Disclaimer: nothing mine.
They arrive at the crime scene, and John feels very uncomfortable. What is he doing here? He has no official role. That's not his place. It's only his uneasiness that keeps him quiet against the policewoman. Sherlock is a bloody certified genius, he knew that after ten minutes with the man, and seeing him greeted with a Freak makes him despair for the state of their police more than knowing they seek consultation to solve their cases.
Sherlock is still trying to be professional despite that, and introduces him as a colleague, but Sergeant Sally Donovan (John's going to remember her name, just in case he needs to file an official complaint) shows a frankly insulting incredulity. John would understand if she implied that Sherlock doesn't need a colleague (he's more than capable of detecting on his own, John is sure) but that's not at all why she's surprised. "Did he follow you home?" she sneers, and John seethes. When he offers to stay back, though he covers it with his previous incertitude, it's to tell her off in private and at his leisure. He'd give her a dressing down she'll never forget, but Sherlock wants him by his side, and John's not going to argue.
Apparently the Sergeant isn't the only one disliking Sherlock, because this Anderson bloke is a right dick, too. No wonder Sherlock wants someone decent with him. But then, oh, then it's just precious, because John gets to witness Sherlock's deductions, once again, and if that isn't awesome enough, he gets to see them used as weapons against the two twats. Who fuck together, so maybe one's rudeness rubbed off on the other with all the other rubbing going on. No wonder they're so nasty. John just about stops himself from clapping at the show, and makes a point to look at Donovan's knees while following Sherlock in.
At least the DI isn't such a bastard (he actually lets Sherlock do pretty much what he wants, against regulations). If he questions John's presence, he's in his right to do so. But Sherlock won't explain beyond, "He's with me," which he states quite forcefully. John wonders distractedly if this Sherlock – genius, gorgeous Sherlock – might be his Sherlock. If that sentence might take another, fuller meaning sometime soon.
And then John sees his very first crime scene. And Sherlock gets annoyed by people's thinking. Is he a psychic? A telepath? It would explain some things, but then again, he wouldn't have mistaken Harry's gender. No, he's just a moody genius. Then again, with Anderson's baseless suggestion that their victim is German, he might have a right to his moods. Since apparently it's obvious the woman was from Cardiff. John blurts out, "Sorry – it's obvious?" instinctively, because what damn is obvious about it? A moment later John is called to substitute a whole team of medical professional, because so Sherlock wants, and Lestrade has to give in because his resident genius is indispensable. And, as Sherlock says, the others "won't work with him." If everyone behaves like Donovan and Anderson, John fully understands why Sherlock called for him. Though he still has to ask softly, "What am I doing here?" What does Sherlock want from him? He'll do his best to deliver, but he needs to know.
"Helping me make a point," the detective replies just as softly.
John can do that, or at least he'll try. But he can't help but point out, "I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent." Just that. And discover if you're my Sherlock along the way, maybe, but that's for another time.
"Yeah, well, this is more fun," the sleuth remarks.
Which isn't what John expected to hear. As much as he yearned to be there, in the midst of something again, finally, he can't help but point out the obvious, "Fun? There's a woman lying dead."
"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper," Sherlock quips. And God help John, he should be equal parts embarrassed and enraged, but he finds the jibe fun and compelling instead. He'll show Sherlock that he can delve deeper allright. Though everything he says they already know because she's the fourth in a series, for God's sake, and he should have known but he's been so entranced by Sherlock and the dynamics around him that he might have forgotten which case they were working on.
Then it's Sherlock's turn, and he dissects her work and love life like he knew her for years, and John can't help himself. He breathes, "That's brilliant." Which distracts Sherlock from his rapid fire exposition enough to look at him, like he's never seen him, and John apologizes quietly for interrupting his work.
The detective insists that she's obviously from Cardiff but when John points out, "It's not obvious to me," he relents and explains. After insulting both him and the DI, sure. But he walks them through his deductions again, and again, John can't contain his reactions. "That's fantastic!" he blurts out.
And again Sherlock turns to him and wonders, "Do you know you do that out loud?"
It's like being scolded by a teacher for talking in class, and like back then, John – again – apologizes and promises not to do it anymore. But then Sherlock surprises him, by saying, "No, it's...fine," and John is suddenly reminded that he simply isn't used to the praise, that's why it surprises him. John vows then and there that he'll keep up the praise until Sherlock will see it like something commonplace, because this extraordinary man deserves this and more.
Seconds later, and Sherlock is manic about a missing suitcase. Which proves that the serial suicides are serial killings, because cases don't just disappear into thin air. John offers another hypothesis, more in hope of slowing Sherlock down than really believing it, and the detective immediately shoots him down. He's still excited, far too excited for it to be decent, almost literally shining with happiness, hands clapping in delight, and he's absolutely a sight. John is mildly jealous of the unknown killer who can put him into a state a lover would pay to be able to induce. Not that he's Sherlock's lover – yet. With a last, incomprehensible shout of, "Pink!" Sherlock runs away like a bullet.
