"SHERLOCK!" John shouted. The insufferable git was standing there, TOYING with a poisonous pill like it was a piece of candy, immaculate in his long black coat, blue scarf, and curls. The murderer, John assumed, in a brown cap and worn grey cardigan, was smiling with glee and talking to Sherlock, evidently convincing him because the detective took held the pill to the light with a thoughtful expression on his face and started to bring it to his mouth…
Without thinking, John pulled his gun up in one smooth motion, aimed, and fired, then dropped down beneath the window sill.
"Hello! Jelly Baby?"
John started and lept to the side a bit at the man sitting next to him, holding out a white paper wax bag.
"Errr, no thanks. I prefer licorice allsorts."
"Oh, you like the savories then?" The other man had a long, ridiculous scarf, a brown tweed trench coat and a wild fluff of hair. Thoughtfully he popped a yellow Jelly Baby into his mouth. "We should get out of here. Sherlock or the police will be here soon."
John let out a long breath through his nose. "I suppose you're The Doctor as well?"
"Yes! And it's nice to meet you. I haven't met you yet, but from what I understand you have met me! Isn't it delightful?"
"Not really, no." John sighed, and crawled towards the door, he supposed Sherlock would be studying the window closely. "I'm going back to the flat. Nice to meet you too."
"Hold up! Hey, slow down!"
The Doctor was crawled after him, and bounced up when they were through the door.
"I really don't think I want to know why you keep following me."
"Well, probably not."
John frowned. This Doctor seemed a bit more approachable than the other two. Naïve and a bit innocent. Their footsteps echoed through the hallway; as they neared the exit to the building John broke into a jog and the other man jogged after.
"Really though, you shouldn't go back to the flat yet! If you do, you'll miss him!"
John stopped as he exited the building. "What? I just shot someone! Granted, yes, he wasn't a very nice man, but what fool sticks around a crime scene after a murder?"
This Doctor grinned toothily. "There's only one person who would know that the small, slightly adorable Dr. John Watson is capable of shooting a man like that. And you want to be sure you can trust him, don't you? What better way than by waiting for him at the police tape and seeing if he'll turn you in?"
"And what if he does? I'd go to jail, wouldn't I?"
"They wouldn't put you in jail for that. The trial might be a little messy, but it would be sorted out in the end. Mycroft wouldn't have anyone connected with Sherlock Holmes arrested for murder. I'm not very politically inclined, but I can sort that out at least." The Doctor popped another Jelly Baby in his mouth (red this time), and patted John fondly on the head. "Sorry, must dash. Ta then!" And he jogged off into the night.
John hesitated. He certainly didn't want to risk an arrest or anything really on his record, but The Doctor had a point. And after being manipulated for what seemed to be the last 48 hours straight, he was curious to see if the great Sherlock Holmes would turn him in or not.
He paused to speak briefly to Sergeant Donovan as he approached the police tape, then repressed a giggle as saw Sherlock Holmes sitting on the back of an ambulance, plucking with mild irritation at an orange blanket around his neck. DI Lestrade approached him, looking fairly useless, and Sherlock began to rattle off what seemed to be another deduction. Those clear blue eyes swiveled around the police cars as he talked, and finally came to a rest on John.
This was it. John nervously looked away, then back again. Sherlock Holmes was staring at him as though he was the most interesting thing in existence and was waving Lestrade away, surrendering the orange atrocity to the medic.
Sherlock smelled warm and musky, and almost inexplicably John's knees buckled slightly as the detective stood just a little too close to him. "Good shot."
John blinked nervously. The admiration and almost sexual purr underlying those two words brought a hot flush to his cheeks.
"Yes. Must've been. Through that window…"
"Well, you'd know."
Carefully, precisely, John reached out and brushed Sherlock's jacket with the tips of his fingers. He wasn't sure exactly why he did it. The Doctor with the Fez had said something about embracing shades of grey, and John was fairly sure that this one was colored the soft downy grey of a morning dove. The detective looked down, a little startled at the physical contact, then smiled almost shyly.
A breath caught in John's throat. Was there anything in existence that he wouldn't do for that smile?