both know that it is my choice to call him here, because this case looks suspicious to begin with!" Lestrade said affirmatively and both shut their mouths, but gave valiantly evil glares Sherlock's way. The pale man could care less what the two idiots thought of him as his eyes were too busy evaluating the body. Small things flashed to his attention, small scratch marks on the sides of the wrists that peaked from the man's cuffs, and the small spill of coffee on his shirt edge. To further this case, he needed a proper medical evaluation for the man, but then Anderson came up behind him.

"You need my help with forensics, so move Holmes. You aren't allowed to touch the body!" said Anderson and Sherlock wanted to hit the man or just make him disappear!

"No, I can't think if you contaminate the body with your idiocy! Is there anyone here who can give this body a proper look without disrupting my thoughts? There is a hospital over there! Is there a doctor who can give me a quick autopsy here other than this idiot!" Sherlock's voice did a whole octave count as he grabbed his head in anger and then he heard a voice from the crowd.

"I can!" The voice was familiar to one he had heard before and Sherlock swung around to see a man who seemed to be around similar age. Instantly, Sherlock took in many things about the man behind the yellow tape in an instant. He was a doctor, that much was obvious, but there was a rugged look about the man along with a strange tan that he seemed to have which spoke that he had been out of the country.

Sherlock would guess war considering how fast the man had responded to the comment, the man was used to using his reflexes very often, old habits die hard.

"What's your name?" Sherlock asked, his curiosity peaked by how familiar the voice was, but for the life of him he couldn't place it.

"My name is John, John Watson. I am a doctor to this hospital, I can check him for you," in an instant Sherlock felt his breath fly away, this man was indeed the one he had met online a few weeks ago. He wondered if the man remembered him too, and so he decided to test the man slightly.

"Alright, then come over here and do so, John Hamish Watson," the other man reacted to the comment, it was an easy change in demeanor.

The first change was shock, then settled in confusion, and eventually defensive but Sherlock saw that there was a bit of understanding or rather an inkling of curiosity in the man. John was someone that piqued his interest indeed, and he wondered if the man would guess his identity as well. The man seemed to be on guard but he pulled up the tape easily and ducked underneath it. John was wearing a white lab coat and green scrubs underneath, clear sign of his professionalism, the man seemed comfortable in them.

"Fine," John huffed with a dubious glare as he passed Sherlock and in an instant, the raven felt a strange pull to the man.

The sound of his voice and seeing the person himself, they matched perfectly, the man was on the ground evaluating the body and Sherlock couldn't but noticed that he was needlessly staring at John. The man commented that the male had died by the fall as soon as it hit by the way the skull was cracked and then he got up and looked at Sherlock again. The raven felt his stomach do a twist when John asked, "How?"

The question caught Sherlock off guard, "How what?"

John repeated clearly what he meant, "How did the man jump or fall of the building?"

Sherlock smirked at the curious man he had been able to meet and said in a tone for all to hear, "He was murdered." There it was again, a small spark in those brown eyes, it was something he knew very well because his own blue eyes probably mirrored it, yes, it was excitement.

"Sherlock, how could this be murder?" asked Lestrade and Sherlock gave a small smile, oh how he loved figuring it out. It was a shame that it was too easy, but none the less still interesting use of his time.

"No suicidal person in his right or should wrong state of mind would want to jump when they are near a hospital! They would go to someplace else! Someplace far away from it! They don't want to be saved if they fail. His wrists are scratched, signs of either nervous habit of first time drug user. If you get an autopsy and detect poison then we know that he might have been tied up to get those scratches instead then he was hung by his wrists on the roof edge. The man's room was on the top floor, only people who went out there would know that so probably friend, what type of friend? A best friend, perhaps even a co-worker. It had to be someone who was strong enough to lift them, someone strong enough to yank a rope so tightly it chafes wrists and someone who can hang him on a roof. Someone with knot training of some kind. That should narrow down your search considerably."

There was a pause and Sherlock chanced a glance to John, fearing that he would be shocked or moreover, disgusted by his perfect observations, but the man's eyes were solely on him. They seemed to be energized and almost delighted as they looked at him in wonder.

"Amazing," the blonde doctor breathed out and the raven felt his own breath feather slightly at the look of awe he received. Lestrade was shocked as usual and began to bark orders to people in his group to narrow their search engines in the systems and to get the body down to forensics. Sherlock turned and lifted up the tape, there was a rustling sound of feet behind him and he was happy to see the doctor looking at him still.

