A/N no warnings :D
Chapter 10
Despite Sherlock's hand drawn map, or perhaps, because of it, John was at least 30 minutes late. He hated being late. It was unprofessional.
After slogging through half of London's back ways and alleys, John Watson slipped into the service entrance of the hotel. A tall blond wearing a waiter's jacket was impatiently bouncing on his heels and pointedly checking his wristwatch.
"It is half 6 o'clock, doctor. I would have thought the army might have drilled punctuality into its officers," hissed the disguised consulting detective. "Never mind, never mind," he continued, cutting off the former soldier's protests with dismissive waves of his hands.
John was hustled to a fifth floor hotel room and rudely shoved in. Sherlock Holmes slammed the door behind him and ripped off his blond wig and waiter's jacket. He wore tight black jeans and a form-fitting white button up shirt. He glared at the shorter blond and began pacing.
"I was becoming concerned, John. You were late, and you didn't answer your mobile. Why is that?" snapped the tall ginger.
"Your directions were a mess…" began John.
"I carry the map of London inside my head, John," interrupted the now redheaded detective. "I know every street and every ally, I know which fences can be climbed, which roofs may be utilized, as bridges. I know the subways, the open tenements, in short, my directions were perfect. Only an imbecile could get lost utilizing one of my maps."
"They were a mess and incomplete," reiterated John in his fighting stance, with feet apart, fists clenched and chin raised, to create the illusion of height. "In addition, your route took me past a couple of hoodlums intent on robbing me; I'm afraid I was busy outrunning them at the time when my phone rang.
"Ah, well you seem unharmed," said Sherlock cavalierly dismissing the issue as unimportant. He then flopped on the bed. "I've assembled the data that we have to date," he said and pointed to the wall, decorated with post it notes and a note scribbled directly on the wall.
John sighed and gave up the fight. Then he registered the scribbling on the wall.
"Sherlock, you can't just write on the wall," exclaimed John, removing his damp jacket and muddy boots. He was s bit sensitive about leaving tracks on carpets now.
"I ran out of post-its," whined the consulting detective. "Anyway, Mycroft will pay for any damages. I'm on an expense account."
"Well, bully for you," muttered John. "That's no reason to deface the wall. I'll just see if the front desk can send us up a whiteboard or some more post-its, shall I?" said John, picking up the phone and discussing arrangements with the concierge.
Afterwards he turned to the consulting detective, "Did you have a nice afternoon, Sherlock." asked the doctor, faux pleasantly.
"No. I was bored. What's in the sack?" asked the overgrown man-child.
John pulled a small red gift bag out of the sac. "Well, I'd like you to take this to your brother, please. You mentioned that your brother was fond of cake, so I bought him some teacakes. I also brought a cream that I make from aloe and arnica gel to help with his bruises. It's got some rosemary to make it smell nice." The doctor was a bit put off by the death glare that shot from the consulting detective's eyes, and he licked his lip nervously.
"Right, so, it's a treatment that I learned from an American doctor while I was in Afghanistan, and it works very well. I saved a little for myself too since I have some bruising," finished John, diffidently, as Sherlock sprang up to take the little bag proffered by the former army doctor.
"Why on Earth would you get a present for my fat, interfering brother?"
"Because I'm responsible for his injuries, Sherlock," said John, his brow creased with concern.
"He made you shoot him. He invoked your patriotism and sense of honor," exclaimed Sherlock indignantly. "Who ever heard of a sniper sending get well gifts to his target? Next you'll be wanting to send him a card."
John stared at the floor, his face blushing a light rose.
"Oh dear God, there's a get well card in the bag, isn't there? Charming," John crossed his arms defensively and seriously considered a hasty retreat.
Sherlock saw the blond's distress. The tall man folded back down on the bed with a massive sigh, "Well, I can see that you have your heart set on this, John, although I think it's a mistake to encourage him. Nevertheless, I will deliver the bag to him in the morning, but I shall make very clear that none of this," he shook the bag, "has anything to do with me."
"Thank you Sherlock," replied the doctor with a small smile. "The directions for use of the cream are in the bag, with the, um, with the card. So the rest of this sack is for you, well both of us, really. I bought some beer and then I stopped for some take away. I hope you like Thai food, and I hope you don't mind eating out of boxes. I got an assortment of appetizers and…"
"Oh, I don't eat when I'm on a case John; it slows me down," interrupted the detective.
"That's ridiculous. If by case, you mean finding Mor-whatever, then it's going to take more than a day or two…"
"And you haven't taken in to account that I am now working the case and will solve it much faster than you can possibly understand with your limited imagination," snapped Sherlock.
"And," continued John. "It is unhealthy and bad for your mental acuity to skip so many meals."
"I have gone three and four days without eating while on a case," said the stroppy detective.
"And there goes the theory that you and your massive genius always solve your cases instantly." said John putting appetizers on a napkin and bringing it over to the sulking genius. "You know, you might have solved them more quickly if your brain had been adequately nourished.
"Finally, you might consider the fact that I went out of my way to bring you dinner. I spent almost my last cent on it and defended said dinner with my life against the two knife-wielding thugs who tried to steal it," said John. "Now please eat something, or I shall leave and share my take-away with the first person who doesn't reject me out of hand."
"Fine," said the petulant ginger. Somehow, the ridiculous little soldier made him feel guilty. He stuffed half of a spring roll into his mouth.
