This is actually the first time that we have to add a warning... Hehe. No, not really, but it's just that we've noticed that there's a lot of Johnlock kissing and touching in these two chapters, and I'm afraid that that's going to last a while. (To the end of the story, that is. Ahem.) So if you think this is too much, we're very sorry...
Enjoy!
23. Past and Present
'It's absolutely brilliant. That man is insane, but brilliant. He's been giving me clues all along.'
Oh, you're just getting that now?
'The clue's in the name… Janus Cars, remember? What if it's the same, this time?'
'What name, Moriarty?'
'Or Moran, we don't know yet. Maybe he's made an anagram again, an anagram which will lead us to their hideout. We must figure it out, it might lead us to the next clue, which is also stored inside my head.'
'Like the computer key code was, you mean?'
'Yes, yes, exactly!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'It's another way for him to refer to previous cases. We've got to figure out what clue is in their names…'
'How do you know this is the clue?'
'It's obvious. His choice of words, exactly the same. He knew I would doubt the fact he'd give us a clue, just like last time. Get a pen and paper.'
'Sherlock…' John sighed. He felt a wave of fatigue flow over him as he said this. He had been staring at Sherlock all day, making sure nothing happened to him inside his head. Not a lot had happened, but John realised doing nothing was tiring.
'What?' Sherlock asked, already on his feet.
'I'm so tired. Can we do this tomorrow?'
Sherlock frowned and thought about it, considering the possibility. They could work on it later, it was already past midnight. What were they going to do about it even if they figured it out?
Sherlock nodded, smiling to himself. 'Of course. I was a fool; let's go to bed.'
John followed his boyfriend to his bedroom and realised he had really missed sleeping beside him, even after spending only one night apart. John thought it had been a silly argument – he should have known they were going to catch either Moran or Moriarty soon enough. Sherlock wouldn't be so stupid.
John remembered their heated discussion earlier and after that, another heated action… he blushed when he looked at Sherlock's body from behind, noticing the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, enabling Sherlock's elegant movements.
When Sherlock opened the door to his bedroom, John saw his shoulder muscles tighten and relax. When Sherlock walked he saw the muscles in his back move with every step he took. When Sherlock stretched or bent over, John couldn't help but notice his body and reacting to it.
'No, Sherlock, let me do that…' he whispered shyly when Sherlock started to unbutton his shirt. Sherlock chuckled but let his arms drop beside him, placing his hands on John's waist. He felt John's trembling fingers undo his top button and lowered his head.
John felt Sherlock's warm breath before he felt his soft lips pressed against his jaw. He unbuttoned another button when Sherlock's lips brushed sideways, towards his ear. His fingers trembled when he felt Sherlock's breath in the hollow behind his ear and jaw and the detective's teeth when he smiled. Another button was opened when Sherlock gently bit his earlobe, smiling when he felt John's warm hands against his chest.
Sherlock moved his head to the left, his nose brushing against John's cheek. He kissed that exact spot when he felt his shirt open up a bit more. Every time John now unbuttoned a part of his shirt, Sherlock kissed him somewhere on his face, his cheek, temple, forehead, the corner of his mouth. Sherlock knew how many buttons his shirt had and saved the best kiss for last.
John felt Sherlock's lips brush against his skin, towards his mouth and his hands shot up to Sherlock's bare chest, feeling the heartbeat of the tall man fasten. His own heartbeat did the same and he immediately felt hot. He realised he was wearing a button-down shirt himself, a jumper pulled over it.
Before he felt Sherlock's lips touch his and he knew he wouldn't be able to stop him then, John pulled back a little and pulled off his warm jumper, throwing it over his head. He put one arm around Sherlock's back, loving the outline of his spine, while the other hand curled around the detective's neck, which progressed so beautifully into his magnificently muscled shoulder.
Sherlock was acutely aware of John's fingertips brushing his skin lightly and decided now was the best time for a kiss.
He brought his hands together at John's chin, tilting it upwards before running a hand through his hair and leaning forward, his lips parted as he pressed them to John's. John still felt hot and reluctantly lifted his hands from Sherlock's body, about to unbutton his own shirt, but Sherlock blocked his way. He didn't want John to stop touching him.
Sherlock moved his own hands down and it was his turn to unbutton John's shirt now. He was a lot quicker than John had been, but neither of them cared. Sherlock's lips were still locked to John's when Sherlock stepped forward, catching John off guard. John stumbled backwards, but he knew he would have a soft landing – the bed. He giggled when Sherlock thudded on top of him, their bare chests touching.
'Quiet,' Sherlock muttered, although he loved the little sounds John always made, whether it was a moan, a grunt or a nervous giggle. He especially loved those, it made him feel… special. There was no other word for it.
'I'll try to,' John replied between two kisses. 'But with you around, I can't guarantee…'
'Oh, shut up, John…' John's name came out like a hoarse whisper, an eager, craving whisper; John had just pulled himself on the bed entirely, lifting Sherlock with him, using his strong army trained arms. He rested his head back on the pillow, inviting Sherlock's lips to his neck.
'Sherlock…' John moaned quietly when he felt the detective's lips brush his skin, his warm breath in between the tentative kisses blow past his bare chest.
John's hands were on the small of Sherlock's back, softly rubbing it. When Sherlock's lips moved downwards, softly brushing the skin, John moved his own hands down Sherlock's back, too, not stopping when they reached the man's trousers. John felt a sudden gust of warm breath in his neck when his hands brushed over the detective's buttocks to his inner thighs and swore he heard something like 'oh, Lord' coming from Sherlock's mouth, a moaning undertone clearly audible.
John laughed out loud, having found Sherlock's weak spot. 'Didn't you tell me to shut up?' he whispered, looking in Sherlock's beautiful green eyes. He could see that Sherlock's cheeks were pink, even in the twilight. 'You are blushing,' he added, smiling broadly.
'I am not,' Sherlock contradicted, having pulled himself together and grinning, obviously very pleased with himself – and John.
'You are,' John whispered. 'Just…' he pressed his lips to Sherlock's neck. 'Admit it…' He kissed Sherlock's jaw. 'Admit I'm the only one… who can make you feel this way.'
John had reached the corner of Sherlock's perfectly shaped mouth, but didn't kiss him there until he got an answer.
'John. Don't be ridiculous,' Sherlock whispered, eagerly awaiting John's soft kiss. When it didn't come, though, he opened his eyes and looked down at John, who was still waiting for an answer. 'You are. Need you ask?'
'With you, you never know,' John replied, tracing the lines of Sherlock's mouth with his index finger.
'I thought it was pretty obvious.'
'Everything is obvious to you.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' Sherlock repeated. He decided not to wait any longer for John's kiss and lowered his head, grunting as his lips touched John's. His hands ran all over John's body. John arched his back slightly when he felt Sherlock's hands brush over his skin towards his thighs and he knew what the detective was about to do. A lingering moan escaped his lips as Sherlock rubbed his thigh, pressing his lips to his shoulder, neck and chest in the same rhythm.
Sherlock sat up suddenly, leaving John breathlessly on the bed, craving for more. 'Sherlock…' John moaned, gasping for air.
'Sherlock…'
'Just taking my shoes off,' Sherlock replied, his voice soft and high. 'I love you.'
