Suicide

Trigger warning: Suicide

I left this scene pretty much exactly the same except for the gender of the body. I like switching things up, as you've probably noticed - mailboxes instead of doorbells, water skippers and not cabbies, logos not scratched messages in the floor - but I feel this is where John gets to see what he could have left his life as - just another body, in another flat, with another gun.

Whom do you suppose it worries more?


Sherlock was in the flat. John was not.

John did not like this.

He supposed he should have expected it after she shimmied off the old man's balcony in order to drop down to Isabelle's balcony. John hadn't been trusted by the old man, who seemed to think he was going to be a bad influence on the sweet and guiless girl Sherlock was shamming to be. John had rolled his eyes and gone down a floor, hoping Sherlock would let him in from the inside.

But now he was standing here, knocking on the door. "Sherlock?"

No answer.

"Are you going to let me in?"

A bit of bumping around.

"Any time, now, would be good."

Sherlock threw open the door. "Dead body."

John's eyes widened at her sudden appearance more than at the statement of a corpse. "I've come to expect that around you. I'm not sure that's healthy." He frowned.

"I've already texted Scotland Yard. Come on in, give me your evaluation of the body."

The girl was lying on her bed, gun in hand, shot in the head. John caught his breath, suddenly seeing himself lying there, seeing his pistol instead of hers, seeing his eyes lifeless and dead.

Is that what he would have been, before Sherlock? It was likely.

Another body in a flat. Part of his mind almost laughed, in a 'panic attack in hysterics' sort of way - Sherlock would have been thrilled, a death so near.

And then disappointed, because it wouldn't have been interesting enough to capture her attention for more than an hour. He resolved that if he died of anything other than old age, he was going to make it interesting, if not for him then for her.

Another part of his mind went into a quiet sort of vacancy. He realized he didn't want to become this - another statistic. Another person who simply didn't have a reason to continue, or had too many reasons not to keep going. There must have been something. She'd been a banker, she'd been smart - he wished he could shake her awake and tell her that her future would be worth it. And since he couldn't wake her up to that reality, he did it to himself, reminding himself - he was a doctor, he wasn't completely stupid, even by his crazy flatmate's standards, and his future - whatever he'd have of it, working with Sherlock - would be worth it...

The final part of his brain was in medical mode, and once the first two parts had stopped analyzing the psychology of the situation as it applied to John, he was able to look up at Sherlock.

"Fatal shot to the head at close quarters - there's soot around the wound that indicates that much. Died pretty much instantly."

Sherlock was only half engaged, rifling through a small suitcase to the side with her smart black-leather gloves on. John pursed his lips, realizing why she wore gloves all the time - preparation for crime scenes. He clenched his fists as he straightened - his natural reaction to feeling unprepared.

"Enough clothes in that suitcase for a couple of nights. She had the Hong Kong accounts - looks like she'd just gotten back from a trip. Care to look?"

John shook his head, frowning.

"Problem?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Sherlock, I don't want to root around in anyone's dirty laundry, and I'd like to give her some privacy if there are - ah - undergarments in there." John tried to be tactful at the end, but he could feel himself blushing as Sherlock didn't seem to care if John saw any dead person's bras and panties.

To be fair, she'd probably root around in a male victim's boxers without a moment of hesitation if she thought there would be evidence, John had to concede.

"Ah, you're late," Sherlock said, spinning around as a noise came from the door, and John looked up to see the police approaching.