Chapter 4: The Aftermath

Living with Sherlock Holmes, who is among other things a fiddler, John Watson has come to appreciate classical music. However, he is not a fan of some randomly drawled out notes that are successively played without care, and purely under the intention of irritating ones flatmate. He is especially not a fan of that practice at 2:15 in the morning. Flipping violently to his side, which didn't do any good for the springs of his mattress, he reached for his bedside table and carelessly pulled open the middle drawer. Without bothering to open the lights, he blindly felt his way through the various things stored inside. It didn't come as any surprise when he felt the empty rectangular area which he was fairly certain, once held a box of earplugs.

'What else did I expect?'

Still not giving up, the doctor then bent his arms under his bed and ran his fingers along the frame just beneath his hips. When his hand emerged with a lone film of tape stuck in his ring finger but with no earplugs, he tightly shut his eyes before shaking his hand to get rid of the sticky object. With the last vestige of his patience, he threw his covers and proceeded to get up on his knees to reach for the painting just above his head. Gingerly, he slid his fingers behind the frame and with a few strokes, conducted a thorough search.

Still, no earplugs.

'Hell hath no fury like a Sherlock scorned'

He could toughen it out if he wants to, but he knows that ignoring this would only serve as a go signal for his flatmate to do more drastic actions. With a huff, he rose from his bed and proceeded to go downstairs. When the sitting room came into view, he was treated with the sight of his curly-haired flatmate, dressed in pyjamas and dressing gown and looking every inch like a statue except for the swift movement of his right arm sawing off his violin with a rosined bow. The doctor always thought Strads weren't capable of producing such infernal sounds.

'Apparently, they could, especially if they're owned by Sherlock Holmes.'

With quick steps he approached his flatmate with every intention of grabbing the instrument and ending the musical torture. However, his approach was hindered by a bow tipped in his chest.

"Return my skull."

"Return my ring."

Eyelids snapped to reveal two blue orbs that completed the ensemble of a vicious glare sent his way. He glared back. He had been right to think that a vendetta would ensue after he got rid of some of the organs. It was now Sunday morning and their little exchange has escalated to the point where Sherlock's skull and John's engagement ring are locked in a fierce battle of hide and seek.

After Mycroft's suspicious visit, the doctor got busy disposing a lot of body parts and some hopeless looking specimens. His Friday night was then spent sorting, rearranging, securing and hiding his valuables. Sherlock's stalking adventure gave John a few hours to prepare for the incoming storm brought by the discovery of missing body parts. He finished his preparations by 10 o'clock in the evening, but Sherlock was yet to return. As any good mate would do, he fired off a text asking the detective his location, but John himself did not expect for any reply. No matter how glued his phone is to his hand, the detective is notorious for ignoring texts that does not involve his current fascination. Therefore, instead of sending another message, John spent his time between doing mundane tasks such checking his blog, anticipating Mary's discovery and puzzling over Mycroft's visit while waiting for the detective's return. When midnight came with no Sherlock, he went to bed hoping that he'd wake up to a room with no missing belongings and a habitable flat.

To his surprise, he did.

His still glazed eyes narrowed as he gazed at every corner of his room looking for any signs of intrusion. When he saw nothing suspicious, he immediately rose and checked his things and was amazed to find nothing missing. Only then did it dawn to him that the flat was eerily quiet which means he didn't actually survived anything, it was yet to begin. When he went down for breakfast, there were no signs of Sherlock or his return. Worried for his friend, he decided to call but he was immediately distracted by a text from Mary saying that she is suffering from a massive hangover but has 'juicy' details for him. Figuring out that since Mycroft was yet to announce a Marshal Law for the benefit of his missing brother, he decided to attend to the needs of his girlfriend first, and only sent a hurried text to his flatmate.

You're still alive, right?

He was already in the cab when he received a reply.

Yes. – SH

The visit to Mary's house proved to be quite an experience that for the rest of his Saturday morning, he managed to forget his worries about Sherlock and his overreaction when it comes to his specimens.

However, in the middle of lunch, his phone buzzed signifying an incoming message.

Replace them. – SH

'Not in this life.' No.

They were important John! – SH.

Then why weren't you using them?

'They were just sitting there taking up space that was supposed to be for food storage'

I was, and now you've ruined my experiments. – SH

'On what, organ pickling techniques?' You'll manage.

Replace them immediately! – SH

No.

You'll regret this John. – SH

'Been there, done that.'

Fairly certain I won't. Tell me, what happened to you following James Kirk?

With the last piece of his chicken forgotten and Mary looking over his shoulders, the text was typed with a smirk on his face. Mary proved herself to be quite a skilled sleuth and in a rare event, John was privy to information that's teasing material.