'Oh, Sherlock… I love you, too. Now get back over here, you…'
Sherlock chuckled as he lay back on top of John, continuing where he left off. It pleased him to know that John wanted him and that he was doing the right thing; he was only doing what his heart told him to do, and listening to his heart instead of his head was new to him.
'Don't you need to take your shoes off?' Sherlock asked, his lips barely touching the skin of John's neck as he raised his head to look into John's blue eyes.
'Already taken care of,' John whispered, taking the opportunity to nibble Sherlock's soft lower lip. Sherlock responded by moving his hand towards the left, rubbing John's inner thigh. His hand moved upward, slowly, and just as waves of goose bumps and pleasure spread all over John's body, he moved his hand down again, almost to the man's knee before turning the other way again. He continued this for a while, knowing exactly what kind of movement to make and at what pace.
For once, John didn't mind not having the upper hand, he just lay back and enjoyed the feelings Sherlock caused, focusing on Sherlock's soft hand, his long, tentative but knowing fingers going up and down his leg.
'Sherl…' he swallowed. 'Sherlock…' His voice had a high, croaky undertone and Sherlock blushed again when he realised what he was actually doing. But he didn't stop, for he enjoyed the way John reacted.
John didn't bother hiding his shivers and moans, and pulled Sherlock tighter on top of him, pressing his hands to his back as Sherlock continued to rub his thighs. Despite the warmth, John felt the urge to pull Sherlock's sheets over their bodies and did so, causing Sherlock to chuckle. John laughed back, enjoying the feel of Sherlock's chest rumbling with laughter.
'Oh, John…' Sherlock muttered, amused. He smiled, his lips still touching John's. John felt Sherlock's muscles move beneath his hands, which were on Sherlock's cheeks now, softly stroking his cheekbones. A smiling Sherlock made him feel so happy inside, he couldn't help but smile back. Suddenly, he felt his throat thicken as a wave of emotion rolled over him. He swallowed and gasped for air.
Sherlock felt John's chest move while he struggled to draw in breaths, frowned in concern, and slid down John's side, lying next to him. 'Are you all right?'
'Yes, of course I'm all right. Why?'
'It seemed as though you were… I just thought, maybe I'm a bit too heavy for you…?' Sherlock whispered a bit hesitantly. He crept closer to his boyfriend again, pulling the sheets up again.
John laughed. 'You, too heavy for me? Oh, Sherlock…' He shook his head, placing his hands on Sherlock's cheeks again, tracing his cheekbones with one finger. He pulled Sherlock closer by his neck, running a hand through his soft curls.
'Hmmm,' Sherlock sighed when he felt John's lips touch his. 'Get some sleep. I think it will be a long day, tomorrow.'
John sighed and closed his eyes reluctantly, still stroking the detective's cheekbones. 'And you promise you won't be gone when I wake up?' he mumbled. He did not really want to admit it, but one night without Sherlock was already one too many.
'I promise.'
Satisfied, John crept close to his boyfriend, resting his head on Sherlock's chest. He fell asleep instantly to the steady rhythm of Sherlock's heartbeat, the detective stroking his hair as he closed his eyes as well.
John got out of the cab, just as his mobile phone rung. He answered it immediately.
'Hello?' he said when he ran to the entrance of the hospital.
'John.' It was Sherlock.
'Hey, Sherlock, are you okay?' he asked. He had been concerned about him, he would not lie about Mrs Hudson like that – if it was him.
'Turn around, and walk back the way you came.'
'No, I'm coming in.' John ran as fast as he could – Sherlock's voice sounded… anxious.
'Just do as I ask! Please…' John stopped in his tracks, looking around.
'Where?' he finally asked. He walked back a few steps.
'Stop there,' came the answer. John stopped.
'Sherlock?' He wasn't getting this. Something was wrong.
'Okay, look up, I'm on the rooftop.'
John turned around, hardly believing what he had heard – and what he was seeing. There stood Sherlock Holmes, his coat blowing
behind him, a mobile phone in his hand.
'Oh, God…' John muttered. What was happening?
'I… I… I can't come down, so we'll just have to do it like this.' Sherlock's voice quavered.
'What's going on?'
'An apology.' Sherlock took a deep breath. 'It's all true.'
'What?' John just stood there, staring at his friend in disbelief.
'Everything they said about me. I… invented Moriarty…'
'Why are you saying this?' John asked. It couldn't be true, it wasn't happening.
'I'm a fake.' John could tell from the sound of Sherlock's voice that the man was crying.
'Sherlock – ' he contradicted. It must be some kind of sick joke.
'The newspapers were right all along,' Sherlock continued. 'I want you to tell Lestrade. I want you to tell Mrs Hudson… And Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you… that I created Moriarty… for my own purposes…'
John shook his head. No.
'Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met, the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?'
'Nobody could be that clever.'
'You could.'
John heard Sherlock laugh, a short laugh that was neither happy nor mocking. It was… sad.
'I researched you. Before we met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick, it's just a magic trick.'
'No, all right – stop it now.' John started to walk forward. He couldn't handle it.
'No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move.'
'All right,' John said, stretching out his arm. High up on the rooftop, Sherlock did the same.
'Keep your eyes fixed on me.' Sherlock's voice had gone high and panicky. 'Please, will you do this for me?'
'Do what?'
'This phone call, it's ah… it's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?'
'Leave a note when?' John asked. He was panicking. Surely, Sherlock wasn't –?
'Goodbye, John.'
'No. Don't – ' He stepped back, watching Sherlock, who was staring back, a frown on his face. He could even see his distress from the distance.
Sherlock threw away his phone.
'SHERLOCK!' John screamed.
But Sherlock had already spread his arms and fallen down the building.
'Sherlock – ' John whispered. This couldn't be true. He ran forward, stopped when he saw a body lying on the pavement behind a rubbish truck. The pavement was full of blood –
Something hit him from behind. John fell on the floor. His mind was on Sherlock, he couldn't think of anything else. Ignoring his own pain, he stood up again, stumbling towards the pavement.
'Sherlock… Sherlock,' he muttered.
People had already gathered around the limp body on the floor. John couldn't believe it was Sherlock's until he had seen it with his own eyes.
'I'm a doctor. Let me come through, please. No, he's my friend, he's my friend! Please…' He was trying to get through, but people were holding him back. He reached out towards Sherlock, getting hold of his wrist. People were still holding on to him and pulled him back once again.
Paramedics arrived.
'Please, let me just…' John had trouble forming the words. Tears were streaming down his face when he saw Sherlock's bright green eyes stare blindly, not seeing, when someone turned him over. His once beautiful, soft, dark curls were drenched with blood.
'Jesus, no… God, no…' he muttered. He couldn't stop staring at Sherlock's pale face as the paramedics got him on the stretcher. 'Oh, God…'
People helped him get up as Sherlock was taken away by the paramedics. When he was able to stand, they left him alone.
He was alone.
'John?'
'No… Sherlock… Don't…' John took a deep breath, his eyes wet. Uncontrollable sobs shot through his body as the memory of Sherlock's death kept repeating itself.
'John.'
