John is away. On errands. Which is kind of him, but Sherlock almost complained when his flatmate got out. Eating is overestimated anyway, it's not like Sherlock will thank him for making sure there's not human meat in the fridge. Or vegetables. Who needs vegetables?
No, what Sherlock needs is continuing an experiment in which he's the test subject, for a change. He needs to determine if John's company is really so powerful as to make him happy on its own. Was it really just his flatmate's presence the cause of that bubbling happiness the other day? Or is it the interaction between whatever chemicals are released in the brain by John's companionship and the adrenaline and stimulation caused by the case that engendered that state of bliss he so dearly hopes that he will attain again? (He's in danger of getting hooked again; and then John will go away – he will soon, naturally – and Sherlock will have to go cold turkey from that. He suspects it won't be pleasant at all. Nor easy.)
And now there isn't even any John. And Sherlock can't protest against it without being creepy and hence making John's final departure that much closer. Thank God that he has a case to distract him from his absence. He hasn't mentioned it to John, or his friend wouldn't have abandoned him – or so Sherlock wants to believe. He's trying to keep separate John and cases for a while, and see how they affect him as independent variables.
He's taken a case from a private client without letting John know – telling him he refused them, even – to obtain that. Policemen are quite obvious and John would have noticed them coming in to consult him, even if it wasn't Lestrade, which he already knows. This matter of the Jaria diamond should be easy enough that he can do it in his spare time without his flatmate being any the wiser.
So when the 'mysterious' man with a bloody scimitar comes in, Sherlock is ready for him. He would tell him that he knows exactly his identity, hence all these scarves are somehow superfluous, but his enemy is not here for chitchat. Which is fine, actually. Sherlock is quite in need of a little exercise. The fact that this man is quite daft, falling for the oldest trick of them all, is quite disappointing. Then again, the case wasn't hard in itself. At most a four. Despite hating owing Mycroft favours, Sherlock texts the client to let them know the case is solved, and his brother to come collect the garbage. It won't do for John to come back and find the stranger in the sitting room.
When John does come back, Sherlock is relaxing in his armchair with a book and pretending that he hasn't done anything else all morning. Keeping the two aspects of his life utterly separate. He's indignant hearing John hasn't done the shopping not because he's interested any in obtaining ordinary things like food and detergents, but because if John's going to lie to him he can at least do a bare minimum to sustain his lie. Wherever he'd gone, he could have bought something – maybe only the milk – afterwards as a cover story.
Only John hasn't lied to him. He's tried to buy what they need...and then had a row with the chip-and-pin machine. Sherlock echoes that, because for all his long experience in arguing with people he can't figure out how you do that with an inanimate object. It won't become uncomfortable by having its sordid details deduced out loud.
John, somehow embarrassed and clearly hating it, asks for money, and the sleuth nonchalantly offers his card. Money is of no consequence. Especially if it allows him to keep John near until he's figured out this new, strange happiness and if he can attain it somehow without his flatmate's presence (he doesn't want to go back to being dependent). He barely conceals a smile. John should look like an idiot to him, and instead the idea of him shouting at the machine is almost...cute to imagine. (Sherlock used to abhor cute; what's happening to him?)
Of course, the suggestion Sherlock might do the shopping is entirely ridiculous, not deserving a reply. Then again, John is under the impression the sleuth has not moved at all today and Sherlock isn't going to disabuse him. John enquires about the just solved case, and Sherlock denies any interest in it and says he's sent them a text, both of which are now true. Then John notices the damage from his fight on the table and, luckily for Sherlock, fails to deduce his cause. He's very good-natured about it, too, not particularly angry, but he does tut once. Sherlock feigns not knowing anything about it almost perfectly. Well, he really is innocent of that – it was all his enemy's doing.
Later, Sherlock is checking his email when John comes back again (with the shopping this time). There's a message from Sebastian Wilkes, who's surely as much of a idiotic prick with an excessive sense of his own self-worth now as he was back then in uni. An incident at the bank? Is that how they call embezzlement these days? That's the more likely problem, though of course Sherlock shouldn't assume. But he's not going to work this case anyway. He's on the brink of refusing Seb's pompous request of help when John notices what he's doing.