The reply didn't come instantly and it only served to widen the grin on his face.

Are you going to replace the organs or not?– SH

'Could have fooled me with that one.'

You were gone the whole night. Surely there must be something.

"You are such a tease." Mary poked him in the arm but there was a spark in her eyes that says she's enjoying this as much as he was. Teasing Sherlock is one of the rare luxuries that they can afford. He's surely going to enjoy this as much as he can.

Have you asked Mary already? – SH

Maybe not.

"What did he mean by that?" Mary looked at him in confusion and John was sure that his fun was finished.

"Oh he was just…wondering if I've already asked you to…"

'…marry me…'

"…a date." Really? That's the best that he can say?

Mary's eyebrows moved closer to each other in a sign of further confusion, and she looked like she was about to say something but was cutoff when his phone signaled for a new text.

Surely she'll say yes. – SH

'The bastard!'

"John?" Mary's face was registering growing suspicion because if there is one thing that she was sure of, it's that Sherlock Holmes is the last person to inquire about John's love life - anyone's love life for that matter.

Except Molly's.

"Well, he knew that we were suppo-." He was cutoff by another buzz. There was a split second pause where both John and Mary just stared at his phone before finally eyeing each other.

The doctor always had very good reflexes but nothing beats a determined woman.

More so, a determined and curious woman.

Five seconds later, he was phoneless and staring at his girlfriend as she read his text. God forbid Sherlock ruins his proposal plans…well…he doesn't really have plans yet, but he was certain that it will never involve a scenario where his girlfriend learns about it from his bestfriend through text.

"What box? John what does he mean by this?" She turned the screen to him.

Especially if you show her the content of the box. – SH

Somehow, the emphasis didn't settle well with him, so with caution he extracted his phone from Mary's hands and looked at her in the eyes.

"He was asking if I already asked you for a make up date and if I've already given you my gift." He then kissed her and hurriedly stood up. "Now seeing as he ruined the surprise, I better go home and berate him about it. So bye, love you." Without waiting for Mary he hurriedly left her house.

He didn't receive anymore text from his flatmate and he was fairly certain that the man was in their flat, sitting in his chair, phone in hand and his trademark smirk plastered in his face.

'Well, if Sherlock Holmes wants to play it that way, so be it.'

When he got home, the detective was indeed in his chair with his hands stippled in a familiar prayer pose and was looking at him. He narrowed his eyes at the man who was staring at him with equal intensity. Vaguely, he took note of the appearance of their flat which didn't appear to suffer any consequences.

That was when it hit him.

'He did not!'

"Sherlock!"

"John." The detective was calm and patronizing, contrary to the doctor who's starting to feel the bites of anger.

"Give it back!"

"First, return my skull…"

John had decided early on that the skull would serve as a collateral in case Sherlock pulls a fast one against him - which is usually the case.

"Give. Me. The. Ring." John approached Sherlock and was glad that the detective was sitting, thus allowing him to tower over the man and hopefully, inspire intimidation.

"…and my body parts as well." However, Sherlock remained passive which only served to hike up the irritation of John.

"You don't seem to be missing any."

'But you will if you don't give it back'

"You know what I mean."

He certainly did, and at that moment he knew it has begun. So with as much self-control as he can, he summoned his patience and smoothed his face to mirror the calmness of his flatmate. When he felt steady enough, he went to sit on his couch opposite the detective. Sinking in further, he ignored the intense stare of his friend but instead reached for the day's newspaper and opened it noisily to the editorials.

"You know, Mary had an interesting encounter last night."

The doctor's vision maybe obscured by the newspaper, but his ears treated him to the loud but satisfying sound of Sherlock's bedroom door slamming shut.

When he was fairly certain that he was alone, he allowed the newspaper to fall on his lap and brought his hands to his face. He thought about the little casualties of this war. The skull is safe, after all it has survived death, but the other one…

'Surely, he'll take care of the ring. Right?'

The rest of their Saturday was spent in silence, with Sherlock holed up in his room and John actually making plans for the make up date. When dinner came and Sherlock still didn't grace the doctor his presence, John briefly wondered if he had gone too far by bringing up the interesting anecdote shared to him by his girlfriend about her and Molly's night out.

Apparently, someone seemed to have taken a detour and instead of following a raven haired pathologist, ended up sitting behind another pathologist that had gotten progressively inebriated and therefore progressively talkative. What amazed John about the narrative was the fact that Mary spotted and recognized that someone. As a rule, he was supposed to be a master of disguise. She didn't call him out because she had found the entire situation fascinating and mutually beneficial, however a brief eye contact sent the stranger scurrying off with a silent understanding that he had been caught.