Tears formed and immediately streamed down his cheeks, instantly replaced with new ones. 'Oh, God…'
'John!'
John opened his eyes, looking into Sherlock's, which were just an inch separated from his. He drew in a heavy breath as he recognised those eyes, realising he had seen them just moments before – staring lifelessly ahead.
'John,' Sherlock said a fourth time. He put his hands on John's cheeks, forcing him to look him in the eye.
'Sherlock…' John muttered. 'Oh, Jesus…'
'What happened?' Sherlock's low voice rumbled in that familiar way, even when there was a panicky undertone.
'I had a dream…'
'A nasty dream?' Sherlock asked, looking at John with a concerned expression on his face. John had been thrashing in his sleep – Sherlock had already woken a few hours before.
John nodded. 'You… you jumped.'
Sherlock was silent for a while. He looked at John, a guilty look on his face. It was his fault; he had done this to John. He had traumatised him for the rest of his life and he wouldn't be able to take it back. 'I am… so… sorry, John.'
'What – no, it's not your fault. You told me I'd be dead if you didn't…'
'But I never meant to hurt you like this!' Sherlock shouted. His hands shot up to his temples. 'I've never felt anything like this… guilt. It's not only these moments that I feel it, every time I look at you, I get reminded of what I did to you. I feel horrible.'
John rested his head back on Sherlock's shoulder.
'Listen to me, Sherlock. Listen to me, and believe what I am saying to you. I don't give a damn about that. The only thing that matters to me is you and that you're still alive.'
Sherlock nodded, but John knew he hadn't really convinced him – yet. He lifted his head from Sherlock's chest and brushed his neck with his nose, pressing his lips there eventually.
Sherlock closed his eyes at the kiss and sighed. 'I am sorry.'
'The clue's in the name…' Sherlock muttered. 'In whose name?'
'I think it's safe to assume that Moriarty's name is used?' John said. 'Given that he set this whole thing up.'
'Yes… But it must have something to do with Riot Army and since that's formed of his name already… Sebastian Moran…'
'You think his name is used as well?' John asked. 'How can you even be sure the clue's in the name?'
'It's how he plays his game, John. I can't explain; I just know.'
John nodded. He knew Moriarty well. 'So… Sebastian Moran and James Moriarty.'
Sherlock nodded. They were at the kitchen table together, having cleaned up a small corner of it. Sherlock wrote down the letters and narrowed his eyes, shuffling the letters around in his head.
John did the same, but before he could write down all the letters, Sherlock's eyes widened again.
'We need to talk to Joe again.'
'Joe? What's Joe got to do with it?'
'Look, John. The letters. It is indeed an anagram – the only reasonably logical outcome that's to do with the headquarters of Riot Army. "Man in Riot Army base at Joe's arms".'
John gaped at his boyfriend. 'You figured that out… by one look?'
'Hardly difficult deduction,' Sherlock muttered. He looked at John and smiled. John's heart beat faster when he saw that luminous smile, he bit his lip and looked down. Sherlock knew what John thought and chuckled.
'So… What does it mean?' John asked.
'What does what mean?' Sherlock replied. '"Man in Riot Army base at Joe's arms"? Have you seen Joe, John? His head is covered in tattoos. I bet his arms are, too.'
'You're saying the next clue hides in Joe Beck's tattoo's?'
'Precisely.'
'Well, then, we have to visit him… again… and take a look at his tattoos. What are you expecting to find?'
'The next clue…' Sherlock muttered. 'Ah, Moriarty is smart. He obviously knows that I know the next clue will require another memory, stored away in my mind… He's been building up to this all this time – he might even have known we would both survive the fall…'
'Didn't you?'
'I knew I would.'
Sherlock was quiet after this – John figured he must still have a hard time dealing with everything that had happened. He knew he himself had.
'I'll contact Lestrade,' John said, jumping up from his chair and reaching for the phone. 'Is that all right?' he added when Sherlock didn't reply.
'Hm-hmmm,' the detective mumbled. He was staring at the wall, as if it would tell him what he needed to know. His hands were folded under his chin, fingertips pressed together and John knew he was still going through his memories, making sure he hadn't missed anything.
To John's relief, Lestrade answered his phone himself this time. 'Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade speaking. Who's this?'
'John Watson, I was wondering…'
'John,' Lestrade interrupted him, 'How's your wound?'
John wasn't aware of the fact that he rubbed his eyebrow when Lestrade asked about it. 'It's much better, thank you. I'm calling because…'
But for a second time Lestrade didn't let the doctor finish. 'Are you sure? It didn't look too good last time I saw it.'
'No really, Greg, I'm fine. Anyway, I need you to…'
'Okay, I'll believe you then. How are you and Sherlock? You two seemed a little,' he hesitated, 'quiet last time I spoke to you. Is everything alright?'
'Yes,' John hissed through his gritted teeth, 'Everything is fine! Now please will you let me finish?'
'Well, I'm sorry,' the DI said. He sounded a little insulted, but John didn't really care. 'What can I do for you?'
'We need to see Joe Beck again,' John replied. He could hear his friend sigh on the other end. 'I'm not sure if I can get you into Pentonville a third time.'
'You only got us in once!' John stated, remembering that Sherlock had called last time, pretending to be Lestrade.
'But they don't know that, do they? Never mind. I'll see what I can do. I'll ring you back.'
John hung up and turned towards Sherlock, who hadn't moved an inch. 'He'll call us back,' John reported. Sherlock nodded absentmindedly. John hesitated, for he knew how much Sherlock hated to be interrupted while thinking, but eventually asked; 'What else are you trying to find out? We know we need to visit Joe Beck again, isn't that enough?'
John's words finally seemed to come through and Sherlock shrugged. 'Perhaps it is. Perhaps it is not.' John rolled his eyes. That answer didn't tell him anything, but at least the detective had replied, which could only mean he wasn't thinking too deep anymore. After a few more minutes, Sherlock finally moved. He got up from the kitchen chair and started pacing the apartment. John couldn't know that the detective was no longer concentrating, and he didn't notice the short look Sherlock shot him. 'John,' Sherlock muttered. John immediately frowned, worried that Moriarty had entered his mind. Was Sherlock about to lose it again?
'John,' the detective repeated. John didn't notice that Sherlock's voice wasn't trembling, which it usually did when Moriarty was messing with him. John jumped up, and ran towards his boyfriend. 'Sherlock,' he muttered, falling into the standard procedure of helping him keep Moriarty out. 'Sherlock, he's not here. It's me. He's not here! It's alright…'
'I know. It's more than alright.'
