AN: You may or may not have noticed that this chapter has a name, unlike the others, and I will continue with naming them. Another thing is that chapter three (the one you're about to read, if you haven't already deduced it) is parted in two (it might turn into thre, just so you know), and since they're the same chapter they will have the same name. The second part is almost finished as well, so the next update won't take too long, I hope. Please review.
Thanks to my awesome beta (Potterhorse-Spirit) who has helped a lot with the story line and my awful grammar.
Chapter 3: The well-dressed drama queen
The cold London air hit him the moment he stepped outside and it felt like jumping into a pool of snow and ice. The universe had definitively woken up on the wrong side of bed without anything else than John to keep itself occupied. Why would all of this happen to him if not to humour the rest of the world? As long as he got a break now and then he would be ready for anything the universe could decide to throw at him. John crossed his arms in front of him, desperately trying to not freeze to death before he got the chance to hail a cab for the two of them. He really should have chosen one of his warmer coats.
Raven Wilson, the daughter of Jennifer Wilson was standing at his left side with a grey woollen coat wrapped around her which went all the way down to her knees. Her face was slightly flushed from the cold as she reached out to the back of her head to untie her ponytail and walked towards the street. She made a face as she carefully tugged at the hair tie beside him. Raven's jaw clenched tight and he could see tears forming in the crooks of her eyes from the pain, though no sound escaped her tightly sealed lips. They stopped at the side of the road and Raven had finally succeeded at removing the hair tie. She put it in her coat-pocket and rubbed away the tears before they had time to crawl down her cheeks, then flattened her hair so it wouldn't look like a complete mess when they arrived at Baker St.
Finally a cab slowed down and rescued both of them from the freezing cold. "221B Baker Street," John said while frantically trying to warm up his hands with his breath. The cab wasn't as warm as he had hoped it would be, but it was definitively better than standing on the pavement when it was far, far below zero. The inside of the car was much cleaner than the other cabs he had taken before. It was spot-free and it didn't smell awful either, actually it was rather close to pleasant. "Strange..."
The cabbie looked back at them through the mirror and silently nodded in acknowledgement. It was a man in his early thirties with red hair and freckles, and if the driver-license had gotten it right, his name was Adam Scott.
The car started to move along with the rest of London's traffic after they got the seat buckles fastened with their shaking hands. For a while John just sat there, looking out the window. Watching people run up and down the streets with their dull coloured clothes that matched their boring lives. Not so long ago he was one of them, scattering around without meaning or goal, but not anymore, he hoped.
The silence was thick and uncomfortable, he felt like he should say something, but what? He dared stealing a glimpse in her direction. It lasted longer than he had planned, but Raven didn't seem to notice. She was sitting with her knees beneath her chin and her arms holding the long legs in place. "Why had she wanted to see Sherlock so much?" He had seen it in her eyes, she had really, really wanted to meet him. She had been a little too eager, but why?
A weak smile occupied her face for a brief second before disappearing. John followed Raven's gaze, wondering why she smiled; it was directed ahead of her, but not at something. Whatever she was watching, it transpired in her head. John yawned silently and felt incredibly tired all of a sudden, but he forced himself not to close his eyes. He wondered again if he should say something. It might help him stay up, but he was pretty sure he would fall asleep before he thought of something to say, so why fight the inevitable?
He had a bad feeling that told him that this day was nowhere near an end, and that feeling had proved to be right countless of times before. It had been an instinct that had served him well in Afghanistan. It was similar to his doctor intuition which helped him make decisions quickly when a dying soldier was placed in front of him. Though this feeling was a bit different, it prepared him, warned him of things that would come.
John closed his eyes, the weariness dragging him towards sleep. He sensed his consciousness retreating to the back of his head as his body relaxed. The warm cosy blanket called slumber enfolded around him and he was tempted to smile at the sensation. How long had it been since he had gotten a good nap? Way too long.
