Psycho-boring disclaimer alert: If I owned Benedict Cumberbatch, Rupert Graves or Andrew Scott, the world would know. Trust. I just do this for fun.

A Study in Hot Pink.

The Aftermath.

Lestrade walked under the police line to the ambulance where Sherlock Holmes sat, struggling not to laugh at the sight of the great Consulting Detective being told off by an ambulance crewmember for taking off the bright orange, fluffy towel that they wrapped once more over his shoulders.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me."

"Yeah, it's for shock." Sherlock huffed and argued "I'm not in shock." Lestrade laughed a little as he said "Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs." Sherlock rolled his eyes at the inane grin that covered Lestrade's face.

Trying to get the subject matter of the conversation on a more approachable topic, Sherlock asked "So... the shooter, no sign?"

"Cleared off before we got here. But a guy like that would've had enemies, I s'pose. One of them could've been following him, but..." Lestrade finished with a shrug as he said "we've got nothing to go on.

Sherlock looked at him pointedly as he smirked and said "Oh, I wouldn't say that." Lestrade rolled his eyes. Of course Sherlock would have picked up on traits not noticed by the Force, Lestrade berated himself, he should've learnt that much by now. "Ok, gimme."

"The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a handgun. Kill shot over that distant, from that kind of weapon? That's a crack shot you're looking for. But not just a marksman, a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principles. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service..."

As Sherlock trailed off, he looked around and spotted John, who smiled her childlike, sunshine smile with its eternal reassurance in it. "...and nerves of steel..." He trailed off again as John gazed at him innocently, before giving him a shy wave. Slowly, it all began to fit. Who else better fit the description he just gave Lestrade than his flatmate, John? Who else cared enough to shoot a man dead for him? No one else cared enough to do that for him. Ok so he'd only known John for a little over two and a half days, but they got on better than he'd ever with anyone.

The description that he just gave Lestrade!

Sherlock saw Lestrade turning to follow his gaze, Sherlock knew Lestrade wasn't that big an idiot. He'd figure it out! Thinking quickly, Sherlock said "Actually, do you know what? Ignore me."

In shock of what Sherlock had just said to him he blurted out "What?" Sherlock waved his hands theatrically to make it more believable as he said "Ignore all of that. It's just the, errr... shock talking." Sherlock wanted to be with John, wanted to thank her for what she'd done. As if in a daze, Sherlock began to walk towards her, his mind thinking of what he could say or do to make it up to her.

"Where are you going?"

Oh, hell! Why wouldn't Lestrade leave him alone and let him talk with John?! Still in the dazed-state, Sherlock tried to sound ditzy as he said "I just need to talk bout the... errr, the-the rent."

"But I've still got questions for you."

Sherlock turned to look at Lestrade and growled in frustration as he said cantankerously "Oh, what now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!" Sherlock brandished the sides of the towel to prove it, inwardly hoping that Lestrade would buy it and let him go.

"Sherlock!"

"And," Sherlock added to stack up the evidence in his favour "I've just caught you a serial killer..." Sherlock realised that he might need to change that, so he added quickly "... more or less." Sherlock wanted to cross his fingers in the hope that he'd be let go now as Lestrade stared thoughtfully at him. "Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go to your Army Doctor."

Sherlock couldn't be bothered to demean Lestrade for saying that, his main concern was to get to John. Walking swiftly, he felt a burning in his cheeks from her laughter at the towel wrapped around him. Taking the blanket from his shoulders, he bundled it up as he approached her and tossed it in through the open police car's window that was next to where John stood, a repressed smile working onto her face and her lips quivering in the fight not to laugh at him. Ducking under the police tape, Sherlock stared into the amber eyed gaze of the woman who'd killed for him.

John wiped the smile from her face as she said timidly "Umm, Sgt Donovan's just been explaining to me about, you know... everything. The two pills and, like... you know, and whatever. It's a... dreadful business isn't it? Dreadful." John shook her head in her ploy to keep the disguise of not being the shooter. Looking into the stare of Sherlock Holmes, she bit her lip and wrinkled her nose at the thought of lying to his face to save her own skin. She always hated insincerity ever since she was a young girl and saw its effects on her dad from her mother's lies to cover her infidelity. From that day on, she'd sworn that she'd always try to tell the truth, even if it was detrimental to her situation.

"Good shot."

