Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock

Finally an update. To a happy new year!


Anderson is sorting through a couple of lab reports as he hears the key door swipe and the door open.

"Sally, I told you I have to finish." He smiles, thinking he is about to look into the eyes of the lovely Sally Donovan with her crazy curly hair and that relaxed smile she shows after a long day of work. However, his excitement dies quickly. Doctor Watson has just entered his work environment and looks like he is planning to kill someone. Anderson grimaces, but remains calm. It's just a slight annoying problem. John didn't kill Sally when he came to talk to her, but his brain chimes in that incident was over two and half months ago. John Watson could be a very different man now, a very different man.

"John. H-how-what do you need help with?"

Real confident, his mind remarks sarcastically.

John ignores him as he walks slightly off balance towards Anderson and leans on the counter that he is at. John still doesn't speak.

Anderson swears under his breath. How did John get in here anyway?

John looks up and gives him a frightening grin like he knows a secret. Anderson hopes the secret isn't: he is alone with John Watson while everyone else has left.

"How's your wife?" John questions. His voice sounds slurred and unsteady, just like his walking.

"I don't seem to think that's any of your business," Anderson says in very monotonous voice, so as not to anger the man in front of him.

"Really?" John drawls out. Anderson scrunches his face. He can smell the alcohol on John's breath. He realizes that anything he is likely to say in whatever tone he says it in will not alleviate the situation. So, he doesn't say anything. Instead he looks around for his mobile. He should call Sally or Lestrade, they are better at this. Not him.

"Because everyone knows that you and Sally still haven't given up on your Wednesday night meet ups." John says leaning a little too proudly on the counter. The papers in front of both of them spread out and some fall onto the floor. John doesn't move. Anderson is not sure if he should move to pick them up. He decides against it because John is still glaring at him with such fierce intensity.

His one hand fumbles in his pocket. He finds his mobile. Now, was Sally the speed dial one or was that his wife?

"No answer?" John laughs and the laugh is even worse than the frightening grin.

"John, I think you know – I can call you a cab."

"No cab is necessary, Anderson." There is a pause as Anderson avoids John's gaze yet again as he slowly slips his phone out of his pocket and into his palm hidden by the counter.

"You want to know a secret?"

Not particularly. "Only if it's good." He tries to chuckle at his joke, but the chuckles dies in his throat.

"It's the best." John beckons him forward and he hesitantly agrees, he's not sure why. John is in a balancing act with his own body. He uses one hand to stabilize himself on the counter and the other hand that beckoned Anderson is resting on Anderson's shoulder. He breathes out his next words with great delight. "Sherlock is still smarter than you and he's dead!"

Anderson tenses under the name and repeats again. "That cab, John - "

John shakes his head and seems giddy with enjoyment.

"You heard me, right? A dead man is smarter than you!" John laughs again and his hand trembles.

Anderson takes this an opportunity and breaks away. John's hand on his shoulder slams on to the counter. While John stands a little stunned, Anderson hits speed dial one and prays it's not his wife. "Right. You still live at 221B?"

John blinks.

Anderson asks again, just in case John didn't hear. "221 B, right?"

John shakes his head.

"You don't live there?"

John scoffs, shaking out his hand that slammed on the counter. "I don't need any help from you. Not from you, not from Sally. Not from any of you sick bastards who did this."

"Listen your sociopa-"

John's hand shoots out and grabs Anderson's wrist and grips tightly, letting the phone clatter to the ground. Anderson is praying the person who picked up the phone on the other end can hear everything that is going on. "Don't. You dare. Insult. HIM." His face is inches away from Anderson, but he can't move. "You have no right - not what you and Donovan did to him."

"But that's what he wanted to be called!" Anderson snarls at John, annoyed. "He was like an overgrown child- a bully on his worst days. Couldn't you see that?"

This is the first time John avoids Anderson's eyes. Anderson continues.

"He was always deducing and calling us names."

John retorts back. "But how old are you? You could have done your job better to prove him wrong. Not insult him right back. "

"But he-"

"Listen to me, Anderson, you wouldn't have solved those cases without him,"

"Yes-I-we-"

"No," John shakes his head definitively. "Not in time. What harm was he doing? So he insulted you, but at least he was helping solve the cases you were solving at a sloth's pace. " John's grip tightens on his wrist. "What harm was he really doing to you, huh?"

Anderson is breathing hard. It hurts. "John, please let go-"

"No." His wrist feels more pressure. "You deserve a tenth of the pain he felt falling off that damn building."

Anderson tries to wrench his wrist free, but John is a very strong man. "I thought you were a doctor. Doctors don't hurt people."

John's grip doesn't let go. "I am having a very, very bad day."

The key door scanner is heard and the door opens, but John doesn't let go. He can't see who is walking through the door as his head faces away from the door, but Anderson can. He's a little relieved and John can see it. He hisses at Anderson with disgust. "Oh, calling for help, are we? Be a man-"

"Easy John." Anderson feels the pressure loosen as the man's voice speaks. Greg Lestrade is slowly peeling John away from his forensic. "Come on mate, easy does it." John breathes, gaze never wavering away from Anderson.

"He deserves to feel it. He's a coward! Can't admit that he helped a man kill himself." John spits out in anger. "Can't tell his wife what he's doing behind her back. Sherlock might have been a prat, but he's twice- twice the man that's standing there." He tries to lunge at Anderson, but Lestrade pulls him back.

"Right. Well, he still needs to finish that report for Dimmock and I don't think he can, if you decide to slug him."

Anderson looks at Lestrade, helpless, annoyed, and a little terrified, but Lestrade isn't watching him. He has his hands on John's shoulders guiding him toward the door. Anderson flexes his fingers, letting the blood flow through them again. He tries to shake off the look of rage John had. He can still hear them talking as the door opened.

"Jesus, John, how did you even get in here?"

"Sherlock. The code." Anderson sees John dejectedly gesture.

Greg laughs nervously. "Yeah, he would know. Listen, I'm a bit low for a cab ride home and it's starting to rain. You want to split it?"

"Yeah. All right."

The door closes and Anderson is standing alone behind the counter with all his papers still scattered on the floor.