Sherlock stomped through the door of 221b with Anderson by his side. "John! Guess what Lestrade thought would be a hilarious prank?!" He shouted up the stairs to Watson. He stomped furiously up the stairs, dragging Anderson along, who followed silently. John stared at the two as Sherlock raised his arm.
"He handcuffed you together?" Watson's hand flew up to his mouth to keep from chuckling.
"He said we 'bicker too much' and he'll take the handcuffs off when we're nicer to each other!" Sherlock continued angrily. "When I get these off I will kill Lestrade!"
"If this is some bonding experience, I swear," Anderson finally spoke, glaring at Sherlock with a disgusted look on his face. "You smell more like a mutt the closer I am to you."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He stepped aside sharply, making Anderson crash into the ground. Sherlock looked pretty pleased with himself, his lips curling into a smile.
"Calm down, Sherlock. We can get a locksmith to get the handcuffs off." John's face was red from trying to hold in laughter. "Don't kill each other until then."
Anderson managed to stand back up. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. Then I'd have to drag around a dead body that smells like mutt."
"Don't make me kill you. I have dragged around my fair share of dead bodies." Sherlock squinted his eyes at Anderson. "John, call somebody before I drag him into the middle of the street."
"Okay, okay," Watson let out a small chuckle and pulled out his mobile. He dialed a number and held the phone up to his ear.
Sherlock and Anderson distanced themselves as far from each other as the chain would allow. John mumbled into the phone for a few minutes before his face went blank.
"Tomorrow at the least?" Watson repeated. "I don't know if you know but the two handcuffed together despise each other!"
Sherlock's heart dropped at the words "tomorrow at the least".
"Ok," John finally said. He hung up the phone and put it in his pocket. "Tomorrow is the earliest he can come. He said he's packed full of appointments this week."
"He's a locksmith, not a detective!" Sherlock groaned, flopping into the first chair he could find. Anderson tripped over his feet and landed face first into the floor.
"Would you stop doing that?!" Anderson lifted his head and shouted at Sherlock.
"What happens when we have to go to the bathroom?" Sherlock asked, his nose scrunching up in disgust at the thought of that.
Watson started laughing, practically falling to the floor.
"What about sleeping tonight?" Sherlock asked John.
Watson grew silent. He straightened up quickly. "There is no way I'm sharing a bed with Anderson."
"Lestrade has the key!" Anderson got up from the ground. "I will beat it out of him if i have to."
"Well, well, well," Lestrade laughed as Watson, Sherlock and Anderson stood in front of his desk. "It didn't take you more than an hour to come back. Are all the locksmiths busy?"
"Give me the damn key, Lestrade," Sherlock looked like he was about to strangle Greg.
"Be nicer. Prove to me you guys can compliment each other or at least apologize for threatening to cut each other open with a scalpel." Lestrade kicked his feet up and cupped his hands in his lap. "I'll give you the key then."
Sherlock turned slowly to Anderson. He sighed deeply, trying his hardest to have a filter, something he never had before. "Sorry..." He began. When he saw that Anderson began to roll his eyes, he got angrier. "Sorry that I didn't act on my threat! John, dear, fetch me a scalpel!"
"Damn, you can't even apologize!" Anderson huffed. "You keep this up and the next decapitated head in the fridge will be your own, Sherlock!"
"I will rip you open without a scalpel!" Sherlock tackled Anderson. Fighting him would be hard to do, but he was determined.
"Just give us the key, Greg," Watson begged.
John looked down as Anderson yelped. "You just bit me!"
"Whatever works!" Sherlock shouted at him, continuing to punch Anderson.
John rolled his eyes and grabbed Sherlock by the shirt, pulling him off Anderson without dragging Anderson forward. He held one of Sherlock's hands behind his back while Sherlock struggled to get it loose. "That's my free hand, John! That's the one I'm gonna kill him with!"
Everybody who came in for work that morning was watching the fight through the windows of Lestrade's office. Lestrade finally got up, shut the door, and pulled the blinds shut.
"Okay, bloody idiots," He said bitterly, stepping in between Sherlock and Anderson. "I'll unlock you on one condition! Sherlock, stop trying to punch him."
