The next morning, John awoke feeling unsatisfied. He'd had what he would happily call the best evening of his life with Sherlock the night before; however he couldn't help wanting more. The fact that Sherlock had passed the entire encounter off as practically nothing also hurt him slightly; however any sexual contact was better than no sexual contact. He stretched his arms out and moaned with the relief of his bones clicking- stopping only when his hand grasped the warm mess of hair from the man perched by the side of his bed, watching him sleep.
'Can I help you?'
'I needed to observe something. Just to put my mind at rest.' Sherlock jumped up and tightened his dressing gown, nodding at a bewildered John- who was still in his underwear. John gulped and folded his arms, attempting and failing to hide how exposed he felt. He decided to follow Sherlock into the living room and confront him about the night before; he refused to just continue as if things were normal because he'd felt something last night. And that something wasn't just a euphoric wave of orgasmic pleasure.
'Sherlock, about last night.'
'Oh hello John dear, sorry to disturb you. I was just coming to collect the rent and Sherlock asked if I wanted to stay for a cup of tea!' Mrs Hudson was sat in his armchair and he instantly threw Sherlock a vicious dirty look. Under normal circumstances he would've never asked anyone if they wanted to stay for a cup of tea. John knew it was so he couldn't discuss what had happened the previous evening. He darted back into his room and changed into some decent clothes- a red button-up cardigan and black jeans- before convincing himself to ask Sherlock what would happen next with the case.
'Lestrade has the reporter confined at Pentonville. She's not in a very high security section but I can't really imagine her making a daring escape any time soon. We will leave in a few minutes to interrogate her, and ask if she knows anything about Jim Moriarty.'
'Why would Moriarty be involved?'
Sherlock slowed to a halt as he was leaving and turned to face John, disappointment clear on his face. 'Why wouldn't Moriarty be involved?'
'He turned himself in. He has no contact with the outside world, no technology and he hasn't even attempted to break out. Just this once, can we give the man the benefit of the doubt?'
'I've mentioned before John- he's not a man. He gets bored too easily just to turn himself in, I promise.' The glint in Sherlock's eyes scared John; he'd never seen Sherlock so utterly focused or dedicated on an idea.
He also couldn't help noticing how Sherlock had turned the complete opposite direction to where John was sitting in the taxi. He was silent the entire journey, and didn't even try to acknowledge his presence.
'I told you, I have my sources and they did some investigating on the same day you did. That's all I can say.'
'I don't think you understand Miss Thomas- you are currently under police interrogation.' Sherlock was close to banging his head on the table after 50 minutes of trying to get a response out of the stubborn reporter.
'You're not the police though, are you? You can't do anything to me; so why should I help you?'
'Because we could speak to higher authorities and have you arrested.' John interrupted before Sherlock lost his temper- he'd stepped away and had his forehead pressed against the glass window at the end of the interrogation room.
'You still wouldn't have the information you wanted, what would be the point of that?' She grinned at John, who was grinding his teeth together impatiently.
'Personal satisfaction.'
'J-John, come over here, quickly!' Sherlock was fumbling to open the window and his hands were visibly shaking. 'She's outside John, come and look- please.' He almost spat the word 'please', it was clear he was distressed because he'd never asked politely for something in his life. He'd forced open the window just as John joined him, and leant almost all the way out- screaming frantically and making his voice crack. 'You, down there. Come back here, I SAID COME BACK. MISS SIMMONS, COME BACK HERE- I NEED TO SPEAK TO YOU.'
Oh shit, not again. John placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gently encouraged him to come inside. 'Sherlock, there's nobody there. I promise. Listen to me- you're starting to worry people. You're worrying me.'
On those last words, Sherlock retreated inside. He pulled John close until his head was resting on the shorter man's shoulder, and began to do something that broke every remaining part of sanity in John's mind at the time. He began to cry. Slow, soft sniffs and gasps of breath echoed through John's ears and he instinctively stroked Sherlock's hair, muttering comforting words to the scraps of his best friend that remained.