Still trying to play the innocent friend, John worked through the torturous delight of her blood as it gushed happily around her, her heart skipping a beat in the joy of the excitement and her body tingled at the thrill of the game once more. She tried, but utterly failed, to look innocent as she looked up at the building that she'd searched through, only to find herself in the wrong building. "Yeah. It, um... It must have been... through that window."

"Well, you'd know." John still tried to hide her emotions from her face, not willing to let her motion be betrayed and flaunted on her face. Sherlock carried on regardless. "We need to get the powder burns out of your fingers and nails. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case."

With her stomach dropping to the floor and a lump in her throat, John sighed defeat. Trying to show her absolute sincerity, she said "I'm so sorry." Sherlock was confused by this. This woman had saved his life, shot a serial killer and she was... apologising to him? Frowning, he asked what she had to be sorry about. Unshed tears in her eyes, Sherlock longed to see her smile. "For trying to lie to you. I just... I-I... I'm sorry."

Slowly, Sherlock came to the thought that this was one of those make-or-brake times in life. He could stay cold and unfeeling and risk losing her, or he could lose some of his aloofness and ego and comfort her. Funnily enough, he didn't even think about it. He just went right ahead and did what he thought was the best course of action for comforting her.

He cupped her cheek with his hand, to make sure that she had to keep looking at him and so that he could show her his genuine care for her through his expressions. He then looked deeply into her pools of dripping golden honey and said softly "You shouldn't ever feel the need to lie to me, John. I won't judge you."

John had never felt this with anyone. No one had ever said this to her in her entire life. Not even Duke. John looked away and felt the tell-tale burn of a deep blush come onto her face as she put her own hand over Sherlock's and giggled a little.

"Is there something wrong?" Sherlock sincerely hoped that there wasn't, or there would be hell to pay. Too bad he only got the chance to hurt the Cabbie/ serial murderer for those short moments, but he hadn't known then what he did now. Informed of her good health, Sherlock said "Well, you have just killed a man." Sherlock winced. The moment the words had come out of his mouth, he'd realised how harsh and criticising they sounded.

Sherlock watched as John stared off into the middle distance, and strangely a smile came onto her luscious lips as she said "But he wasn't a very nice man. And, to be frank, a bloody awful cabbie."

Sherlock loved how she could make jokes at a crime scene, and make him laugh. He offered her his arms, which she took, and his lungs burned after a moment. To his surprise, Sherlock realised that he'd stopped breathing when her arm had wound its way through to brush his side as it took itself to hang off his arm, her hand grasping his forearm tenderly after a moment.

Sherlock took deep, soothing breaths as he began to lead his partner-in-crime-solving away from the college to the street. Wanting to hear her laugh once more, Sherlock retaliated "That's true. He was a bad cabbie - you should've seen the route he took us to get here."

John giggled, and Sherlock couldn't help the smile that wound up onto his face at the sound of her mellifluous laughter dripping like hot oils down his spine and refreshing him, as if he was dancing in summer rain. John suddenly cleared her throat and chastised "Stop it, Sherlock! Stop. We can't giggle at a crime scene. Stop!"

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me."

With a sarcastic curve tilting her smile and her eyes smiling with delight, she put her free hand onto her round hips and said teasingly "And you're the one cracking the jokes in this partnership, Mister Consulting Detective." They shared an amused smile before cracking up once more, ignoring the disconcerting glare of Sgt Donovan as they passed her and continuing to the street.

A taunting note in her voice, John said "You were going to take that damn pill, weren't you." She didn't pose it as a question, they both knew very well that he would have. Sherlock played the game, saying in a condescending tone "'Course I wasn't. I was biding my time. I knew you'd turn up to save me."

Quickly John replied in a knowing voice "No, you didn't. Its how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever."

"And why would I do that?"

Teasing tone instilled in her smooth tones once more, John said bluntly "'Cause you're an idiot. That's why." Sherlock smiled at her, delighted that he'd finally found someone who understood him. He forced the smile down though. He berated himself. He shouldn't be smiling at a woman's jokes. It shouldn't happen. But, he reasoned with himself, this wasn't an ordinary woman. This was John Watson. Ex-Army Doctor and fellow adrenaline junkie.

Sherlock found that he loved to make John laugh, to make her throw her head back and release such a mellow, mellifluous shower of summer rain that it made him feel such pride, not his deducting abilities as was the normal reason for his pride in himself, but for his quick wit and dry sense of humour.

