AN: This chapter will have two parts.
•••●●● PART ONE ●●●•••
The events of going to the drug den made him think of Sherlock. He misses the arsehole. The death of his mother took such grief in him that he forgot his best friend. It's been weeks, a month, probably, since he saw him.
He calls Mycroft.
"What would be the reason for your call, Dr. Watson?"
"I'm not a doctor yet and hello to you too, Mycroft... I just want to ask where Sherlock is."
"Oh. Seems domestic life has taken a toll on you."
"Shut up, Mycroft. Where's Sherlock?"
"He recently moved in at Baker Street."
"In 221B?"
"Indeed."
"I would've thought you caged him in your place again."
"Such control over my brother is quite impossible. I'm assuming you will be visiting him today?"
"Yup."
"Do tell my brother to be careful. Goodbye, John Watson."
"Mycroft? Myc-"
The arsehole hung up on him.
Walking on the pavement to 221B is like a kick on the kidney. He misses his place. The times he and Sherlock would run from people and hide in 221B with Mrs. Hudson scolding at them for being idiots but is secretly amused with them. The times where they would help Greg's dad with the police work (thanks to Mycroft, they were allowed to help).
Knocking on the door feels wrong. He feels like he isn't welcome here anymore.
Mrs. Hudson opens the door and squeaks in delight at the sight of him, "John! Been a long time since I saw you," she says as she hugs him.
Mrs. Hudson was the mother he had. Though his actual mother died, he admits that she wasn't really there for him since he was a child. Mrs. Hudson was.
"Is Sherl here?"
"He's upstairs. Come in..." she gestures him inside. "Keep an eye on him, would you? I'm gonna go make some biscuits and tea..."
"O-okay..."
The worries everyone has on Sherlock is making him worried. But he tries to stop it. Because Sherlock doesn't want to see him worried. He'll let the worry kill him inside instead.
At first, he thought Sherlock isn't in the room, for Sherlock's armchair is empty.
But the sight of Sherlock, curled up on his armchair, breaks him.
Sherlock is sleeping like a child on the armchair he usually sits on when he and Sherlock are resting from the thrill of the chase.
He sees the bruises on Sherlock's face. How thin he is. How big the dark circles under his eyes are. He watches him the whole time.
That is, he sees Sherlock's hand twitch, Sherlock's breath hitching and rapid. His head moving side by side.
He's beside Sherlock in an instant. He shakes Sherlock to wake up. Doing it gently.
Until he hears Sherlock's moan of pain.
"Sherlock, wake up!"
Sherlock sits up, hittig them both on the forehead.
They both yell out an, "Ow."
"John?" Sherlock says, looking at him.
"You alright, mate?" He asks.
"I think so." Sherlock says, rubbing his forehead.
He hums in answer.
"Why are you here?" Sherlock asks.
"Came to check up on you."
"Oh."
"Did you get in a fight?"
"A fight means both participants are able to throw punches and such."
"Yes... and?"
"It wasn't a fight," Sherlock answers, looking down.
"Who was it?"
"Some people from uni. Surprisingly, they become better and better."
"Better how?"
"Stronger and harder to run away from," Sherlock laughs sadly.
His heart melts at the sight of his friend. "I really want to help you, Sherl. I just don't know how. This is bloody frustrating business."
"I'm not asking you to help me."
"But I want to."
"I know."
"What did they do to you?"
"Pinned me to a wall, then the ground, punches and the such. The usual, really. Except they were... stronger... I wasn't even able to throw one punch." He laughs.
"I'm sorry."
"Not your fault."
"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you."
"It's okay."
"No no no. The thing is: it's not okay. I've been selfish. I have been grieving about my mom that I forgot you. No one should be forgotten, especially you."
"I miss Dr. Watson," Sherlock suddenly says.
He thinks it odd that Sherlock would miss his mother when they only met once.
"Oh, sorry..." Sherlock says. "I forgot you didn't know. She's my doctor."
Well that explains it. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"She was sworn to secrecy. Never to tell anyone. Suppose same goes for me."
"Oh."
"I'm sorry, John. It's my fault she's dead."