'Well, isn't this touching.' Lisa snarled from the opposite end of the table.
'If you even dare saying anything else-' John began, before being cut off by the sudden jolt of vibration from Sherlock's shirt pocket. He'd been here all too often- Sherlock would read the text, the colour would drain from his face and they'd visit Jim Moriarty once more at Pentonville prison.
This time was different. Sherlock read the text, and his face flushed red with fury. He slammed his phone down on the table and threw open the interrogation room door, spitting the word 'impossible.' He charged down the prison corridor, half-knocking a bewildered Lestrade off his feet and kicking over a wooden chair carelessly. John carefully manoeuvred himself through the wave of destruction that was filling the prison, until he witnessed Sherlock clubbing the large button that released cell 13A.
'Ah Sherlock, this is a pleasant surprise-'
'How are you doing it?!' Sherlock had Moriarty up against the wall of his cell by his throat, gasping for air.
'I- I don't know what you're talking about-' he began to giggle, but collapsed into a fit of coughing instead.
'This was your doing, I KNOW it. TELL ME HOW.'
'I've been in prison, I haven't-' Sherlock punched him viciously in the jaw, causing him to bite his tongue. Blood began to drip slowly from the corners of his mouth, and shone on his teeth when he grinned.
'Sherlock, you need to stop!' A lump formed in John's throat as he watched the horror unfold- Sherlock screaming 'TELL ME' and striking Moriarty two or three more times. His entire face was swelling up and had taken on a multitude of colours, reds and blacks and blues. Lestrade poked his head round the door and swore in disbelief, calling behind him for security backup.
'Sherlock please listen to me, you can get help for this but you need to stop hurting him.' John stepped forward with his arm outstretched and Lestrade called him back. He placed the palm of his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and Moriarty was released; sliding to the ground in a shuddering pile of bruised flesh and blood. Sherlock turned slowly to face John, and John whimpered under his breath. The small flecks of blood decorated Sherlock's delicate features, and made him seem paler than usual. His pupils were dilated and his eyes were bloodshot- he looked terrifying. The veins in his neck and forehead were visible and pulsing, and his knuckles were raw and shaking. John reached up to wipe his face clean but his arms were gripped by Lestrade and Donavon, and he was pulled away. Before he could open his mouth to protest, Sherlock was handcuffed and being lead to a cell.
John fell to his knees in despair and confusion. Once more, he was going to lose his best friend- and now he had to accept it- the man he loved. But this time, he wouldn't cope on his own. He was confused, and broken, and lost, and John could do absolutely nothing to help him. He buried his head in his hands and wept, refusing any form of comfort from Lestrade and other members of the team. Moriarty was being lead to the medical office, and Sherlock had already disappeared from sight. He hadn't even tried to resist arrest- he seemed to have no recollection of what had happened mere seconds before and was probably desperately searching for John to tell him what was wrong.
John didn't sleep that night, or the next two nights after that. Because Sherlock had attacked in an 'unprovoked' fit of fury, the police had no idea if he was safe to be around or not- so John wasn't allowed to visit. He had gone back to the interrogation cell later in the day to collect Sherlock's phone and prove that Moriarty had been sending him messages, but there was no text from Moriarty on the phone and hadn't been for a very long time.
That's what worried John the most- the fact that he didn't know whether Sherlock had been genuinely truthful. He was always completely honest with John; but then again…what if Sherlock had seen things which John couldn't- and therefore genuinely believed that he was being truthful?
After the third night of no sleep, John rubbed his eyes and went to see if Mrs Hudson had any post, or maybe an update about Sherlock's trial. He was greeted with only a newspaper which had been sent directly to his door, with a large headline printed in thick bold letters on the front cover.
'Genius Detective reaches breaking point? Sherlock Holmes under mental examination for fit of violent rage- Lisa Thomas.'