"Dinner?" Sherlock had asked, before he'd even had time to think whether that was an appropriate proposition or not.

John smiled shyly and replied "Starving. I have to warn you, though. I have a humunginormous craving for Chinese, so I'm not going to be happy with anything else."

Sherlock wanted to tell her that he had a huge craving to spend as much time as possible in her company, and wouldn't be happy with anything less; but instead he said "End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese that stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle."

As Sherlock had been speaking, John had noticed a black, shiny car had pulled up. The same one that had abducted her earlier in the night! Which meant the Bogeyman was back. Eyes locked onto the sight of the man getting out of the car and his Barbie assistant following him, still super-glued to her blackberry, John said urgently to Sherlock "Sherlock! Boogeyman at one o'clock. Your arch-enemy that abducted me."

Sherlock looked at the man and said harshly "I know exactly who that is." He led her towards the man, who smiled at them and raised his umbrella in greeting. Looking at Sherlock's face, John saw him glaring angrily at the Boogeyman. Glancing around, John gauged where the police were in case she needed to summon them for help.

His voice pleasant, the man said conversationally "So, another case cracked. How very public spirited... though that's never really been your motivation, has it?"

"What are you doing here?"

The man seemed unnerved by the anger in Sherlock's tone, saying just as kindly "As ever, I'm concerned about you."

This did nothing for the seething Consulting Detective, who snapped "Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'". Sherlock motioned to John, sharing a kind look with the woman who was no longer tethered to him. Sherlock felt his arm tingle from where John had curled her hand over, as if the skin missed the heat of her flesh next to it. Sherlock turned back to face his brother, but cursed his unthinking anger as Mycroft's attention went onto John and he said "Ah, Ms Watson. I see you have found an antidote for your leg in Sherlock. How delightful for you."

Unwilling to let John get involved in this, Sherlock snapped "Leave her out of this" and moved an arm so that he was in front of her. Mycroft paid no mind and mocked "Always so aggressive." He sent an amused look to John, who raised a brow in question, before saying more sternly "Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

Smiling sarcastically, Sherlock snapped "Oddly enough, no!" Mycroft persevered, trying again as he said condescendingly "We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer..." Seeing his brother roll his eyes, Mycroft said something he knew would get Sherlock's attention. "... and you know how much it always upset Mummy."

Neither Holmes brother noticed the confused look that came upon John's face, as if she wasn't sure whether she'd really just heard what she did.

In a voice that clearly illustrated his fury, Sherlock spat "I upset her? Me? I wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft."

"No, no, wait. Mummy? Who the heck is Mummy?"

"Mother, our mother." Sherlock looked to John, before turning back to the man as he introduced him. "This is my brother, Mycroft." With the incredulous gaze from John eating at him, Mycroft glowered at his brother as Sherlock mocked him "Putting on weight again?"

"Losing it. In fact."

The amazement still in her eyes, John blurted out "He's your brother?" Sherlock's annoyance with his brother's comments about upsetting their mother, he snapped unintentionally harshly at John "Of course he's my brother."

A little crabby about Sherlock snapping at her, she said contemptuously "Well sorry for not buying a copy of your family tree before moving in." Rolling her eyes, she blew at her fringe in frustration. Curiosity winning out, she asked "So, he's not..."

"Not what?" Now both of the Holmes brothers were looking at her as she shrugged in embarrassment as she said low and bashful "You know... criminal mastermind or whatever?" John cursed herself inwardly when she felt the burn of a blush come onto her cheeks as the two Holmes stared at her, and grimaced at having ever thought it.

Sherlock looked back to his brother disparagingly as he said "Close enough."

"For goodness' sake! I occupy a minor position in the British Government."

"He is the British Government." Sherlock said the next sentence mocking jolly and sing-song "When he's not too busy being the British Secret Service, or the CIA on a freelance basis."

Mycroft sighed. He'd heard it all before.

"Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home – you know what it does for the traffic." Sherlock mocked him before he walked away, fully expecting John to follow him.

"So, when-when you say you're concerned about him, you really are concerned." Frowning at the thought of her thinking otherwise, Mycroft said "Yes, of course." John widened her eyes as she asked "I mean, you know... it actually is a childish feud or whatever?"