John raised an eyebrow, surprised at Sherlock's reaction. Then their gaze met and John saw a sparkle in the detective's eyes. He had been joking. John hesitated, he wasn't sure whether he was angry or found it rather funny. He didn't get much time to think it through, and before he could bring anything out, Sherlock's lips brushed his. John's doubts disappeared immediately when he felt Sherlock's warm breath against his mouth. The detective pulled him closer by the waist, pressing their bodies tightly together. As their bodies touched, John felt the familiar tingles run through his own, making him shiver slightly. John had to stand on his toes at first, but he pulled Sherlock further down by his neck, making it much easier to reach the man's lips. The doctor brushed the dark curls out of the detective's face, and stroked his cheekbones with his other hand. He felt Sherlock's hands on his back, his fingers playing with his jumper. Then he carefully bit the doctor's lip and John pulled back for a second. Sherlock chuckled at his reaction, and leaned in a bit more, waiting for their kiss to continue. John tilted his head upwards and, while keeping their lips still locked, put his arms around Sherlock. When Sherlock's fingers softly tickled his neck and sent shivers down John's spine, the doctor felt the urge to touch Sherlock everywhere possible. He held one of his hands on the taller man's face, while his other hand ran down Sherlock's chest. He fiddled with the buttons on his shirt, trying to figure out whether he would open them, but then he decided there probably wasn't enough time, since Lestrade could call any minute. Instead of unbuttoning the shirt, he slid his hand underneath it and rubbed the detective's body. Sherlock gasped, because he hadn't expected to feel the doctor's hands. John grinned in delight as he felt Sherlock's muscles tense and then relax again. 'John,' Sherlock muttered quietly and John whispered his name in response. The two men stood there, in the middle of their flat, embracing each other and neither John nor Sherlock wanted to let the other go. John felt Sherlock's chest, felt his strong, yet unsteady heartbeat. His heartbeat which, by every move they made, seemed to beat faster. Sherlock moved his hands down to John's lower back, rubbing with a bit more intensity than he had originally planned to. John didn't mind though, enjoyed it even.
John pulled away a little when he felt Sherlock bite his lip. Sherlock chuckled at his reaction, and pulled the doctor back, holding him closely. He leaned in again, waiting for their kiss to continue. John pressed his lips against Sherlock's within seconds, and with full enthusiasm. Sherlock stumbled backwards, but prevented himself from falling over, by holding himself up against the desk. John pulled a hairsbreadth away and glanced at the desk, then he looked back at Sherlock, who immediately knew what the doctor was implying. Sherlock smiled deviously and before John could push him backwards any further, he leaned forwards. John felt the detective's breath blow past his cheek. The warmth spread through John's body, and the feeling caused goose bumps to spread over his entire skin. He could hear Sherlock's heavy breathing close to his ear as the detective whispered a soft; 'I know I've told you before, John, but I love you. I really do.' John wanted to reply and tell Sherlock he felt the same way, but all he could bring out was a small, short moan as the detective kissed him in his neck, just below his ear. Another grunt escaped from his mouth as Sherlock moved his head and pressed his lips against the doctor's ear. 'Oh Sherlock,' John sighed, as Sherlock opened his mouth a bit more, and softly nibbled his earlobe. The detective suppressed his laughter while the doctor grinned broadly. Sherlock's lips moved back into the doctor's neck, and John's body tensed at the excitement that rushed through him. He didn't notice how his grip on Sherlock's chest tightened for a few seconds, leaving small prints behind. With his strong, muscular arms, John eventually managed to push Sherlock backwards, which meant he landed on the desk. Just as John bent over to continue their kiss, Sherlock's phone rang. Sherlock sighed, but picked up nevertheless. 'Hello!' he said in a cheerful voice.
John could hear Lestrade's confusion on the other end. The detective inspector had never heard Sherlock answer his phone like that. John giggled nervously, knowing that he was the cause of Sherlock's happiness. His cheeks turned red, but Sherlock, who was focusing on his conversation with Lestrade, didn't seem to notice. 'Brilliant!' Sherlock said, and then shot a look at John who was still hovering over him. 'Of course I won't come alone. No. No, didn't he tell you? You just don't listen very well, do you?'
John guessed that they were talking about him. Lestrade wondered whether Sherlock would bring his faithful companion, which he would. 'Excellent. No, there's no need. Joe is not dangerous, Greg, please. No, I have called you that before! I have. Honestly. Do you prefer Lestrade, then? Just… No. Definitely not. What are you even implying? No! Could you listen to me for just a seco… Never mind.' Sherlock rolled his eyes and hung up. 'Lestrade's weird,' he muttered.
'Look who's talking.'
Sherlock laughed his low rumble and sat up, ready to leave for Pentonville Prison. 'What are you doing?' John asked while he pushed the detective back down. 'You're not going anywhere.'
Sherlock played along, and pretended to be annoyed by the fact that John wouldn't let him go. However, he gladly lay back down on the desk, and closed his eyes when John bent down. The doctor gently pressed his lips against the detective's. He was leaning on his arms, making sure his weight wouldn't be too much for Sherlock, but the other man got hold of John's jumper and pulled him down. They kissed each other with extreme enthusiasm, and held each other tightly. Both of them were panting heavily, but didn't stop what they were doing. John was already unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt again, eager to see and feel what was underneath again. It wasn't long before Sherlock's jacket and shirt as well as John's jumper and the shirt he'd been wearing underneath that were lying on the floor. John pushed himself up a bit, so that he could kiss Sherlock harder. The detective grunted quietly when one of John's hands moved to his lower back and the doctor softly pressed his fingers into his bare skin. Sherlock held John by the waist with one hand and pulled him down again. He pressed their bodies together and they could feel the other's heartbeat against their own chest. Sherlock ran his hand past John's cheek and brushed his hair out of the way. John's hand moved down from Sherlock's lower back to his buttocks, to eventually move over to his left leg. The detective gasped, then chuckled as he felt John's breathing speed up as well. Sherlock stroked the other man's chest, tracing his muscles with his long fingers. When he eventually reached the beginning of John's trousers he heard him sigh, for the doctor knew what was coming. Sherlock slowly moved his hands over John's jeans, rubbing his leg firmly and eventually stroking the inside of his thigh. Their lips were still locked, but John's moan was heard loud enough nevertheless. Sherlock smiled and bit the doctor's lip, and a soft 'oh God,' escaped from the doctor's mouth.
John panted heavily when he got up, but Sherlock gave him just enough time to breathe, before he clutched onto his shoulders again and the doctor was forced to continue their kissing. Sherlock's hand was still on the doctor's inner thigh, moving slowly up and down, making John's body tense occasionally. Whenever the doctor let out a sound, Sherlock stopped the stroking and bit the doctor's lip. With one hand John was still touching and stroking Sherlock's chest, the other hand had moved back up to Sherlock's lower back, holding him tightly. Sherlock muttered John's name every time the doctor's fingers gently pinched him. Sherlock pushed himself up, kissing John harder, but fell back onto his back when John's hand moved a bit further down. The doctor flushed and giggled when he saw the detective's eyes narrow as he touched his buttocks again. Sherlock joined in and it wasn't long before their kissing was interrupted by roars of laughter. John got up, and Sherlock followed his example. He detective kissed his boyfriend one more time, and then quickly planted a kiss on his head.
The duo picked their clothes from the floor and helped the other put their shirt on. John, who was getting used to working Sherlock's buttoned-down shirts, was the first to finish. Sherlock was still fumbling with John's buttons, though, and John couldn't suppress a smile as he eventually helped Sherlock out. Sherlock put his jacket on, followed by his trench coat and, after John had put his jumper on they left 221B. The weather was getting better, and compared to the previous days it was even warm. John, who liked spring and summer much, smiled when the sunlight shone in his face. Sherlock put an arm around him and said, 'It's a shame we have to travel by cab again, this would be the perfect weather to take a stroll.'