Sherlock stopped struggling and sat still. Lestrade smiled and pulled a key from his pocket. He knelt down and unlocked the cuffs. Anderson grinned and lunged at Sherlock, getting a few punches in.
Sherlock fell back on top of John, practically crushing him. He was trying to push Anderson off of him.
John slid out from under them and stood up quickly, straightening out his shirt. "Let this fight run its course."
"John! Hold his arms behind his back!" Sherlock protested.
Lestrade finally stepped in and pulled the two men apart. "Enough!" He shouted. "You're free to do whatever you want now! Leave here and never speak to each other again for all I care!"
Sherlock stood up and moved over to John.
Anderson studied his arm. "I think you drew blood."
"You actually bit him?!" Watson laughed. "I thought you pinched him or something!"
Sherlock grabbed a tissue from Lestrade's desk and wiped blood from his face. "Come on, John." He grabbed Watson's hand and dragged him out of the office.
"Who won the fight?" A woman stopped them.
"I'd like to believe I did," Sherlock pushed past her, pulling John behind him.
John sat in front of Sherlock, lightly dabbing medicine onto his wounds. His lip was busted open and there were multiple bruises around his face. "He really got you good," John chuckled. "I still can't believe you bit him."
Sherlock laughed too. "Trust me, having his disgusting flesh in my mouth wasn't the plan. It was merely an instinct to bite him."
"Remind me to never piss you off." Watson threw the cotton away and closed up medicine bottles. Sherlock cupped John's cheek with his hand and planted a kiss on John's forehead.
Watson smiled and laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder.
"You didn't even bother to help me take Anderson down," Sherlock laughed, wrapping his arms around Watson's lower back and pulling him closer. He sat his chin on John's head, taking in the scent of shampoo and cologne.
"I love you, Mr. Holmes," John said softly.
"Love you too, Dr. Watson.
John was sitting in the living room, typing away on his laptop. Sherlock came out with his phone in his hand. "What are you writing about?" He asked curiously, peeking his head over John's shoulder. "Why on earth are you writing about that fight today?"
"It was funny, and the world will want to know that everybody's favorite sociopath can feel anger towards another person," Watson chuckled to himself, not stopping his typing. "And you won the fight. People will want to know that too."
Sherlock stood up straight, a smug look on his face. "Won the fight," he repeated. "Did I really?"
"Anderson has two black eyes, a bite mark on his forearm, and a busted cheek. I also believe he broke his nose.." John said absentmindedly.
"How do you know?"
"He's a social network addict." John stopped typing and looked back at Sherlock.
"You're friends with him on social networking sites?" Sherlock furrowed his brows. "I always assumed he was as boring on the internet as he is in real life."
"Oh, he is. But he liked the Sherlock Holmes fanpage so I thought I would add him as a friend."
"Liked the fanpage? Wait a minute- I have a fanpage?!" Sherlock said with genuine confusion. "This is news to me! Pull it up now! I want to see it!"
He knelt down next to John's chair and stared at the laptop screen. John opened a new tab and typed in the link for the fanpage. Instantly, pictures of Sherlock on cases flooded the screen. "Gah! They always get me at my worst angle!"
"It's cute." John smiled. "You have fans."
"Yeah, yeah. Which one of these 'fans' is Moriarty?" Sherlock asked.
John tensed up when he heard that name. He remembered the game Moriarty forced them to play and the bomb that was strapped to Watson. "I don't know. We have thousands of likes, it will be hard to tell."
"Only thousands?" Sherlock joked, standing up. "I was hoping for millions."
"Why did you ask about Moriarty?" Watson closed the laptop screen and took deep breaths. "I haven't heard that name since-"
"Since Irene, I know," Sherlock sat down in his chair. "I was just curious, that's all."
"Moriarty is a part of the page," John assumed automatically. "He's got something to do with this whole thing, hmm? What is it, Sherlock?"
"Peculiar."
"What?"
"Your behavior. It's peculiar. Sometimes the great Sherlock Holmes get curious, you know. I didn't know for a fact that he liked the page or uploaded any pictures or anything. It was a question."
"You wouldn't just ask a question like that. You know he's got something to do with it!" John huffed insistently.