And he apparently objects to Sherlock using his things. Even if they're just lying around and John doesn't need them at the moment. It makes no sense. Why should Sherlock go to the bedroom to retrieve his pc when John wasn't even there to use his own? He'll have to make his flatmate see reason.
The most laughable thing, though, is John claiming the pc was password protected. Protected? Since when Northumberland5 counts as protection? Anyone who knew John would have guessed it in under a minute. It's no particular feat of his.
John almost slams the pc closed on his fingers still typing the refusal, and takes it away. Sherlock isn't even annoyed (maybe that will disappoint John) it's not like Sherlock was doing anything particularly enjoyable.
John's being dull then, talking about his need of a job (still hung up thinking of money, is he?) and Sherlock tunes him out and ponders what to do about Sebastian. He's refusing, of course, but...he might do so in person. If he brings John along he'll at least get the chance to show him off. Demonstrate to Wilkes that, incredible as it sounds even to Sherlock, there's someone in the world that cares about him. It wouldn't be involving John in cases again, ruining his experiment, because he's not going to take it. When Sherlock announces he's going to the bank, John automatically follows. Sherlock's inordinately pleased by that little detail. John might not be his soulmate, but he's definitely his something.
Sebastian is just as unpleasant as he was back then. Buddy? They've never been buddies, not even when they were younger and far more idiotic. Not to anyone else, but to himself Sherlock can admit he was quite stupid back then...of course he was still eons above people like Wilkes; he'd be even in a coma.
Then, the banker turns to John, and Sherlock introduces him proudly, "This is my friend, John Watson." This is why they're here. Sherlock has a friend, for the first time in his life (Victor doesn't count). John cares about him. Hell, John has bloody saved his life. They laughed together. Not his soulmate, but his friend, surely?
Sebastian doubts him. Naturally he doubts him. "Friend?" he echoes, disbelieving. Sherlock Freak Holmes?
Before Sherlock can reiterate that, making a bigger fool of himself, John corrects him, "Colleague." It hurts the detective. Teen Sherlock, from his exile, whines, "What?! John!" ready to cry. That can't be true. Sherlock's colleagues hate him (with maybe the exception of Lestrade). John isn't implying that he hates the sleuth, is he? He cares for him. Sherlock has the evidence to back this up.
Then what? Is he ashamed of being associated with Sherlock? 'Colleagues' creates some distance between them, after all. It might be. No, it surely is. It makes sense. Sherlock should have known and not opened his fucking mouth.
"Right, right," Wilkes agrees, still clearly wondering how Sherlock managed to land himself a coworker but satisfied that chimeric things like Sherlock's friends are still off the table. He plays the gracious host, even, and as always when he's uncomfortable or angry, the detective automatically deduces. (And no, he's not fishing for compliments from John; though right now they would certainly be welcomed).
Sebastian though isn't baffled, angry or even uneasy (well, it's not like Sherlock found anything of value to deduce, like Seb being into bestiality – though he wouldn't be surprised if the banker was). Wilkes declares that he knows what Sherlock's doing, because he used his trick even back in uni.
"It's not a trick," the sleuth points out quietly. Trick sounds like he's a circus performer. Or a fake. He's neither. Does John know that he's neither? He must know, right? The situation just keeps going worse and worse. Whyever did Sherlock think coming was a good idea?
Sebastian's still describing Sherlock's "trick," (and John's agreeing with him – well, saying he's seen Sherlock "do that", but it feels like he's agreeing with Wilkes' definition of Sherlock's deductions; and it hurts) and finally concludes. Saying, "We hated him," and calling Sherlock Freak. He should be used to this – long used – but it still wounds him. It's not something that needs to be pointed out, is it? If John agrees with Sebastian once again, Sherlock might scream. Luckily he doesn't talk.
In a feeble attempt to defend himself (before John starts to think Sherlock should be hated, too – Teen Sherlock is frankly terrified of the prospect) the sleuth remarks, still very quietly, "I simply observed." Then and now. It's not his fault that everyone but Mycroft is blind. And people shouldn't do things they're scared to admit. If they didn't, Sherlock's deductions wouldn't be so angrily received all the time – he thinks.