Then a voice abruptly yanked the blanket away from him and he was very close to growling. "-own each other?" It was Raven. "I'm sorry, what?" he asked confused, pushing the desire to ignore her and go back to sleep away. "I asked; how long have you and Mr. Holmes known each other?" She repeated, glancing over at him before she resumed watching the people milling down the streets.
He looked at his clock, did the math and answered her, "Almost 30 hours." He smiled lightly at her. He didn't bother to think about how not-normal it was; his thoughts had wandered down that path so many times now that it was more of a well-worn road than a narrow path. After the conversation with Lestrade he hadn't used every other minute to think 'What am I doing here?' or 'Maybe I should get an appointment with my therapist. Who runs around solving crimes with a man you've just met and moves in with him?' Lestrade had done well in calming him down and he was grateful for that.
"And you're already flatmates and partners in crime solving; that is quite impressive." Raven faced him and smiled softly. He met her eyes and then he decided he liked seeing her smile, when she smiled it was like she became a little brighter, and he liked the brighter version of Raven.
"It's crazy, I know. I guess I could've said it was 'friends at first sight', but I'm not sure if 'friends' is the right term, I only just met him." Raven nodded and gave a small smile in his direction, but stayed quiet. He didn't want the conversation to die out. It was nice to talk to someone normal. It wasn't that long ago since he had a conversation with a somewhat ordinary person. In fact all people he had talked to for his whole life had been more or less normal, but he had a feeling that he should savour the moments he had with normal people from now on. After all, he was going to move in with Sherlock (yes he had decided on that), and John already had a feeling that he would need all the normality he could find to make up for Sherlock and his not so ordinary behaviour.
John said the first thing that popped up in his mind to keep the conversation going. "So... you're an artist, right?" And he couldn't have asked it more awkwardly than that, even if he tried. As a consequence of his embarrassment he looked out the window before he could finish the sentence. "..." John turned his head when he didn't get an answer and saw Raven's eyes on him. He could see flickers of emotions, but none of them was he able to decipher.
She opened her mouth with what he thought was a thoughtful look. "Well, yes, I'm an artist, but I am looking for another job. Artists never really earn much money before they die." "...I suppose that's right. But what kind of job are you looking for?" He continued before her thoughts could linger too long on the subject death. "Psychologist." He shifted in his seat and placed a hand on his right knee. Raven noticed it. "What? You don't like us?" She asked innocently with matching eyes and false hurt evident in her voice. "I don't like my therapist," he corrected seriously and tried to ease his body. "Oh? Why?" Raven questioned with genuine interest. "It doesn't feel like the treatment is working, sometimes I feel better after a session, but it's always preliminary, it never lasts." John shrugged like he didn't really care at the end, but he knew it wasn't very convincing. "Why am I telling her this? I met her less than half an hour ago. Oh I forgot, I really like treating strangers as friends"
Raven's feet slid off the seat and cocked her head ever so little. "Not that it is any of my business," she looked out the window at her side and continued with a calm voice. "...but, why-" She stopped mid-sentence and he could see her body stiffening. "John." Her voice had changed from friendly to wary in a matter of seconds.
The car slowed down.
"Wait, what? We can't be at Baker Street yet, we've only been driving for twenty minutes max." John could feel his heart beat harder and harder, soon threatening to hop out of the ribcage. Adrenaline rushed through his veins; a tingling sensation that started in his abdomen and spread out to fingers and toes making his whole body twitch in anticipation. He smiled on the inside. Every instinct was screaming at him that something was very wrong and he was delighted. How could he be? It was absurd, but he didn't have the time to ponder.
The cab was still moving, but it had driven off the street and was closing up on a grey warehouse. This wasn't Baker Street, the place had been trapped in his memory since the first time he set his foot there this morning and this was definitively not Baker Street.
(Beta Note: if you want to yell at someone because this is late, yell at me. Oops. Sorry! Please review, it isn't her fault)