John's leg suddenly aches again, people bumping into him carelessly, and he quietly seethes. He's been abandoned God-knows-where, and surely Sherlock is not his Sherlock. His soulmate wouldn't leave him alone to ask directions from the likes of Donovan, who clearly pities him. He hates being pitied; he's got more than enough of that already to last him a lifetime. And he hates more that he can't stop her. He doesn't have any witty remark for that, and needs to be thankful instead.
Then Donovan decides to be unpleasant some more, questioning his status, because apparently Sherlock doesn't have friends (well, maybe he just doesn't want to be friends with bastards). And John hates that he has no way to defend him, because he's met him just the day before and can't claim any sort of relationship yet. He might not be his soulmate, but Sherlock, annoying as he is, doesn't deserve her attitude; John knows this in his bones.
She warns him away from Sherlock (twice, at that), slandering the consulting detective abundantly. He's a psychopath, gets off on crime and will someday slaughter someone. John doesn't believe this for one moment. He's a doctor and a soldier and has always had the uncanny capacity to know when danger was imminent (he usually went towards it, but that didn't matter). Sherlock constitutes no danger. And he's not psychopathic. He's...unique. And maybe he gets off on crime a little bit, but there are worse paraphilias. Better than her choice of partners.
Then the day goes from unusual to downright bizarre. John wonders if he's fallen asleep after watching Bond and this is all a stupid dream, because the public phones ringing and camera waving and being sort-of kidnapped just doesn't happen in real life. Did he dream meeting Sherlock, too? It sure would make sense.
If this is a dream, he has never met his maybe soulmate, and whatever he does won't have consequences. If this is reality, he might as well try to play Bond and seduce the gorgeous kidnapper. It might give him an advantage. ...So maybe this is reality because he's very much rejected, with only the quickest disapproving frown from the anonymous woman. If this was a dream he'd surely have scored with her. Which means he's really met Sherlock. And he's really been brought to a empty warehouse. He waits for someone to tell him it was an incredibly elaborate practical joke.
He's still under that assumption when he tells the mystery man that's appeared to call directly John's phone next time. Only it's soon clear that the joke is not on him, but on Sherlock, and John remembers what Sherlock's work entails and wonders if some criminal might really be enough of a drama queen to go for this ridiculous way of threatening, or whatever it's coming up.
When the man, giving him a curious look, remarks, "You don't seem very afraid," John is honest. "You don't seem very frightening," he replies. He's faced war, he's not about to get scared of an umbrella.
Apparently that's a joke for the other man, because he chuckles and offers a compliment wrapped in an insult (or is it the opposite?), showing he knows about John's past, before inquiring sternly about his connection to Sherlock.
Which is no business of his, and anyway, John's not even sure. Are they soulmates? Just flatmates? Colleagues? He was brought to the crime scene after all. So he sidesteps the issue by claiming that said connection doesn't exist. He did meet Sherlock only yesterday. There was no time for a relationship to form. Though it feels like he knows him from a lifetime; maybe they're really soulmates? Is this how he should feel?
The stranger comments, "Mmm, and since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Bit of a whirlwind romance, but expected in the case of soulmates."
"We're not soulmates," John denies, and he doesn't even know why. But he's not sure himself, and this man irks him and shouldn't be privy to his personal business.
"No?" the man queries, rising a disbelieving eyebrow.
"No," John insists, with much more finality than he really feels. "And anyway, who are you?"
Things get even more ridiculous from there. The man (who, like Donovan, makes a jab at Sherlock's capability to have friends at all – Christ, does Sherlock only know twats?) is the sleuth's arch-enemy, or so he says the detective would define him. And he'd like to buy information out of John. "Since he's not your soulmate, you shouldn't find distasteful to feed me some details. Compatibly with your conscience, of course. I'd reward you handsomely."
John tells him where he can stuff his rewards. He wouldn't do it even if Sherlock turned out not to be his Sherlock. His genius...something needs protecting, and John Watson is the man for the job.
Which makes the creep – who apparently has access to the notes of John's therapist, and how the fuck does he? John's trust issues are fully justified – jibe, " Despite your trust issues, you're very loyal very quickly, for someone so adamant about not having any connection with Sherlock Holmes. But you're about to forge a strong one, says your left hand."
"What?" John blurts out.
It – or its current lack of trembling – proves he misses the danger, according to the arrogant git, and that he should sack his therapist. He's already going to for leaking his notes anyway. And by Sherlock's side he's going to have plenty of that, according to the meddling bastard. Almost to prove that point, the texts he's been getting from Sherlock, requiring his return, are followed by a last one. Could be dangerous. SH Thank God that his failed employer lets him go right then, offering him a lift back too. John would have no problems subduing him in order to run back home, but taxis seem to ignore him in the worst way.
