The look on Lestrade's face when he saw them together in the chair made John wish that he was close enough to get to his phone so that he could snap a picture. Lestrade looked like he honestly couldn't decide whether to think they were adorable or be utterly befuddled with the realization that Sherlock Holmes was actually sleeping when there was a case on. He ended up picking his way into the room and stopping a few feet away, raising an eyebrow when Sherlock failed to spring awake.

"Did you drug him?" he asked, genuinely curious.

John tried not to laugh. The vibrations, he knew, might be enough to wake Sherlock. "No," he replied, keeping his voice low. "If I had, that would've knocked me out too. The idiot hasn't slept for days, and when he stays awake for long enough it doesn't matter how much I've been sleeping. His body makes the decision for him." He cast a fond look towards the man sleeping beside him. Sherlock had shifted in his sleep, slouching down so that he was twisted towards John. His arms were wrapped around John's midsection and his head was resting on John's shoulder, clutching at him like a child would a teddy bear. It was just about one of the sweetest things that John had ever been a part of. He didn't even care that he'd had to pee for the past forty-five minutes.

"Mycroft gets like that," Lestrade said with a knowing nod. "It's damned useful being able to make him sleep when he's so exhausted he has to literally prop himself up with a pile of books just to keep from slumping over." He studied Sherlock for a moment longer before, with a grin, reaching into his pocket and drawing out his phone. He snapped a quick photo of the two of them. "He said he wanted to talk to the fourth victim's wife, but I guess it could wait until morning."

"No," Sherlock mumbled into the fabric of John's jumper. He opened his eyes - it looked like a difficult task - and blinked heavily for a minute. John wouldn't have been surprised if he'd started rubbing his eyes like a sleepy toddler. Sherlock glared at him and, just for that, pushed himself up and extracted himself from the chair. "I'll talk to her now."

"You sure?" Lestrade said. "You looked pretty comfortable."

"Ask again and I'll delete that stupid picture on your phone."

Lestrade covered his phone protectively as Sherlock left the room. "Boy, someone's cranky when he first wakes up."

"You don't know the half of it." John rubbed the back of his neck as he yawned. These chairs weren't the most comfortable things to fall asleep in, and the crick in Sherlock's neck was bad enough that it was crossing over. He stood up and stretched. "Send me that picture, will you?"

"Already done." Lestrade shot him a grin. "The victim's wife is down at the Yard. I expect you two will be along when his highness is ready?"

"We'll follow." John waved him off and listened to the sound of Lestrade retreating before he went to get their coats and make a quick stop in the bathroom. He'd have liked to have had a cup of tea, but he knew there wasn't time for that. Sure enough, within two minutes Sherlock returned looking far more awake than he had before. He accepted his coat from John and pulled it on as the two of them went downstairs.

The weather was turning cool, and John was glad for his coat as Sherlock stopped a taxi. It also gave him an excuse to sit right beside Sherlock, even though the interior of the cab was plenty warm. The phantom pain in his neck twanged again when Sherlock turned his head to look out the window, and John couldn't resist reaching up to rub at the back of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock tensed beneath the familiar touch, just for a second, but John persisted, digging his fingers into the muscles. Gradually, Sherlock relaxed and the ache began to ease.

You're such a doctor, Sherlock said after a couple of minutes had passed, warmly amused.

Bloody lucky for you, considering some days I think you'd fall apart if I wasn't, John replied. Sherlock would never admit it, but he could tell the man felt better for having had the four hours of sleep. It was bad enough that neither of them had eaten since that morning.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes as the cab stopped. Surprisingly, he didn't leap out right away. John glanced over at him and smiled as he slowly pulled his hand away after one last rub. Only then did Sherlock climb out, and John followed after he had paid the cabbie. Scotland Yard was bustling, and no one gave the two of them much notice as they entered. Lestrade was waiting for them in his office. He took the them down to one of the interview rooms where the wife was waiting.

"Try not to upset her," he said, looking resigned.

"I promise nothing." Sherlock swept through the door and Lestrade made a face at the window. John giggled.

The woman inside the room stood up as soon she noticed Sherlock. Her face was drawn and worried. "Have you -"

"No," Sherlock said shortly. "What can you tell me about your husband?"

For a moment, John thought she was going to get upset. Her jaw snapped shut so hard there was an audible click. But she swallowed and sat down, and when she spoke again her voice was very quiet. "He was a good man. He enjoyed spending time at home with me and our puppy when he wasn't working. He didn't like to drink, or smoke... we were saving money for a house..."

"And yet you weren't bonded," Sherlock noted, with that often appalling lack of tact that never failed to make John wince. "Why not? Weren't you concerned that you might meet your bonded?"

"I'm almost fifty years old," the woman said tightly. "If I was going to meet my bonded, I have to believe it would have happened before now."

"Your husband was only thirty-five," Sherlock pointed out.

"He didn't have a bonded." And now she really was getting upset. Her cheeks had flushed pink and her mouth was drawing into a thin line. Lestrade swore under his breath.

"Didn't have... Oh."

There it was: the sound that always heralded a breakthrough. John just barely contained a gasp of his own as he understood where Sherlock's spectacular mind had gone. Lestrade looked at him curiously, and John said, "The victims, they're all - they've got open bonds."

"What?" Lestrade said, stunned.

Sherlock threw the door open again. His face was grave. He said, "You're looking for a slave ring."


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