"Sherl-"
"My parents threatened your mother not to spill a word. She was paid to do so and she was blackmailed that they will kill you if she says a word. But she had to tell Mycroft because I was an idiot. Oh stupid, stupid... I let it get out of hand. And now there is a life I failed. I failed Dr. Watson. I failed you. Oh god, I killed your mother." Sherlock panics.
"Sherlock!" Sherlock's eyes snap at him. "It's not your fault. Look at me. It isn't. Did you pull the trigger?"
"But John-"
"Did you pull the trigger, Sherlock?"
"No."
"Were you thinking of murdering her?"
Sherlock gives him a horrified look, "No."
"Did you order killers to shoot her?"
"No."
"And so it's not your fault."
"But if I was more subtle. If I didn't ask for her help-"
"You would've died."
"Exactly." Sherlock replies.
...
...
...
"Sorry." Sherlock tells him.
"You don't mean that."
Sherlock hums in reply.
"Sherlock, you don't mean that, do you?"
Sherlock starts to grow nervous. He can see it. He can't mean that. He can't mean that he wanted to die. He's Sherlock. He's a rare person. He can't die. Especially by his own hand. He will have to kick Sherlock in the arse before he lets Sherlock kill himself.
Mrs. Hudson knocks on the door. "Ooh-ooh. I made both your favourites." She enters the room and puts the tray on the table. "Sherlock, you feeling better?"
"Higher than the heavens," he smiles at her and she smiles at him.
He sees how much Sherlock cares at that moment. To know that he had been thinking that his death was a better outcome than his mother's death and seeing him smile at Mrs. Hudson just to make her feel good and to stop her from worrying.
He cares so much it kills him.
"Well, you're in better hands now. Sorry I interrupted your privacy," she winks at them.
"We're not a couple," He yells back at her.
"You don't have to lie to me, John. I won't tell the others. It will be our little secret." She giggles.
He can't help but sigh frustratingly.
He looks back at his friend who looks like he is on the verge of tears but stops and returns to his mask - probably because Sherlock saw him look.
"Sherlock. Stop it. Crying isn't a weakness."
"I don't need tears. Tears does nothing to me."
"It will be an outlet of emotions."
"I don't have emotions."
"Goddammit, you do."
"I know."
"Then why don't you accept the fact that you do?"
"Caring is not an advantage." Before he answers, Sherlock raises a hand to silence him. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, if you please."
He stands by the window. The slow city moving under him. He looks at Sherlock.
Sherlock is staring at the ground. Frozen. Broken. He wants to help him.
"Make it stop," Sherlock whispers. He doesn't answer Sherl. Maybe he's in his Mind Palace again. "John, make it stop." Well, that pretty much tells him who he's talking to.
"Stop what?"
"The pain."
"What pain are you feeling?"
"I don't know."
"Sherlock-" he starts to walk towards Sherlock.
"I'm too confused to know which pain it is." Sherlock shrugs. "Just... take it away from me."
"As much as I want to help you, mate, I can't understand what you're feeling right now." He roams around the flat... looking at Sherlock's experiments on the kitchen, his notes on the desk, what he sees that are probably work to be done in uni. Sherlock's in uni?
"Oh right... How are you doing?" Sherlock asks him.
"Hmm?" He asks, distractedly.
"With... your mother..." Sherlock shifts uncomfortably on the chair.
"I'm fine. More than fine, really."
"You had a nightmare." Sherlock suddenly says. He turns around to see Sherlock, sitting upright on his chair, looking at him with his deductive eyes. The piercing gaze making him feel like Sherlock is reading his very soul.
"Why'd you say that?"
"The tremor on your hand. You only have that when you have nightmares."
"Fine. I did." He flops on Sherlock's armchair.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"John-"
"Nothing!"
"You're lying. You do something impulsive when you have nightmares."
"How would you know?"
"John. I know you went through a shooting in the shopping centre and got shot long before meeting me. You were a child." Sherlock suddenly tells him.
He freezes. He tried to forget that. He almost did. He was so young and was held hostage. His parents weren't there. Harriet wasn't there. He was alone at the time and everyone around him was dying. He managed to get out with a bullet on his shoulder.
No one knows that story anymore.
That story is buried deep.