"That was magnificent. How on earth did you do that?" John asked and Sherlock simply stated, "What is it like for everyone? Their brains so slow, don't take that personally, yours is a bit faster than everyone elses."

John seemed to take the comment to thought and responded, "It can be boring but the dullness can be inviting you know."

There was another small hint of the lie in the man's voice and he spoke the same words he did back then, "You are lying John Hamish Watson." Amusing enough, Sherlock watched it all click in the man's head, his facial expressions very obvious about the connection he had just made.

"You're SH221, aren't you?" John whispered slightly and then he seemed to take a double take, "The signs," the man muttered and he sighed and put his face into his hands.

"There were so many signs, how did I miss them," the blonde asked himself but Sherlock answered, "Because you were too busy calculating the astronomical chance that this was indeed happening."

The blonde looked back at him with a more relaxed yet observational nature, "So you're SH221?"

The pale man sighed in impatience, "I thought we had accepted this fact." The doctor seemed to have a hard time just understanding that but John threw in a new question hesitantly, "So 221 stands for something else and SH is your initials?"

Sherlock nodded with his hands touching finger to finger in a contemplative gesture, "Yes, it stands for my address, and my name is Sherlock Holmes."

John's eyes widened and Sherlock wondered briefly if he had said something to upset the man or provoke him, but the blonde doctor instead said, "Well, you're different then what I pictured you be."

The raven felt slightly amused as he then asked, "What did you conjure then when you envisioned me?"

The doctor made a face and instantly replied, "That sounds dirtier than it should be."

"John, you're the one who pictured me first," the raven watched as the blonde's eyes glared, but Sherlock spotted an inkling of pink colouring tinting his ears in embarrassment.

"Do you have to be so obnoxious?" asked the blonde and the raven raised an eyebrow as the entered the hospital building, "Yes," Sherlock answered promptly.

"I have every right to be considering I just solved the case so easily," the detective finished, slightly boasting in front of the man for reasons he didn't understand.

"Do you always do that?" John asked as both men paused in front of the desk in the front, "Do what?" Sherlock asked back, genuinely confused on what the man was asking.

"That," John pointed to his collar which was flipped upwards, "Do you always flip them upwards when you are trying to impress someone? Looking all mysterious with the upturned collar and your cheekbones?"

Sherlock had no words against that comment considering he agreed with it, then a thought came into his head as he peered down at John's attire, "Do you need a place to stay?"

The words seemed to surprise John and it took him a moment to speak, "What makes you so sure about that?" Sherlock's eyes instantly locked onto his outfit or rather, John's shoes.

"What," John voiced at the way Sherlock looked accusingly at them.

"They are clean, even if you rode a cab home you would have to walk on the ground but these shoes are practically squeaking clean, spotless actually. Why? Because you live here, in the hospital, it's a smaller hospital so they'd allow an employee to stay, especially if they got out of the army recently."

John's eyes widened but then the brown eyes lowered to his shoes as he spoke, "You can get all that from shoes..." There obvious awe in his voice and the taller man spoke again, "I have an opening for a room mate, but as I have said before, not many people like me because of my deductions. You, on the other hand, need a place to live and it's free. Meet me at 221 B. Baker Street after your shift, I will be waiting." That was all that the raven said as he walked out of the hospital, the doctor almost seemingly immobilized by their meeting.

It had been a sudden invite, there had been no warning and no proper introductions, all Sherlock needed to do was hear the man to know he was a potential flat mate, though John was probably in shock. 'Oh he'll come though,' Sherlock thought confidently, why you ask? Because he had seen it in those brown eyes, the small inkling of curiosity that assured what Sherlock already knew about the doctor. The man was addicted to the danger, perhaps it was the excitement at the prospect of danger or maybe it was thrill of being in a life or death situation, but Sherlock knew for sure that the man would meet him at 221 B. Baker Street.

Hope you guys enjoyed it! They have met! Sweet days this was a hard chapter to write, because you have to do it justice! They are such a great pairing...Also guys I have one question and I want your opinion...

Should there be Mystrade? (or maybe a extra story of them meeting in a similar way as Sherlock and John did on Hell Zone?)

Tell me what you think! Your reviews and thoughts give me the motivation to keep writing! :D Thank you for reading~!

~Aryes