Sherlock has tried to concentrate on the case. He's tried valiantly, with all the aids he could think of. Still, coming home and not finding John there, as he'd expected, proves distracting. Where is John? He isn't rethinking his stay, is he? John wouldn't be back to wherever he was staying before or searching for other accommodations without even telling Sherlock. He's not that kind of man.
Not that Sherlock would be inconvenienced if John was, he tells himself. Only that's a lie. Oh, he solves the case – but he takes a shamefully long time to see it. He calls back John. Of course he does. He would already be running after a serial killer in normal conditions, but these aren't normal conditions, and anyway his mobile phone number is on the blog. He needs John for a number of reasons.
The moment John comes back, Sherlock plays unconcerned – almost unaware – but he still visibly relaxes. If John notices he'll mock him, won't he? So Sherlock rambles about nicotine patches and smoking habits, as if to hint his behaviour should be attributed to nicotine.
The doctor is still keyed up from Sherlock's hint at danger in his text, and demands an explanation. The sleuth still doesn't look at him – doesn't dare to, should John read how easy it is for him to rattle Sherlock, the raw need perhaps still in his eyes. That shouldn't be there, Sherlock used to be self-sufficient. What's happening to him? So he latches to the mobile phone excuse.
John is momentarily outraged that he's needed to send a text, and still agitated by the meeting that made him late. Realizing that it was all Mycroft's doing, Sherlock relaxes further even while he becomes annoyed at his brother's usual meddling.
He cavalierly suggests to John to take Mycroft's money should he offer again, surprising him. It'd keep John around – for a time at least – and he wants that. He wants John's presence, unreasonable as it is, and bribing him to get it doesn't look at all disgusting and humiliating this time. He wonders if that should worry him.
And anyway, Mycroft should at least pay for annoying them, but he doesn't care enough to explain it. He's purposefully vague about his brother, even if he's completely honest (Mycroft can be very dangerous), because he doesn't want to be held accountable for Mycroft's irritating behaviour.
John's bitchiness slips away soon. He even cares about Sherlock, when he thinks (misunderstanding everything, and maybe he isn't Sherlock's John because shouldn't he keep up then?) that the detective might have blacked out. Probably it's just a byproduct of his Hippocratic oath but it's still nice to see in someone not obligated to it by blood. Very nice indeed.
He doesn't even assume Sherlock to be a murderer finding the case in his possession, when it would be logical, and seems to find the idea so outlandish that it's amusing. And yet he has met Donovan. John is interested – again – in his work, inquiring about it, and looks impressed. That's so very novel, and so good of a change. He doesn't even get angry when Sherlock accidentally insults him and accepts his hasty not-entirely apology. (It's true though: everyone is an idiot.) He's a definite keeper (as flatmate, at least).
Understanding that he's texted a murderer, John is a bit shocked, but very practical, enquiring about police involvement and not accusing Sherlock, who's enjoying a successful bait. The question about why Sherlock choose to share this with him is, actually, a very good one. And he has no true reason beyond going with his instinct. So he searches an acceptable answer in the flat and he's very glad to find his skull missing. And again, John is not shocked or angry at Sherlock's thoughtless reply, only vaguely bemused. He doesn't seem to get that he's involved in the investigation already and should just follow Sherlock. So the detective prompts him, and if he justifies his request slightly rambling, John only smiles. True, he brings up Donovan's accusations about 'getting off on this' (which he does not; he enjoys it deeply, but there's nothing remotely sexual about it), which is distasteful. But when Sherlock claims a case of pot calling the kettle black – what with John running towards danger instead than from it – John doesn't try to deny it. Most people would, even when proven wrong.
Minutes later they're at Angelo's, and strangely, John still registers on Sherlock's radar. With a serial killer who very well could come any moment, Sherlock's focus should be entirely on that. The rest of the world might very well drop out of existence. Instead, he's aware enough to be annoyed by John's quick, "Not his date." Who cares, he wants to protest. Just go with the flow.
It's not that he wants John to be his date. Not exactly. But if he ever had to have a date, it'd be with someone like John. Someone who appreciates him. Someone complicated enough not to be boring (John is a nest of contradictions; it interests Sherlock). While apparently John finds the idea absurd. Well, why?He's not a bad catch. A clever, successful detective – he makes a point to remind John by talking about Angelo's case with the man.
It does nothing to persuade John, because when Angelo's behaviour continues on the assumption that their relationship is romantic in nature, the doctor reiterates his own remark almost angrily. He must find the idea repulsive.
But does he really? When John inquires about Mycroft's exact role (because, apparently, people don't have arch-enemies; so dull) the sleuth manages to shift the conversation until somehow they are on the matter of romantic relations, and there's much more lip-licking going on than any uninterested person has any right to. And John inquires about his status. "So? Have you found your soulmate yet?"