He never told him but he knew Sherlock always knew... He remembers their first chase together... He remembers Sherlock telling him not to go with him in a chase because there might be a possible shooting. He told Sherlock that he doesn't care. He didn't and he enjoyed it. The nightmares stopped then.
"You're good at dodging to talk about it..." Sherlock says, smiling. "Though it was obvious from the start that you knew I knew. I know about the nightmares. I just don't understand what's causing them now... You didn't get into trouble, did you?"
He thinks, 'Nope. The exact opposite really. I'm not getting in trouble and I crave it.'
He laughs and Sherlock looks at him quizically. "We're both fucked-up arseholes, aren't we?" He tells Sherlock.
"Maybe," Sherlock smiles.
"We are gonna be alright, though. Won't we?"
"You've been staying in with Mary..." Sherlock suddenly says.
He clears his throat, "Oh... er... Yes, umm... Yes."
"You know, I do need a flatmate." Sherlock says nervously.
Mrs. Hudson decides to appear at that moment. "Wonderful idea, Sherlock. You know, John. There's another bedroom upstairs... IF you'll be needing two bedrooms..." she winks.
"Of course, we'll be needing two."
"So you will move in?" Sherlock asks him.
He thinks about it. His mother is dead. His father and sister are both drinking out and making their old home into a dump. Mary is often busy and has friends around in her flat which can be a bit annoying (really annoying)...
Maybe he does need a flatshare with one Sherlock Holmes. In 221B.
He does have a little part-time job as he goes through uni.
"Yes."
Sherlock gives him the widest grin he has ever seen.
Sharing a flat with his bestfriend? Brilliant.
Sharing a flat with his bestfriend, Sherlock Holmes? He's gone barmy, hasn't he?
This will be so fucked-up. It's bloody brilliant.
John's going to be his flatmate. He won't be alone anymore.
Perfect.
Days and weeks later, John's things are now well-placed around the flat.
John told him how Mycroft kidnapped him again. He's going to talk to that bloody git about kidnapping him and his friends.
Greg goes there to meet up with John and have drinks in a nearby pub (after being threatened by him and telling him to keep an eye on John's drinking or he will not help his father with cases) and sometimes Greg is told by his father to bring him to the crime scene.
Molly was awkward when she came in to see John on John's armchair, watching telly in his pyjamas and seeing him, in his dressing gown on the couch, being bored out of his wits. The horror on Molly's face. She probably thought they're together. He does know about her infatuation with him.
Mary comes in almost all the time. He likes Mary. She is good for John. But someday, he will know about Mary's past and what she's hiding. Bloody Mycroft won't just tell him. He's probably blackmailing Mary and using the information and such.
It was perfect.
Until.
"Sherlock, what the fuck are these?" He looks at John who is holding several envelopes that were all given to him by Moriarty. The unknown woman who is writing to him is a mystery to him but one of the letters revealed that she will be coming soon.
"Letters?" He answers John.
"Pretty much fucking threats to me."
"John, please-"
"No. I've had enough of your lies and secrets, Sherlock. I thought we agreed on the truth!"
"We did."
"Then what are these?"
"Warnings. Of what's to come. I have made a theory but I shan't expose it unless I have all the facts."
"What kinds of warnings?" John asks, sitting on his armchair, right in front of him.
He throws the letters on the table between them.
"I don't know yet. The last time I had a letter was last week. I'm waiting for the new letter in two days. Comes every Sunday. I don't know how he does it." He shakes his head. He and Mycroft still don't know how Jim manages to get random people to give him these letters.
"What did last week's letter says?"
"'Soon. Love, all of us.' It said." He sees John's eyes widen when he hears the message. "I know, John. Last time we saw the letter with the word, Soon... Doctor Watson died."
"We have to stop this."
"I don't know how. As brilliant as Moriarty is, I know he isn't the head of their organization. And I'm too busy with course work. I still want to graduate uni, you know?"
"I agree on that. But... If Jim isn't the head of this web... Then who is?"
"I don't know. Mi6 is still searching, according to Mycroft."
"What do we do?"
"Well, all I need is to you to be here in 221B. Mrs. Hudson is at her sister's. Greg is at their monthly family get together. Divorced parents, you see... Molly is at her grandparents' house for the month. Mary is in her flat. All safe, I assure you."