John nodded, surprised by Sherlock's interest in the sun. 'I thought you didn't like spring much,' he said with some confusion in his voice. Sherlock sniggered, 'I don't. But I like to walk around London, especially with you.'
John smiled and Sherlock grinned back. He was still eyeing John when the doctor spotted a cab driving through the street. 'Stop! Wait!' He shouted, waving his hands frantically, but the cab drove right past them. 'Seems like we're going to have to walk, after all,' John joked.
24. The Face in the Crowd
John and Sherlock's stroll didn't last long. They had only just turned the corner when they saw a second cab drive by. Both men thought it for the best if this time Sherlock tried to get the cabby's attention. They were right; that was for the best. The taxi-driver pulled over and the consulting detective and his army-doctor got in the car.
Traffic was bad, really bad, and they arrived at Pentonville Prison forty minutes later. The only good thing about their journey had been the cabby, who hadn't said a word about Sherlock's and John's relationship and hadn't even coughed when they had kissed. John was the first to leave the car. He sighed at the sight of Pentonville. Convinced that he'd seen the prison enough in the last few days, he hated the thought of going back in again. However, he felt better than last time, for he now knew for certain that Joe Beck was, in fact, a nice man. As far as 'nice' goes for murderers. Sherlock on the other hand, seemed incredibly cheerful. The detective practically skipped through the halls on his way to Joe's cell. Just like the previous times the guards promised to wait outside.
'You're back.' Joe Beck smiled as he saw his visitors come in. John knew the man wasn't talking to the pair of them, he spoke directly to Sherlock. 'How are you? Last time you left, you didn't seem to feel too good.'
Sherlock shrugged, 'I'm fine now.' He sat down next to Joe again, leaving John standing by the door.
'Are you here for more questions? Because I have nothing else to tell you, I'm afraid. I told you everything I knew.'
'I know you did. I don't want you to tell me anything else. I want you to show me something.'
Beck raised an eyebrow and his eyes narrowed. 'Show you what?'
'Your arms.'
The look of confusion vanished from his face as Joe started laughing. 'My arms?' He sniggered. Sherlock smiled at him and politely waited until he had gotten his act together again, then the detective nodded. 'Yes, your arms.'
Beck studied Sherlock's face but the rolled up his sleeves. 'What tattoo are you looking for?' he asked as he saw Sherlock scan his arms.
'How do you know we're looking for a tattoo?' John asked, thinking it was rather suspicious of Beck to know such a thing. Joe's eyes shot up to the doctor as if he only just noticed him.
'There's nothing else on my arms, now, is there?' The criminal said in a raw voice. He was right; his entire arms were covered in tattoos. In fact, John thought, the rest of his body probably was too. At least the man's head and neck. John shivered, he didn't like tattoos much.
'So, which one are you looking for? Just so you know, there isn't one that has anything to do with the Riot Army.'
Sherlock shook his head and absentmindedly mumbled, 'I know.'
'Then what are you looking for?' Beck asked for a third time. John shook his head at the criminal, gesturing that there was no point in asking anything. He knew that the consulting detective wouldn't give him any answers anyway.
Sherlock was still scanning Joe Beck's arms. Man in Riot Army base at Joe Beck's arms. Man at his arms. I'm looking for a person, then…
He frowned as he concentrated at every ink drawing he came across. Hearts with names in them, skulls... A skull? Like the ones in 221B? No, no, that has nothing to do with anything that Moriarty has ever done or said. He pressed his hands against his temples as he heard Moriarty's voice say; I did tell you, but did you listen…?
'I always listen,' Sherlock muttered. 'I always listen and I will figure this out!'
John looked up, worried about his friend and told Joe Beck to get up from his bench. The criminal, who had no idea what was going on, did as he was told and let John sit down next to his boyfriend. 'Hey, Sherlock? Are you okay?'
The detective nodded, but John could tell by his trembling fingers that he was having a hard time. He put his arm around Sherlock's shoulders, causing Joe Beck to raise an eyebrow, and whispered; 'He's nothing, Sherlock. Not compared to you. You can beat him, you hear me?'
Sherlock nodded for a second time, feeling better now that he felt John's touch. He gestured Joe to step closer and continued looking at his arms. We're going to make Rock 'n Roll history, Mallory, Lucy, Michael J. Elvis the King. Elvis? Hound dog? Hounds of Baskerville? No, Moriarty had nothing to do with that case.
John was also trying to find anything useful, and just like Sherlock, realised he was searching for a face or a name of a man. He noticed lyrics from famous rock songs, names of bands, faces of great artists, but nothing seemed important enough.
Sherlock waved his arms around, as he always did when he was in his mind palace, eliminating certain words or drawings.
There were so many of them, and some of them were so small, that it could take ages for them to find the tattoo they were looking for. Sherlock eventually asked; 'Which one do you like best?'
Joe pointed at a dragon, spitting blue fire. 'This one.'
Sherlock shook his head. 'I'm not looking for mythical creatures,' he explained, 'I'm looking for a name, or the face, of a man.'
'But there are so many of them!' Beck exclaimed.
Sherlock sighed, 'Don't state the obvious. Which ones are important to you? Or could be important to the Army?'
Beck shrugged, 'I don't know about the Army, but I've always really liked this one.'
He pointed at a small face, that Sherlock immediately recognised.
'Bach.'
Johann Sebastian would be appalled.
'Excellent!' Sherlock shouted excitedly. 'Brilliant, yes!'
Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach!
'Yes, 'thank you' are the exact words!'
John watched Sherlock jump up from the bench, and still eyed him when he stated pacing the small space. Joe Beck had a frown on his face, suggesting that he had no idea of why Bach was so important to Sherlock Holmes.
'Don't worry,' John said to the criminal, 'It's just the way his mind works.'
Beck laughed at this. Sherlock practically danced around the room, and jumped up and down in excitement before closing the cell door behind him. John Watson and Joe Beck looked at each other for a few seconds before John shrugged and said, 'Well, I better be off.'
'See you soon, I suppose.'
John nodded, 'Probably, yes.'
He had almost left the cell when Beck called after him, 'Tell Sherlock he can visit me whenever he likes,' and then he added, 'And you're welcome too, just so you know.'
John shot him a last smile and then hurried after Sherlock.
John caught up with his boyfriend outside of Pentonville, where he found the detective staring at a fancy car. John already knew the answer, but asked his question anyway. 'Whose car is that?'
'It's Mycroft's.'
John nodded. Of course it was Mycroft, they hadn't heard from him for over a week. It was time for Sherlock's big brother to check in.
A black umbrella was the first part of Mycroft that left the car. It was followed by the rest of the other Holmes. 'Well, well, well, what brings you to prison, little brother? Did they lock you up here? Did they finally realise you were a danger to our society?'
'You are our society, Mycroft. I do not believe I am a danger to you…'
'I beg to differ,' Mycroft started, but before he could say anything else John interrupted him. 'We were here to see a,' he hesitated, 'friend.'
'Of Sherlock's?'
John knew this wasn't the first time he had heard these words come from Mycroft's mouth. He ignored the comment though and continued, 'What are you doing here?'
'I'm here to see you, of course.'