Sebastian asks how Sherlock could know what he's deduced, and Sherlock would even like to answer him. Maybe that'd get another "amazing" from John. He never gets the chance though. Wilkes talks all over him for the longest time, horribly smug, and when Sherlock has the chance to answer him he's changed opinion.
If he does explain, he'll only get, "That simple then?" or maybe another, "I knew it was your trick," self-satisfied declaration from Sebastian. And if John agrees with him once again – maybe even explicitly – about the nature of the detective's powers Sherlock doesn't think he'll be able to take it without making a bigger fool of himself. Yelling, maybe. Anything to stop feeling like a nineteen year old hated by the whole world. (Sebastian shouldn't have that power over him; but he's successful, as far as normal people are, and Teen Sherlock is desperate at the idea that John should start comparing him and somehow find him wanting...and move his admiration somewhere else).
So the sleuth claims having chatted with the secretary, which at least throws John for a loop because he knows Sherlock hasn't, and he's left wondering what Sherlock is aiming at like this. Nothing more than not offering the edge to more teasing, but the doctor doesn't have to know.
Sebastian still laughs – at him – without humour at all. Sherlock smiles back in a way that it's more a baring of teeth.
But then Wilkes becomes all business-like, discussing the case, and even promising something "really interesting". Sherlock hopes he's right, because while until a short time ago he was certain he'd refuse it anyway, now he's changed idea completely. Fuck his experiment. He wants the easy, utter happiness he's already experienced and he wants it now , and if involving John in a case is the recipe that guarantees it, still unstudied variables notwithstanding (John on his own provides him with nothing more than a certain shade of unusual contentment, according to current data anyway), involve John in a case he shall. Of course, after having pretended to refuse the other cases, he'll need something good to justify taking this one (he's surely not doing it out of friendship). Good thing that the case does indeed have some curious points. He takes it, eager for the mix of work and John to work his magic. They can't wash away his current feelings soon enough.
John can't believe what's happening. They're being hired by Sherlock's...acquaintance (definitely not friend – does Sherlock only know gits?). Who should know that Sherlock is a genius, but sure as hell doesn't behave like he should when asking for help. Who the hell asks for help prefacing it with 'we hated him'?
Sebastian really thinks that as long as he pays (and he does pay handsomely) he can behave however the fuck he wants, does he? John hitches to tell him off, but that's not his place. For one, he's just along for the ride, not the certified genius Sebastian wants. He's shielded himself behind 'colleague' because friend did not give him an excuse to actually be there. Normal people (not that Sherlock is normal, but John has to be for the both of them) don't just drag along friends to investigations. Both bankers and detectives should have a degree of confidentiality in their work, after all.
So he's Sherlock's colleague even if his own brand of knowledge will with all probability not be called upon during this case. Then again, you never know. He just hopes he won't have to patch Sherlock up. For the moment, he's the man's secretary though – sort of. Because the sleuth actually scoffed at the mention of a recompense, and John suddenly remembers Donovan's "he's not paid; he gets off on it," and really, Wilkes should at least pay up for being a dick. And maybe Sherlock can subsist on adrenaline and Angelo's free meals every three days or so, but John can't. There are bills piling up at home, which John can't cover entirely – hell, he can't even cover his own half of these, he needs a job badly – and he has the feeling the detective will just ignore these until they cut them out.
He's hesitant, though. He's not used to being someone's assistant (not that he had problems actually helping when he feels that he can indeed be useful) and much more, he's not used to such figures. He's mildly terrified that he could lose the check, even if he's never been that forgetful.
He looks at it once again and shakes his head in disbelief. That's the advance. More than three times his army pension. At least as much coming after Sherlock solves the case (which he definitely will). Sherlock's partiality for silk sheets (which he knows because of his flatmate's tendency to consider them perfectly adequate clothing in the morning) is now explained. John will still feel inadequate about borrowing money from Sherlock, but now slightly less awkward. The sleuth can definitely afford it.