Now said stranger was in his room probably under the false pretense that if he didn't make any sound, John would suddenly suffer selective amnesia. The doctor thought he had finally found something that would make the detective shut up and he went to bed with the assurance that he was going to get a good night's sleep.

Of course that didn't last either.

Now at 2:30 of Sunday morning, he is engaged in another battle of will.

Planting his bare feet on the floor, he flicked the bow away and crossed his arms over his chest.

" I'm not returning the skull, unless you return my ring." Sherlock's eyes turned into narrow slits upon the declaration. "So stop being such a prat now."

"Need I remind you that you started this?"

Despite their years together, Sherlock's audacity still astounds John. "No, you started this when you pushed me into that fountain while stalking. Now tell me, how did that work for you?"

"First of all, I did not push you into that fountain. You weren't paying attention that is why you fell. Second…" To John's amazement Sherlock began to look uncomfortable. "…he disappeared."

"What?" John wasn't sure to which statement his question was directed. For now however, he's more surprised by the second.

"I said he disappeared!" The declaration was accented with an up-bow that drew a high-pitched note.

"James Kirk disappeared?!" It was unbelievable. How can a civilian disappear from the sight of a detective? Well, more of consulting detective, but the best one.

'Simply because he is the only one.'

This time, a down-bow. "Really John, must you repeat everything I say? Yes, he disappeared. He turned around a corner and when I got there, he was gone."

To John, it sounded like something straight out of a movie. His times with Sherlock taught him that nobody could easily disappear like that. Sometimes they may lose the trail, but Sherlock always picks it up. Yet now here he was, telling John that a man just vanished in thin air under his watch.

"How could he possibly disappear from you?"

Another screeching up-bow.

"I don't know. It wasn't a particularly crowded street and I checked the shops, he wasn't in any of them."

"Do you think something happened to him?" The doctor immediately thought of calling Molly, but then he realized the time.

"No, we would have heard something from Lestrade right now if that were the case." Sherlock then pointed his bow towards John. "But now you see, something is different about Kirk. No ordinary man disappears that easily."

Sherlock looked very smug but John's mind focused on something else.

"What does Lestrade have to do with any of this?"

"Missing Person cases are always reported to the police." John was almost convinced. Almost.

"Sherlock, you can't just involve The Yard on your crazy suspicion against James Kirk!"

"One, Lestrade is not The Yard and two, it's not a crazy suspicion. I have viable reason to support it." He ended his statement with another up-bow.

"And that reason would be?"

'…you're jealous'

Sherlock scowled at him and he gladly took it in. After all, he was trying to be patronizing. "I already told you."

'More of shown me'

"Huh…" John nodded, desperately trying to conceal a smirk while eyeing the detective up and down. "Yeah, yeah you did."

Sherlock's scowl turned into a glare. Good, because now he was being condescending.

"Listen Sherlock, I know about what you have heard last night from Molly..." For a moment he thought Sherlock was going to deny it, but the detective remained silent. "…and I think that meant you should stop this.

An uncomfortable silence passed between the two as Sherlock stared at John. To the blogger, Sherlock looked like he was deeply considering what the doctor had said.

Of course looks could be deceiving.

"How much sentiment did Mary inject in her storytelling?" Sherlock looked at him haughtily but the blogger ignored it, instead he focused on driving his point home.

"Sherlock! Mary said you were there when Molly used the L-word to describe her relationship to Kirk."

"I see, that much then. John are you aware that you have reverted back to the language pattern of a 15-year old girl?"

"Well then, in case you don't understand a teenager's lingo let me restate it in adult language."John was tired, sleepy and pissed off. He was nearing his end, but John Watson never gives up. "Molly said she loves him!"

The detective's eyes flashed with annoyance. Sentiment has that effect on him. "Did Mary also tell you how much Mojito Molly has consumed by that time?"

"Which lowered her inhibition, making her more likely to express her true feelings!" John wildly gestured through the air as exasperation bubbled inside him.

They fell into another prolonged silence. This time however, Sherlock's face looked grave.

'Yes Sherlock, drink in the truth!'

John was glad he decided not to back down from this argument.

"On Lestrade's birthday you told him he was handsome after consuming your 7th pint."

Sometimes though, retreating is inevitable.

He was already at the foot of the staircase when he turned back for one last effort. "The word was love, Sherlock. Women like Molly don't use that word lightly."

The flat was eerily quite for the rest of the early morning.

A/N Look who updated...Looks like I'm on the writing mood so I took advantage of it. In fact the next chapter is looking good already. I think some of you already have an inkling of what is going on here...so I can't comment much about you're theories but thanks for sharing them and please do keep doing so!

Also, I can guarantee that the next chapter holds a longer Molly/Sherlock interaction. In fact, I think I already have the title for it: The Confrontation.