Sherlock sighed. He wanted to leave for 221B as soon as possible, but knew that Mycroft wouldn't just let them go, and if he would then…
'We've really got to go home,' John said.
'Oh, really? Lovely! Then I'll come with you. Perhaps you could make me some more of that delicious tea you made the other day?'
… He would invite himself over.
Mycroft's car was big enough to get all three of them, their driver and a woman named Anthea in. John remembered her. She had been in car with him the first time he had met Mycroft. She had been playing with her phone in the exact same way as she was doing now. She hardly spoke. 'How have you been?' John asked, trying to make conversation. She shot him a bored look a replied, 'Great.' There was definitely sarcasm in her answer, but John decided to ignore it. Ignore her.
The Holmes brothers didn't speak to each other, but Mycroft seemed to get along with his driver, whom he talked to the entire time they were driving through London. Sherlock sat next to John, holding his hand but not saying a word. The frown on his face and the blank stare in his eyes told John that he was thinking. John knew he would be of no help to Sherlock concerning the Bach problem, for he didn't even fully understand it. He hoped Sherlock would explain everything later on, after Mycroft had gone home.
John was desperately trying to boil some water for tea. Was the water even supposed to boil? He didn't remember how he had managed last time… Then he realised he never made Mycroft any tea. He had offered to do so last time, but he had never actually made any. He heard voices coming from the living room.
'I liked the picture on the papers the other day,' Mycroft said, 'I found it rather moving, Sherlock.'
'What are you doing here?'
'I'm here to talk to you.'
'About what?'
'Whatever you like. I'm sure there must be a topic we can discuss without getting into a fight?'
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'I highly doubt that,' he said. 'Why are you doing this?'
Even John knew the answer to that; it was easy. Mycroft had really regretted some of his actions after he thought he'd lost his brother. He was trying to make up for them, so that next time, he would be able to forgive himself. Next time? John shivered at the thought. There wouldn't be a next time; Sherlock wasn't going to die. Not for long.
'Look,' he heard Mycroft's voice say, 'Whatever you do in your deduction hole…'
John chuckled quietly; he recognised Sherlock's sense of humour in Mycroft at times.
'…I would like you to keep me updated. Just talk, once in a while.'
'I'll call you.'
'I want to come over, too.'
'I said; I'll call you.'
John heard two chairs move. 'Leave the tea, John!' Mycroft called.
John sighed in relief as he heard the front door slam shut.
'That was a short visit,' he said as he came walking back into the living room.
'Too long, if you ask me.'
The doctor shook his head, 'You should really get over whatever happened in your childhood. Both of you.'
'We just don't get along.'
John decided to change the topic, because the discussions about Sherlock's family always ended in the same result; a cranky Sherlock and a confused John.
'What have you found out so far?'
Sherlock knew that his boyfriend was asking for a full explanation this time, so he began, 'Moriarty referred to Bach several times. I found the comments rather odd, and they never seemed to make sense to me, but then again, hardly anything Moriarty did does.'
John nodded, 'Okay, so the tattoo you were looking for was Bach, he was the man on Joe Beck's arms, but how's that linked to the Riot Army base?'
Sherlock shrugged, 'I'm not sure. Man in Riot Army base at Joe's arms,' he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He sat down in his leather chair again and rested his face in his hands. There was a long silence which was broken by the rumbling of John's stomach. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered as Sherlock looked up, clearly distracted from his thoughts.
'You're hungry! What time is it?'
'Two o'clock,' John replied, his stomach made another noise.
'You need to eat!' Sherlock jumped up and was already on his way out when John stopped him. 'Really, Sherlock, I'm fine. We don't need to go, we can solve this thing, first.'
But Sherlock shook his head, 'No,' he said, 'we're going out for lunch.'
'Sherlock…' John said in annoyed voice. He really didn't want the detective to lose precious time because his stupid, human boyfriend needed to eat. A warm feeling spread through his body as he thought of Sherlock as his boyfriend. It made him feel complete. He nearly gave in to Sherlock's idea of going on a lunch date, but still insisted on solving their latest riddle. As Sherlock made his way to the door, John jumped in front of him and pushed him backwards. 'No, no, no. You're going to deduce.' He guided the detective back to his chair and sat him down. Sherlock let out a sigh as he realised he wasn't going to convince John. It bothered him, he didn't feel like thinking…
'What?' John exclaimed. 'You, Sherlock Holmes, don't feel like thinking?'
Sherlock was about to shrug when he suddenly understood. His cheeks turned slightly red as he realised what he did feel like.
'What?' John asked with a curious smile on his face.
'I don't want to think,' Sherlock explained, 'because of you.'
John's smile broadened as Sherlock tugged his jumper and pulled him down into his chair. John put his arms around Sherlock's neck and let the detective's hands pull him closer. They looked at each other for a few seconds before John lowered his head and kissed his boyfriend. Sherlock held one of his hands on John's back, and lowered the other down to John's leg. John got nervous as soon as Sherlock even threatened to stroke his inner thigh, which made the detective smile. John, however, decided that this time he wouldn't give in to his weak spot. It was time for Sherlock to do so, though. The doctor chuckled quietly at the thought. Sherlock removed his hands from John's body to take off his own jacket. John stroked Sherlock's cheek and leaned forward a bit further, leaving his lips, and gently kissing him in the neck. Sherlock shivered, but his muscles didn't move the way John wanted them to, yet. He lowered his head a little further, so that he could press his lips against the detective's ear. His hands ran down Sherlock's back, feeling everything they could. One of them stopped at the beginning of the other man's trousers, the other continued downwards. Sherlock gasped as he felt John slowly move his hand over his buttocks, down to his leg.
John grinned. Sherlock had moved his hand to his thigh again, desperately trying to make John succumb – but John was determined. Sherlock was obviously having a hard time hiding his feelings, he breathed heavily when John touched his leg with just his fingertips, leaving a lingering tingle.
'John.' Sherlock's moan was nothing like the pleading whispers he made when Moriarty was in his head again. The tone in his voice made something in John stir, made him breathe faster, his heart beat more rapidly, his touch more enthusiastic, his kisses more fierce. 'Sherlock…'
Sherlock gasped when he felt John's hand moving upwards again, stroking his legs, hips and buttocks tenderly. He reached the detective's shirt and pulled it out of his trousers, his hands sliding upwards across his chest and unbuttoned the top button. He opened his eyes and found Sherlock looking at him, biting his lip to stop himself from making any noises. John wanted noises.
While unbuttoning, John leaned forward and kissed Sherlock in the neck, jaw, ear – everywhere except for his mouth. When he reached the detective's stomach, he opened his mouth, breathed for a few seconds – he knew how he himself loved Sherlock's breath – then stroked Sherlock's earlobe with his open mouth, gently biting it when he opened the last button on Sherlock's tight shirt.
Finally, Sherlock parted his lips and grunted, closing his eyes. 'John,' he muttered again through clenched teeth. 'You…' But he didn't finish his sentence, because John had moved his hands down towards his weak spot again and remained there this time, still nibbling his ear. Sherlock sighed and breathed, a high, squeaky undertone accompanied with his low voice.
