Out of sight
Sherlock Holmes twirled his coat and paced the floor of Scotland Yard, spouting a well mixed concoction of deductions and insults directed at every living person in the room, bar his flatmate. John tapped his foot, folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. It wasn't as if the detective had flown off the handle on a whim. That idiot, Anderson, and his bitch, Sergeant Donavan, had made their own snide comments about both of him and Sherlock and what happens behind closed doors. And, well, after a six months of being with the consulting detective, John had become accustomed to his mannerisms. But that didn't mean he had to put up with it. He took out his phone and sent the text he had made earlier, just in case.
Quit while you're ahead. You won't hold the moral high ground forever. JW
Sherlock's phone pinged and he fished it out of his pocket. He glanced at the soldier who smiled tightly, an unreadable expression in his eyes. The detective pocketed his mobile and chewed his lips for a second before changing his demeanour entirely.
'Arrest the step brother and the best friend of the deceased, the evidence will be under both their fingernails, in the bin on the corner of the street and in one of the shrubs surrounding the house.' He said quickly, like a child who had been forced to give an apology. John shook his head in disbelief, he would never have thought that a fully grown man could be so smart yet so immature. He guessed that it was just nature trying to balance everything out. Sherlock clearly knew what he was thinking and he harrumphed as he passed, leaving the room in just four long strides. The doctor felt the storm brewing in the general direction of the detective. He turned back to DI Lestrade and smiled apologetically. The Detective Inspector waved away his concerns.
'We all know what he's like, Dr Watson. In fact, he's toned down quite a bit since you appeared.' The greying Scotland Yard official said as he picked up the various pieces of paper work. John nodded and exited the same way that his flatmate had before him, if without the scarf and coat tails.
John stepped out into the chilling hair and looked around. Sherlock hadn't taken a cab. He didn't know why he thought that, but he did. For some reason, the doctor had a sixth sense when it came to his flatmate and, since it was the only thing he had on the man, he was going to stick with it. The soldier took a right and headed down an alleyway then looked up to the rooftops. He saw fire escape stairs and climbed up them, ignoring his shoulder which was complaining under the strain. The railing was ice cold, almost to the point where it burned his skin and he instantly regretted not bringing gloves. Once on top of the roof, he looked round, searching for the silhouette he knew he would find.
Sure enough, the soldiers eyes skated across the tall figure in a long coat who was standing with his back to the blond doctor. John sighed and made his way over to Sherlock, not bothering to hide the fact that he was there. The detective didn't make any move to show that he heard the doctor approach until his flatmate was standing beside him. He turned to John.
'How did you know I was going to do that?' He asked with furrowed eyebrows. His companion smiled and Sherlock felt himself filling with warmth, as if the doctor expression itself was a high powered heater (but of course, that was impossible).
'Because I know you.' John replied softly, brushing back the hair that had wandered into the taller males eyes. The wind howled down the streets below them but only a surprisingly calm breeze whispered between the two men. Sherlock was deep in thought, staring at the soldier as if he were the most difficult puzzle in the world. John smiled again and held out a hand.
'Come on, lets go home.' He said, stepping backward. The detective pulled away slightly, looking over the edge of the two storey building, but eventually moved closer and took his flatmates hand. They both knew they'd only hold hands while on the rooftop, out of sight.
Across London, in a high up office, Mycroft Holmes rested his head on his steepled fingers and smiled. Out of sight indeed. He chuckled to himself then turned the monitors to more pressing issues. He called his assistant to arrange transport for the good doctor. It seemed it was time for another conversation regarding his intentions with the crumbling rock that was his brother. Mycroft thought for a second before deciding that his brother wasn't a crumbling rock but more of a rock becoming molten, changing shape. If things went well, he'd be moulded into the good man that the government official hoped he would be. If not, Mycroft dreaded to think what the world would be like with three criminal geniuses to deal with- well he never had considered himself as one of the heroes.