A/N: Hi again! Sorry for not writing, I was busy with my new Teen!Lock fic, Duets. I'd love it if you checked it out! Thanks! 3
P.S. See if you can spot the Panic! At The Disco reference. Oh yeah, the title is a song reference as well. Hehe.
Sherlock's phone was the first thing John heard. "Really Sherlock? At…nine in the afternoon?"
"You mean nine in the morning."
"No shit, Sherlock." Even though he was bleary-eyed with sleep, he could still see his detective smirk.
"Get out of bed, John. Lestrade has a case for us." John just grunted and rolled out of bed. Sherlock was already fully dressed and was practically jumping. Meanwhile, John was still in his underwear. The blogger felt eyes watching him. Sherlock was tracing John with his eyes, and he stopped on John's scar, the scar that represented his bravery, his courage.
"Sherlock…seriously?"
"What? I'm not allowed to appreciate your physical attributes?" John shook his head, but there was a smile playing on his lips.
"Let's solve that case."
Later…
"…Clearly the wife, given the slight hint of cyanide on her fingers…"
"But we ran tests on her! I don't know how we missed that." Lestrade interjected.
"You didn't look hard enough…now let me think." He scanned the body further, looking deep into its crevasses and folds. She was a young woman, maybe 25, who worked an office job down the street. How funny that someone who looked so stupid could be so clever. "She's 25, worked an office job. Her boyfriend, the murder victim was clearly abusive. She couldn't stand it, and she killed him."
"Okay…but why is she dead?"
"Gavin, it's simple, really. She couldn't live with herself after killing him and took the rest of the cyanide."
"My name is Greg." Sherlock was about to retort back, but John squeezed his hand and shushed him.
"Is that enough information for you?"
"I believe so. Thanks, Sherlock." Sherlock turned on his heel, John following behind like a lost puppy.
"Where are we going?" John asked breathlessly. They were in what appeared to be an alley and John suddenly crumpled to the ground. Me…running…the bullet…the searing pain…Sherlock screaming my name…
"John!" Sherlock sprinted back, picking up John and cradling him in his arms. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Please. Tell me." The detective looked straight into John's eyes, seeing all the pain floating on their surface.
"I don't really like alleys." And then he realized.
"Oh…No…I'm so sorry John." He ran his hands through the blogger's sandy hair. "Please…please forgive me."
"It's okay. You weren't thinking."
"No…I really was not. I don't ever want to hurt you, John. Never."
"Thank you." Sherlock gently kissed John's forehead. "Now let's get something to eat." Sherlock smiled. The detective and the blogger ran off, hand in hand.