'All right, do it, then,' John murmured. He removed one hand from Sherlock's buttocks, getting hold of Sherlock's wrist. He put Sherlock's right hand on his thigh, and kissed him in the neck.
Sherlock obliged willingly, stroking John's leg carefully. Every time the detective brushed his inner thigh, John shivered uncontrollably, making Sherlock laugh. John knew Sherlock couldn't keep himself from shivering when he did the same, and decided to show him that.
'John…!' Sherlock's grunt started soft but ended in an animal-like growl, experiencing feelings he had never felt before. He arched his back unconsciously, holding his breath. 'I need you – now.' He reached out toward John's face, leaving the doctor's weak spot. He curled his long, pale fingers around John's neck, pulling him close. He grunted, satisfied, when he felt his lips touch John's. John suddenly made a noise that didn't even seem human, at first.
Startled, Sherlock bit John's lip – and not that gently. John, however, didn't notice and put his arms around his boyfriend, hugging him tight. He made it into a game, his hands immediately touching, stroking, caressing Sherlock's body. He loved the muscular yet skinny lines, the way it curved and shaped, forming the most magnificent body he'd ever seen. He pulled away for a second, tilting his head as he saw Sherlock's face edge forward, his lips still partly open, as if he hadn't yet noticed John's mouth was not there anymore. 'Sherlock…'
'John.'
John smiled and leaned forward again. It was too perfect, the way Sherlock said his name. Every time he heard the soft whisper coming from the detective's mouth he wanted to laugh out loud.
Sherlock, most of the time, didn't even realise he muttered his boyfriend's name – it just happened, always, when John was on his mind.
Sherlock's hands were partly on John's neck, partly on his cheeks. With his fingertips, he played with John's hair, making John shiver as goose bumps spread down his neck. He wasn't kissing the doctor that fiercely anymore, but because there was so much feeling and so much understanding in that one sweet kiss, both men felt hot and hungry for more.
Sherlock's lips gently brushed John's, and while Sherlock sighed deeply, he ran his hand down John's neck, shoulder and arm, stopping when he reached his wrist. Wanting to feel the result of his kiss, the reaction he got from John, he closed his fingers around John's wrist, the doctor's hand still on his upper thigh. Sherlock knew he could just as easily put his hand to his boyfriend's chest, but he chose a more subtle approach.
However subtle his actions might be, John instantly knew what he was doing and pulled back. 'Sherlock – are you searching for confirmation that I love you? That I do this willingly?'
'No,' Sherlock whispered. 'I want to feel your heartbeat. It makes me feel… good.'
'Oh.' John felt stupid – he knew he should never doubt Sherlock Holmes, but sometimes he just wasn't sure of himself. 'I love you,' he sighed, just to make sure Sherlock believed him.
'Oh, John, I love you, too. Is it necessary to say it so much?'
John pulled back again, realising it was an actual question when he saw the confused look on Sherlock's face. 'Well, I guess it's not, but… I like saying it. And I love hearing it…'
'I love you,' Sherlock repeated, smiling when John told him he loved hearing it. He wanted to make John feel the way John made him feel. 'You make me so happy.'
John giggled, but just at that moment, Sherlock leaned forward again and pressed his lips to his without any hesitation or doubt. John almost fell from the chair by the force, but Sherlock held him tightly, allowing no escape.
It was always a game between the two, of trying to please the other as much as possible. They both wanted the upper hand, but they also wanted to be pleased, to be kissed, to be touched.
John decided on the upper hand, first, and grabbed Sherlock's shoulders as he got up from the chair. He pulled the tall detective along with him, now standing in the middle of the living room again. John put his right hand around Sherlock's back, his left on the man's neck, pulling his face down with his amazing though gentle strength. When he pressed himself tighter to him, he felt Sherlock's bare chest go up and down, breathing heavily and he realised he was getting rather good at manipulating him. John's right hand brushed down, rubbing Sherlock's back and when he reached the man's trousers, he slid his hand underneath the open shirt, tracing the long, straight line of the detective's back. He felt Sherlock's shoulder's soon enough and stroked the tense muscles, kissing Sherlock's neck.
Sherlock breathed deeply, enjoying the shivers that ran down his spine when John touched his back. He clenched his fists, trying to keep himself from shuddering too much, but it was of no use. John smiled, pulling back and moved his hands from Sherlock's back to his chest in one smooth movement. With his index fingers, he traced the man's collar bones, ending up and his shoulders again. Sherlock chuckled softly when he felt the soft fabric of his shirt fall off his shoulders and drop on the floor. He moved his own hands to John's collar and started to unbutton his shirt, over which he had not pulled a jumper or sweater this time.
John was amused by the fact Sherlock seemed to have much more trouble with his shirts than he had with Sherlock's. He didn't interfere, though, for he liked how Sherlock played with them to make up for the slow process. He also liked the detective's warm breath blowing in his jaw, indicating his lips were just a few inches away.
Sherlock stroked John's upper body, pressing his lips to John's jaw, brushing his nose to the hollow behind it, nibbling his ear. He grinned when he felt John's shivers.
'Sherlock…' John whispered. Sherlock had finally succeeded in unbuttoning his shirt and had taken it off in one motion, not interrupting their kiss. His hands immediately curled around John's back, as he kissed the doctor with renewed enthusiasm. Hearing John sigh his name, his stomach made that loop again and instinctively, he breathed in deeply and pressed his body closer to John's.
John's hands rubbed down Sherlock's bare back, passing the edge of his trousers and sliding down to his upper thighs, his fingertips on the inside of it. Sherlock was caught by surprise and he shuddered, losing his balance and stumbling backwards. John knew what was coming and kept his right hand where it was, but pushed Sherlock down with his other by the shoulder.
Sherlock's back slammed on the desk with a loud noise, and a low grunt escaped from his mouth. It wasn't because the fall hurt, but quite the opposite. John had let himself fall on top of Sherlock – gently, of course – and started kissing him more fiercely than before, stroking his chest with both hands.
'Oh, God, John – ' he gasped, followed by a quiet moan; John had moved his lips from Sherlock's mouth, breathing heavily, and brushed them to his skin as he moved downwards, across the detective's neck, following an invisible but familiar line towards his jaw and ear. One of John's hands shot up to Sherlock's face, running through his soft curls, brushed them out of the way when he continued pressing small kisses on Sherlock's cheekbones.
'You still don't feel like thinking…?' John muttered, his breath warming Sherlock's cheek.
'Oh, I feel like thinking. About you,' Sherlock replied. He could not see John's face, but he could almost feel a smile forming around the corners of his mouth.
'But you do have to start working on the whole Bach thing.'
Sherlock closed his eyes, frowning. He did not want to at all, not when John's body was so close to him, his breath so warm. 'First things first,' he mumbled.
'No, Sherlo – ' But John's plea ended in a grunt, because Sherlock had pulled him closer and he had lost his balance, falling on top of him with no restraint. The thud made Sherlock sigh, and soon both of them were laughing.
'Sherlock, you're going to think, now. I'll make myself some food,' he murmured when he felt his stomach churn again. Sherlock chuckled at the sound. Everything about John made him smile at the moment, and he didn't want to leave those feelings and replace them with the bitter coldness of Jim Moriarty.