"I actually don't know," Sherlock crossed his legs and stared at Watson. "I'm sure the only reason we haven't seen or heard from him is because he isn't bored. Or he's planning some grand event or something." Sherlock moved his hands as he spoke.
John was silent. He opened his laptop back up and started typing. Sherlock opened his mouth to ask what he was doing but closed it when he realized he wouldn't get a reply.
"Lestrade texted me," he finally said after minutes of silence. "He said it wasn't required but he would like my opinion on a particular case. Would you like to go?"
"Of course I would like to go." John stopped typing and closed the fanpage without telling Sherlock what he typed about.
"Sherlock!" Lestrade welcomed him onto the scene. "So we may have the killer and it's a very obvious scene, but we still wanted your opinion today."
Sherlock looked Lestrade up and down. He had scratches on his knuckles as if he apprehended a killer, but everybody knew Lestrade wouldn't do that. He also had a softer look in his eyes towards Sherlock. "Trying to make up for cuffing me to the worst person in the world," Sherlock looked away at him and stared at his surroundings.. "Your attempt at forgiveness is noted, Jeff."
"Who's Jeff?" Lestrade asked. He realized that Sherlock had gotten his name wrong, yet again. "Sherlock, you know my name is Greg, right?"
"Yeah, whatever Graham. So where's the body? And where's the killer?"
"The body is around back the house, near the shed. The killer is already at the station," Greg said. "If you don't mind, I have to get there. Take as much time as you need, Holmes."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked around the house, Watson following close behind. He stopped in his tracks, making Watson run into his back. "What's wrong?" He asked, recovering from bumping into Sherlock and almost falling over.
"Bloody hell, Gavin. Damn trap," Sherlock muttered under his breath.
"Uh, Greg?" John tried to correct him, but realized what Sherlock was pissy about. Anderson was at the scene. Lestrade had probably set this all up to try and fix the fight they had earlier.
"Yeah, we're leaving," Sherlock linked his hand with John's and took a sharp turn away from Anderson. "No way Lestrade would call me onto a case where they already found the killer! I should have known."
Watson's mobile dinged loudly in his pocket. He ignored it and continued walking with Sherlock. However, the phone kept going off nonstop.
"Shut up!" An agitated Sherlock screamed loudly, making everybody stop and look at him.
John took his phone out of his pocket and silenced it quickly. Sherlock hailed a taxi and opened the door for John to climb in. When they were in the taxi and it started driving, Sherlock unexpectedly reached into Watson's pocket and grabbed the phone.
"Somebody really wants to talk to you," he said, turning the screen on.
"Don't tell me you're turning into a jealous boyfriend now," John tried to snatch his phone back, but Sherlock held it away and grabbed Watson's wrist. "Its probably just notifications from clients or something."
"The fanpage."
"What about the fanpage?" Watson stopped squirming to reach his phone.
"It's blowing up about a picture somebody posted..." Sherlock gulped. "Oh. Nevermind. Unimportant."
He slid it into his pocket and turned to stare out the window. "Sherlock Holmes what was that picture? Why are you acting so strange today?" John protested, grabbing Sherlock's arm and attempting to pull him closer so he could fish his phone out of the man's coat pocket. "If you're not going to tell me what it is, at least let me have my phone back!"
The cabby took a sharp turn on a corner and John fell over into Sherlock's lap. His face turned bright red and he sat up quickly, moving away from Sherlock as much as possible. He was embarrassed while Sherlock wondered why.
"Fine. Don't give me my phone back," John said, flustered. His cheeks were still cherry red.
"Here," Sherlock dropped it into his lap and didn't look at him. John unlocked his phone and pulled open the fanpage.
"Oh god."
The picture was from the pool, the night of the confrontation with Moriarty. It was Sherlock and John standing next to each other, red dots on their chests. "It was only Moriarty and us there. How did somebody get that picture?"
"Jim did," Sherlock sighed. "That's why everybody is so confused. Why we were going to get shot and why you never wrote about a pool incident on your blog. They are all extremely worried that we are in trouble."
"Moriarty isn't bored anymore," Watson said as his phone dinged. His eyes were as wide as saucers. He turned his phone so Sherlock could see.
I am everywhere
-M