Watching his brother stop and notice that John was still talking to him, calling to her to hurry up, Mycroft smirked as he tried to annoy his brother by taking up more of his little Army Doctor's time and attention. It was something bound to rile Sherlock. He never was good at sharing anything, he had always been so possessive. "He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners."

John's face turned sour, her mouth tilted downwards, her nose wrinkled and her eyes scrunched shut at the thought as she said "Oh, god!" She shivered in disgust, before calming herself with a deep breath. John looked at Not-Anthea, who's been standing there by Mycroft throughout it all with her eye fixed continually on her blackberry. John smirk was positively evil as she said in a falsely sweet voice that dripped sarcasm "Hello again, nomophobic Barbie."

Not-Anthea looked up and smiled at John with a nice, albeit distant, smile that clearly said that she hadn't been listening. Sarcasm still making her lips tilt upwards, John's eyes sparkled in amusement as she mocked "Yeah, we met earlier this evening. You and your blackberry may not remember it, you were rather involved in your love relationship." John was so very clearly mocking the woman. Not-Anthea stared at John as though she really hadn't met her, but tried to react as though she had, very visibly fake as she gasped "Oh!"

John rolled her eyes and said boredly "Whatever. Keep up with the counselling." John pointedly looked at Not-Anthea's mobile as she said it, so that she knew what John was referring to. John scoffed at Not-Anthea's blank expression, blew at her block fringe and her nose wrinkled in disgust. Not-Anthea had already turned back to her mobile.

John shivered in disgust a little, her eyes scrunching shut, before her calm returning and she smiled at Mycroft as she said "Good night... Mycroft." The name sounded odd coming from her lips, just as Sherlock's had. Her past of speaking Middle Eastern languages meant that she had a strange accent and way of speaking the consonants, and saying names like Sherlock and Mycroft made her odd way of pronouncing the consonants stand out more than more common names.

John turned to Sherlock, who'd stomped back over when he'd figured out that she wasn't following to hear her mocking of Not-Anthea's nomophobia. Sherlock felt an amazing smugness and pride come over him as he noticed that John's smile at Sherlock was brighter and wider than the one she'd given Mycroft. His lungs didn't burn so much when John's arm wrapped around his own, her small hand clutching his arm as she leaned into him a little. "I'm ready for our Chinese feast now, kind Sir."

Sherlock felt his chest bow and his smile twitch into a smile as he joked "It awaits your arrival, Milady." He revelled in the summer rain of her laugh, giving himself an internal pat on the back for his quick thinking.

Mycroft watched at his brother with his small Army Doctor, heard their laughter as Sherlock actually cracked a joke. Yes, this Johnnye Watson was a very promising partner for his brother. He said conversationally "Good night, Doctor Watson."

Mycroft was certain that neither his brother nor his brother's doctor heard him, they'd begun to talk about their impending Chinese feast. He heard their discussion about Sherlock's ability to predict the fortune cookies, his little Doctor laughed and told him that he couldn't. Sherlock admitted that he couldn't – something he'd never done with anyone, to Mycroft's knowledge – and their conversation moved to the Doctor's war wound. Sherlock asked her whether she actually got shot, to which the outrageous Doctor's reply was "In Afghanistan? Heck, yeah! Got the scar to prove it, though we'd need to go somewhere more private if you wanted to take a peep."

Yes, this Army Doctor would be good for Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft could tell. She made him laugh. Mycroft heard their conversation turn into a bicker as they debated whether Sherlock knew that it had been the Doctor's left shoulder, or whether he'd simply guessed.

"Sir, shall we go?"

Mycroft was knocked out of his reflections by his own Assistant, named Anthea for all intents and purposes as her real name was classified information. Mycroft could have found out if he so desired, but then he didn't think there was any point.

"Interesting, that soldier girl." Anthea followed his gaze to look at them walking away, still arm-in-arm, before she turned back to her blackberry. "She could be the making of my brother, or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their status – Grade 3, Active."

"Sorry, Sir. Who's status?"

Mycroft could put up with Anthea's only flaw, her attachment to her highly-expensive mobile, as she was an almost perfect Assistant in every other perspective. He continued to drink in the sight of his brother and this new soldier who'd showed up in his life.

"Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson."

That's all folks. Jokes, there's the blind banker to come. Hope this helps keep boredom at bay, you know what it does to the walls.

Phoenix out.