"No I haven't; and I'm not searching for mine either," Sherlock replies. Well, it's all true; he's not searching, and teen!Sherlock's convictions are entirely baseless. John is confounding at the very least. And he should be worrying about an oncoming serial killer now.
John accepts the declaration with a vague noise, then insists, "Are you in a relationship with someone who isn't your soulmate? Which is fine, by the way."
And why wouldn't it be? John didn't look like a bigot. "I know it's fine," Sherlock counters. I know even the statistics on soulmate finding; the world would be depopulated if only soulmates were allowed to marry.
"So you are with someone who's not your soulmate then?" John queries.
"No," Sherlock says simply. He swallows back the 'Who would ever stand me?'
"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me. Fine. Good," the doctor comments.
While a moment ago Sherlock wanted nothing more than for John to desire him, now the very strong chance of exactly that scares him terribly. He could give into it, all too easily. But then what? If John is not his soulmate (and no matter how much he wishes for it, he has no hard evidence of it), and statistically talking John probably isn't, he'll surely leave Sherlock, sooner rather than later. He'll despise Sherlock, just like everyone else. And Sherlock will be left heartbroken and used and John will have ammunition against him.
The detective can at least cut down his inevitable losses. So his reply (so awkward that it's painful) is, "John, um...I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any..."
But apparently Sherlock's own feelings are already clouding his judgement and his ability to deduce, because John hurries to deny any such intention. Yes, he looks crestfallen for a second, but maybe Sherlock is again misinterpreting things, seeing what he wants to see. The sleuth wishes briefly for the earth to swallow him up, but John is kind, reiterating, "It's all fine."
Thank God that seconds later the trap Sherlock set works, and all feelings are swept away by sheer adrenaline. They're chasing a taxi containing a serial killer (clever!), and even then John's presence behind him warms Sherlock's chest. (And it shouldn't. It's not his John, and he'll soon be gone.) Sherlock doesn't want to give that up, not even for a serial killer, and he prompts John when it looks like he'll slow them down so much that they'll lose their prey. He doesn't just hasten, leaving him behind if necessary. Even when John almost goes the wrong way. He calls to him, to ensure he's followed. John will be the ruin of him, won't he?
But then his carefully constructed trap fails, and Sherlock should be disappointed. Upset. But John is giggling, and the sleuth sees suddenly how ridiculous that was and chuckles with him. He's laughing with someone, and how long ago was the last time it happened? He has missed a serial killer, but he's utterly happy. The unexpected warmth in his chest stays with him until they reach Baker Street, still laughing about it. Together.
The happiness mixes with pride once Angelo comes to prove his point, bringing back John's forgotten cane. The point wasn't just about the psychosomatic nature of the ailment – even John's incompetent shrink got that, after all. No, the point is that a shot of adrenaline is all John needs to get rid of the blasted thing. Well, life with Sherlock will provide regular doses of adrenaline. Maybe that will be enough to persuade John to stay on the long run. It would be a win win situation. John (his John? The question is still pending according to stubborn teen!Sherlock, though his rational side leans towards not) stays healthy. Sherlock gains a companion. (No matter what he says, he does get lonely sometimes.)
But then everything crumbles around him. Lestrade is here, with company, and if having them messing everything about wasn't bad enough, there's the excuse he used to avoid being reported (not that Sherlock seriously would). Drugs bust. It twists Sherlock's stomach. John refused his own sister's help because she's an alcoholic (well, not only that maybe). He won't stand sharing a flat with a junkie. Maybe not even an ex-junkie. Not sticking around to see if Sherlock relapses into it, surely. Sherlock had just found someone whose presence he enjoyed, and Lestrade made him lose it. He hates the man.
It doesn't help that John defends him so hotly and immediately. Having to break John's idea of him, lose all the praise and see the shock first, the denial – because Sherlock can't be that much of a failure – and later, inevitably, the disappointment and contempt goes against every fibre of Sherlock's being. He wants to keep John. But he can't lie to him. Not that Lestrade would let him do so.
If he's angry – no, furious – with the whole crew invading his home to destroy his life, it's the least they can expect. He's behaving, if anything. Because there's still a serial killer at large, and now that John will leave the Work will be – again – the only thing in his life that gives it any meaning. Well, he's used to it, isn't he? It'll all be fine in the end.
In a last ditch attempt to persuade John to stay, he claims loudly that he's clean. Which is true. He doesn't even smoke, for Christ's sake! (The language gets edited leaving his mind, of course. Mummy brought her sons up well...for all that she had a short time to do so.) Maybe it will be enough for John. Yes, he's taken drugs. He's not, currently, nor he plans to. John won't have to deal with that version of him. If his flatmate believes that, he might even stick around.