But he had to, for the sake of the case. It had been a long while without any victims, but they didn't know the size of Riot Army and whether they should expect another murder soon. Biting his lower lip, he pondered about what to do next. John's heartbeat sounded invitingly close. Moriarty was about to invite himself in. John's eyes were full of warmth and love. Moriarty's were cold and mocking. John's hands touched him with care, making him shiver in delight. Moriarty took his hand, making him shiver with his cold touch. John loved him; Moriarty loved playing with him.
John helped Sherlock up, got him dressed again (and himself), turned him around by the shoulders and walked him back to his chair, pushed him down in it and gave him his violin. Unconsciously, he started playing – a melody composed by Johann Sebastian Bach.
'Johann Sebastian would be appalled… May I?' Moriarty asked, after he'd picked up an apple from the fruit basket on the coffee table. Sherlock directed him to the red chair with his violin bow, but Moriarty ignored him and sat down in his leather seat.
Sherlock hid his annoyance and turned his attention to the tea. Moriarty got out a jack-knife and started to slice pieces off the apple.
'You know, when he was on his deathbed… Bach… He heard his son at the piano play one of his… pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end…'
'And the dying man jumped out of bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it.'
'Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody…'
'Neither can you, it's why you've come.' Sherlock handed Moriarty his tea cup.
'Admit you're just a tiny bit pleased,' Moriarty continued.
'What, with the verdict?' Sherlock asked, looking at Moriarty suspiciously.
'With me,' Moriarty whispered. 'Back on the streets…'
The tones played on the violin slowed down, trailed off into the silence. John was sitting across from him again, half a sandwich in his hand. Sherlock frowned when he realised he was sitting in the same seat as Moriarty had.
'I never liked riddles.'
'Learn to.'
He put his violin away again. It wasn't necessary anymore.
Johann Sebastian Bach…
German composer. Organist, harpsichordist, violist, violinist. Born 1685.
Brandenburg Concertos… Mass B in Minor…
'Partita Number One, thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach!'
Vision deteriorated. Died 1750.
Baroque.
What's this got to do with Riot Army headquarters?
'John, do you know anything about Bach?' he asked suddenly. Maybe he was thinking too difficult. Maybe he needed an average mind to tell him what he knew.
That's your weakness, you always want things to be clever!
John widened his eyes. 'Me? You're asking me for help?'
Sherlock sighed. 'Do you?'
John thought for a moment. 'I know he was a composer… I know some of his work. I know his health and vision deteriorated, even though he still made music, despite the fact that he couldn't see as good anymore.' John frowned. 'How are we going to link anything to do with Bach to Riot Army?'
'No idea,' Sherlock mused. 'I can't think like this. It's not working.'
John looked at the mirror hanging above the fireplace. Around it were only a few pictures from the two crime scenes they had visited over the past few days, a few files concerning Joe Beck and the name 'Moriarty' in the middle of it all, connecting everything. 'Maybe we should add Bach to the rest,' he said, nodding towards the mess.
Sherlock looked up, his fingertips pressed together in that familiar way of his. 'You do that. I need to think.'
'You just said you couldn't,' John said, walking to his laptop. Sherlock didn't answer; he was staring at the wall opposite him.
'All these clues seem a little farfetched for me,' John continued. 'The anagram… it could have formed at least a thousand more words and sentences. And Bach – there were so many faces and names tattooed on Joe's arms.'
'Moriarty knows how I think, and I know how his mind works. I am certain we are on the right track,' Sherlock replied, a bit defiantly.
'I never said we weren't.'
'Hmmm,' was Sherlock's only answer. 'Bach… Bach… Johann Sebastian Bach…'
'What has he ever done in his life?' John asked, curious about how much his boyfriend knew about the German composer.
'Composing, nothing else.'
'Nothing else?'
'Well, of course there were some things…' Sherlock knitted his eyebrows. 'Nothing of immediate importance. The main thing he did throughout his whole life was composing. Making music.'
'So, maybe we should take that as our focus point. Music.'
Sherlock glanced at his violin unconsciously. All the music composed by Bach he could play on the violin shot through his mind. He remembered Moriarty had used the rhythm of Partita No. 1 for the "computer key code". Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody… Everything Moriarty had said had something to do with Bach's music.
'Perhaps you're right.'
John, eating the last of his sandwich, reached for a newspaper that was on the floor. They weren't on the front page anymore, though there were still some pictures of them throughout the whole paper. The hot topics were their relationship and their current investigation, mainly about the shooting with Moran that had happened not long ago.
'When was the last time you've eaten?' John asked, not recalling having seen Sherlock eat for the past few days.
'Don't know, what day is it?'
'It's Thursday,' John answered.
'No, I'm all right. Last meal was that toast you've given me.'
'But that was Tuesday!' John exclaimed. 'Sherlock! You're going to eat, right now. Did you know that nutrition is actually good for your brain?'
'Not for my body. Digesting slows me down.'
'For God's sake – you need to eat!'
Sherlock looked sideways, his hands still pressed together. A teasing smile played around his lips as he whispered, 'make me.'
John decided to play along and stood up, almost dragging the detective out of his chair. 'Seems like we're going out on a lunch date after all,' he said.
Sherlock chuckled. He actually quite liked the fact that John took care of him, made sure he remained healthy.
'Where are we going?' John asked. Sherlock never went to the same place twice – at least, not so soon.
'There's a nice little lunch room close to Hyde Park,' Sherlock said. 'We should take a cab there, it might be a bit of a long walk.'
John nodded. As they walked out of Baker Street, holding hands, the sun shone in their faces. Sherlock, being the pale, sun-hating person he had always been, immediately averted his eyes and looked sideways at John, who seemed to enjoy the warm glow on his face.
'We'll take a stroll through Hyde Park, then,' Sherlock promised his boyfriend. He squeezed John's hand for a moment, smiling at him. John looked back, excited. 'That would be nice,' he replied, squeezing back. Sherlock bent forward and gave him a tiny kiss on the mouth, right in the middle of the street. Young girls giggled, others looked offended, but most people smiled compassionately.
Sherlock raised his hand – the one that wasn't holding John's – and signalled a cab over. He gave the cabby the address and opened the door for John to get in.
'Are you ever hungry?' John asked, curious.
'Not really.'
John frowned, realising it wasn't a real answer to his question, but he was satisfied nevertheless. A few weeks ago, Sherlock might not even have answered him in the first place.
He looked out the window, remembering how their relationship used to be before their first kiss. John had referred to Sherlock as his colleague in the beginning, but later came to realise that Sherlock had been his best friend. They had a bond, a connection that no one could break. They were so different, yet so perfect for each other.
Unconsciously, he rested his head on Sherlock's left shoulder, where Sherlock immediately started playing his hair. 'A lunch date it is,' he whispered.
'Hmmm,' John sighed. He couldn't believe how lucky he was. Sherlock Holmes was his boyfriend, they were together, but most of all – he was alive.
We've warned you. If this was a bit too much, let us know and we'll try to tone it down for our sequel (the rest of this has already been written, so you've got to sit it through, haha xD). But please review and tell us your thoughts, we'll try to incorporate everything you say in everything we'll ever write! Thanks for reading!