In the meantime, Sherlock is dancing. Or playing hide-and-seek, ducking randomly, John isn't sure. He's a sight, though. It makes John smile. His unfathomable, fascinating flatmate. (Not soulmate, that's sorta cleared – it would be "impossible" for Sherlock to find his soulmate. Still, a tiny part of John sighs, "But...* Sherlock *!" in disappointment. )
That the detective has already lost his own is so sad. No one should be made to feel that lonely, but it happens all too often. Not this young, though. Maybe Sherlock's soulmate was a soldier too? He's just glad that it isn't anyone John failed to save – he'd have noticed if someone had his same name. Actually, maybe John can...no, no, don't even finish that thought. Look how Harry ended after faking things with a random Clara. John will * not * let himself pretend this is his Sherlock, and he'll offer his fond support without even hinting that they could – hasn't Sherlock already rejected him anyway? He needs to get his mind out of the gutter. Like, yesterday. Certainly before Sherlock's attention switches to him and he reads such thoughts out of him.
When the detective is satisfied, and leads him away, John doesn't even try to resist the temptation. His friend's deductions are a show, one which is quickly becoming his favourite one (nothing really compares, and John shouldn't be enticed to sing Sinead O' Connor to the sleuth) and he's just been denied the latest episode. He won't stand for it. So he declares the truth. "You didn't ask his secretary, you said that just to irritate him." A noble aim, considering how annoying Sebastian is, but now they're alone.
Still, Sherlock smiles but refuses to reply. It is a nice smile indeed, but that won't do. "How did you know?" John queries. He's not disappointed. The truth is at the same time simple and clever. Which serves only to point out how bloody brilliant Sherlock is, looking for what no one else thinks might have any significance and unearthing what it hides. It doesn't matter if he solves a case with it, puts someone in his place, or what else. It never loses his charm for John. Actually, he's too much charmed maybe. He needs to find himself a date. That'll distract him.
And Sherlock hasn't just deduced Sebastian, the git. Less than ten minutes and he already knows that this message (because it is a message, obviously, not sheer vandalism) is intended for one specific person out of the three hundred working there. From pillars (and screens). How has John ever been blessed enough to be by this genius' side and be private to his brilliance? Because that's privilege, that's what it is. John must have been a saint in his past life to deserve this.
The taxi ride is quick and Sherlock is quiet, so John is left to his own thoughts. So, of course, he starts wondering about how they'll manage to make the banker spit up what he knows. There's no sending a message if you aren't sure that the receiver can understand it. Will Sherlock trick the man into revealing it? How? He hopes that he can be useful somewhat. He'd hate being Sherlock's useless shadow. (The detective will not want him around anymore if his only role is saying, "Amazing". John would hate to have to give up cases now.)
When they arrive at Van Coon's house John is ready for a stake-out. It might be boring to the detective, but if it's half as lovely (though hopefully less awkward) as that night at Angelo's, John is all for repeating the experience.
Instead, there's no need. On the floor above their banker, there's someone who has just moved in. Seeing Sherlock charming her into opening the door, John has to restrain himself from giggling. He's perfect in the role of clumsy, awkward new neighbour. John wouldn't be able to pretend so brazenly. The doctor starts to suspect that the scenes lost a great deal when Sherlock didn't pursue that as a career.
(Of course, as a fan of the series Hustle, John realizes too that with his acting prowess Sherlock might have done things that would pit him against policemen too – thank God that swindling people would probably be deemed boring).
Miss Wintle is less thrilled by letting them have use of her balcony – mostly, she's afraid that they're going to break their neck and how is she going to explain that to the inevitable police – but Sherlock's powers of persuasion are far greater than the poor woman's resistance. John fully empathizes with her. The sleuth is simply impossible to deny, as the doctor knows all too well.
So, the detective is in Van Coon's apartment (after climbing down from one balcony to another – and thank God that the French window on the balcony is unlocked). John hopes that the banker is out, because otherwise explaining his actions might be quite hard.
He half expects Sherlock to ask him to do the same gymnastics, which would be really quite difficult (John would try anyway, of course), but the sleuth doesn't. So, of course, John goes for the more sensible course of action and buzzes to the door of Van Coon's flat, calling to his friend. And Sherlock ignores him. He's seen the detective enter the flat, so why wouldn't he?