They ate in silence. John savored his pad Thai and Sherlock picked at his food, while staring at the army food bully.
"You needn't throw the food away, Sherlock. There's a mini-refrigerator where we can store the leftovers," said John.
"John, don't open the…"
"Are those hands? Human hands?" John turned to look at the madman, who had leapt up a few seconds too late.
"They are for an experiment I plan to run tonight. Molly, who works at the morgue, gave them to me," explained Sherlock.
"Wha kind of… experiment?" asked John, his voice pitched just a tiny bit higher than normal.
"The effects of unchlorinated water and various concentrations of chlorinated on the rates of decay of the human integument," said Sherlock. "I have a case that depends on just such an analysis. I doubt you'd understand."
"No, can I understand it, thank you. I did complete medical training and managed to qualify as a trauma surgeon, despite my limited mental capacity," said John, once more on his dignity.
"And is there a reason why this experiment cannot be run in a laboratory?" asked John.
"I prefer to work at home. It's more convenient. I don't have to interact with dull people. There are fewer interruptions. I can work in my pajamas. And it prevents boredom," intoned the detective.
"Right. I shall commandeer the top shelf for my leftovers and your specimens may take the bottom shelf."
Fortunately the white board, markers and a pack of post-its were delivered before the mad-scientist could protest further.
While the doctor set up the white board, Sherlock took the post-its off of the wall and attached them to the board. Only the consulting detective could arrange the yellow stickies properly, so for now, John was relegated to observation and taking notes.
"Tell me about this, um data map you have, Sherlock," asked John as the lanky detective drew arrows connecting some of the notes.
"You wouldn't grasp the interconnectivity of the segments. Now, please let me think, John," said the redhead.
In the center was a note saying underground offices. Parking garage. Other notes shingled down. How many rooms? Pumps? Vents? In London?
"Of course it's in London, Sherlock. The vents ran continuously. I didn't hear any pumps but I wasn't listening for them. I saw three rooms for sure not including the loos. There was clearly a kitchen and Mor-whatever implied that he had his own bedroom on the premises. So there must be at least five rooms but I bet there's more. I mean Moran and the goons must have a room to lurk in." said John. Sherlock ignored him, but moved a note to the center, it read 'underground parking garage?'
"Yes, the parking garage was underground. I told you it was underground. I could easily hear when we entered the parking garage. Then we went round and round and down five times so that would make it the 2nd or 3rd sublevel, wouldn't it?"
Getting no response John made a new post-it note. 2nd or 3rd sublevel and stuck it over Sherlock's note. He rewrote another note saying, yes the Batcave is in London.
"You really are an irritating git," said John. "I'll just write out a few more notes for you. Mor-whatever might be a vampire. Mor-whatever is psychopathic, Can't rule out that Mor-whatever is psychotic, dance music sounded like old-fashioned record player, music: swing and jazz like Body and Soul and What Will I Do, wears Westwood Suits, Likes silk sheets (black), likes blood-red roses, likes bloody steaks, likes my blood (vampiric delusion?), claims he killed his other boyfriends.
"I'll just put these up? Yeah?" John arranged them to his liking. "Well I see you have a street map of London. OK. I'll just draw in approximately where the um, the um, where the Batcave is, OK? I have to figure out where Lady Godiva's coffee shop is and The Boutique by Bree, because that's where Hope took off my blindfold. I got their addresses this afternoon…Hey, you in a trance or something? "
"Thinking," said Sherlock, moving his hands in front of his face in a strange fashion.
"O…Kay?"John nodded with pursed lips. "Thinking. 'Cause you're a genius, right? You know that reminds me, I met this cabbie whose kids are geniuses. At least he said that they were…Well. I got another note for you, no, make that two notes, taxi driver =Jefferson Hope (also psychopath), taxi driver has two kids (proper geniuses)"
"Right, well then, here's the map, and I figure that Mor-whatever's Batcave has to be in a thirty minute radius of that coffee shop. I'm not sure how to figure out how far out is thirty minutes, so you have to figure it out. Unless, we test-drive the roads there. Yeah. Well, I don't have a car and I couldn't afford a taxi," John looked at the map that he had just pinned to the wall. Probably shouldn't have stuck pins in the Well, Mycroft Holmes can foot the bill, right? Right.
And so, my crush is married to his work, and he apparently becomes catatonic. Great.
"And so I'm off, OK, mate? I'm going to look for the vending machines and I guess i'll get some ice. I'll be back soon though, and I'll drop some ice down your back. It'll be an experiment. Yeah?" suggested John.
John waved his hand in front of the detectives face and got no reaction. "Right. Still thinking in there? Yeah? I'll just… give you some… time then?" John tousled the detectives wavy red hair.
"Can you even hear me? Anyone in there?" John licked his lips. He leaned down suddenly and kissed the detective's cheek. Then John beat a hasty retreat to the relative safety of the hotel's utility room.
A/N
The next Chapter will be up in a day or two, promise. Despite being busy in his mind palace, Sherlock will react to John's little display of affection.
Thank you to all of you who stick with me and read this story.
Special thanks to everyone who reviews my fiction; I am truly grateful. Nothing makes me happier than when I hear from one of you. Thank you to InuChimera7410, EJ 12212012, ruvy91, power0girl, Kyuubigurl74, anyrei1, Wicked Winter, Guest, and SamuelE8688.
Disclaimer I do not own the rights to anything SHERLOCK.