"Sherlock, are you okay?" he queries loudly. He can't help the spike of unease running through him. He quashes it. Sherlock is most likely busy investigating and has forgotten his existence. Figures he would. He doesn't really need John, after all. He reacts to the ugly feeling holding onto his frustration at his bloody flatmate. "Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in," he calls, sarcastically.
When Sherlock does finally open the door, it's because he needs John's help, rather more than the doctor would have expected him to today. Van Coon is inside the apartment, after all. He's not likely to protest their invasion, though, given the bullet hole in his right temple. The gun is on the floor. John's first thought is, of course, suicide. The man was dead inside a locked room. Locked room mysteries – however much Sherlock would like one, he's sure – are the thing of Dickson Carr novels. Not reality.
Sherlock's still rooting between the banker's belongings, and he tries to involve John into it. Which he's grateful for – being involved in an investigation is great – but he'll pass the personal exam of Van Coon's dirty underwear, posh as it is sure to be.
Sherlock still uses him to bounce ideas off, while examining this or that detail of the body, and John really shouldn't feel as proud as he does when the detective tells him, "Oh good. You follow." John honestly isn't sure he's following entirely, but he's not about to tell him that. He doesn't want to ruin Sherlock's good opinion of him.
Anyway, they've arrived at the conclusion that Van Coon was hiding from someone's threats, which made them go to the trouble of vandalizing the bank. Though Sherlock seems to have the oddest idea that that someone might be sending him bills. John has to quip, "Well, it wasn't the gas board,"... and just then the police Sherlock has called finally arrive.
Once again, John is very disappointed by the defenders of the law. Sherlock is being actually polite, which is odd for him, and the too-young officer refuses to shake his hands, putting his hands on his hips like an angry adult to a wayward child, and says, "I know who you are; and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence." John hates him wholly and instantly at that. That Sherlock wants Lestrade back in charge is natural.
But Lestrade's not coming, because this bloody kid is a DI, actually, and John can't help but wonder however he had such a quick career. Not because of outstanding merits, he bets. Someone powerful's relative? Unless he's worked his way through the ranks à la Jack Harkness, earning the gratefulness of said ranks. John is so irritated that he would put nothing past Dimmock. Sherlock and he share a surprised look at the man's role.
And it irks John that he has to agree with Dimmock. Obvious suicide. But really, what else can it be? Murder apparently. Because there are a million details that Dimmock and John are "choosing" to ignore, according to Sherlock. At least for John, he has not chosen anything. He honestly didn't notice a single thing. Coffee mug handle? Butter on the knife? Who but Sherlock would think to examine such things? But it's true that a left-handed man will not shoot himself on the right temple.
It is a locked room case. Or, well, not exactly locked if the window was open for Van Coon to shoot through it. Still. Sherlock walks Dimmock through it all – the murder, the threats – and finally Dimmock queries, "But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"
Sherlock, putting on his gloves, replies, "Good! You're finally asking the right questions. Condescension drips heavy from his tone. And then he leaves. Just like that. John sends a quick, apologetic look Dimmock's way – because that's what he does – and follows him feeling rather more satisfied than he dares show.
They go back to Sebastian – who's having lunch with some colleagues – and the git asks them to make an appointment with his secretary. Not even the word, "threat," scares him into caring. The announcement of a murder, though, is enough to break his composure. He follows them to the toilets – there's no way that he's discussing this with everyone present. And for once, John is posing the questions. If he's Sherlock's colleague, he needs to act the part. He takes no bull from Sebastian. "We all make enemies,"? He needs answers. "You don't all end up with a bullet through your temple," he points out sternly.
Before he can get answer out of the banker, though, Seb receives a text announcing Van Coon's death as a suicide. And even if he knows Sherlock, even if he knows he's a genius, even if he should help them solve a murder, the only comment the bloody prick makes is, "I hired you to do a job, Sherlock. Don't get sidetracked."
Sidetracked? Sidetracked? They've found a threatened man murdered and Sebastian is worried that they'll get sidetracked? They're solving this bloody case, that he wants it or not! Though John seethes, he doesn't says any of that. He says, instead, "I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards." He doesn't need to add, "Not bloody idiots." Sherlock will hear that anyway.