"How convenient that they are all at a safe distance at the same time," John looks pointedly at him.
He smiles, "I may be the cause of that." John laughs.
"Of course you are. Why am I not in one of the special holidays you gave everyone else?"
"You're the number one target, I believe. You have to be with me."
"Going soft on me, Sherl?"
"I'm serious!"
"Fine. I'll stay here at 221B. You should've told me earlier."
"Too busy."
"Doing what?"
"Thinking."
John snorts. The silence pushes on and prolongs for about an hour.
John breaks the silence, "What will happen in two days?"
"Something different."
•••●●● PART TWO ●●●•••
He wakes up alert and adrenaline full, two days later. He tiptoes downstairs and sees Sherlock in the middle of the room, sitting on his armchair.
"John?" Sherlock asks.
"Can't sleep?"
"I didn't sleep."
"What will happen today?"
"I don't know. It's midnight and I'll be waiting for Moriarty's next message."
"Dear god, I hope nobody dies."
The day goes on and nothing is happening in 221B. There's absolutely nothing. The hour when the letter usually comes has passed and nothing has happened.
He should be happy. John is safe. Mycroft got the others monitored and is watching their every move since midnight. Nothing.
Sherlock's either getting angry that nothing is happening or relieved that nothing is happening. He sees both emotions in him for the past hours.
Sherlock is looking out of the window, waiting for something... But then he turns around, fully alarmed.
"Sherl?" He asks. Sherlock gestures for him to keep quiet and to listen. He does so. Sherlock sniffs and is now fully concentrated. What does Sherlock know that he doesn't?
That's when he hears the clicking of footwear and then the padding of feet.
Sherlock looks at something behind him and his shoulders square. He's in his Sherlock deducing mode.
He turns around and he sees...
A naked teenager. A woman.
A naked woman completely focused on Sherlock.
'What the fuck.'
At exactly seven o'clock that night. He feels it. Finally. A presence. Seven o'clock? Moriarty loves to be dramatic. Choosing the time the day they met? Really?
"Sherl?" John asks, looking at him, alarmed.
He knows John doesn't know someone is here. John saw him alarmed, probably. He gestures to John to shut up and listen.
John looks down and his ears probably twitched in alarm or something but then John turns alarm, his posture changed. John seems to be downright aware of everything around him.
John is in his soldier mode.
A figure emerges from his room. It had to be his room.
He smells it before he sees it.
Casmir.
The perfume of the woman who sends him the letters.
The said woman comes out of the shadows with a smirk upon her face. Elegance, class and confidence showing from her posture alone. She's the same age as them.
John finally turns around and his eyes widen at the sight of a naked woman in front of them.
Irene Adler, Mary says her name is. The woman.
"Mister Holmes."
'Even her voice is goddamn sexy. Who the hell is this?'
How dare she goes in 221B unannounced like this? She's bloody nude!
He looks at Sherlock and Sherlock seems to not care about the fact that she is naked, is in front of him, and is dangerously fit.
"Miss Adler, I presume?"
"Oh look at those cheekbones," she walks up to Sherlock. He keeps it to himself how good looking her arse is. It is one fine arse. "He's right. I could cut myself slapping that face... Would you like me to try?" He can't see the two but he can tell they are flirting.
He stands up and walks behind his armchair. "Have I missed something?" He says out loud.
The woman - Miss Adler, Sherlock said - turns around and looks at him, up and down, which reminds him of how Sherlock looks at him sometimes.
"I didn't see you there, Doctor Watson."
"Not a doctor yet."
"Close to being one, aren't you?"
"Yes..." He answers awkwardly.
She sits on Sherlock's armchair which has been off-limits to everyone, even him. Sherlock makes everyone leave his chair.
But he lets her. Hmm...
Sherlock sits on the sofa and the two dark and mysterious brunettes with pale skin and deducing eyes stare at each other.
He just thanks the universe Miss Adler is covering her private parts now. Pretty awkward. Though he has seen a lot of women naked and begging for him, he still has his respect for women's bodies. And this is bloody awkward for him.
Sherlock looks at him a bunch of times and stares back at the woman with even more confused stares. The woman keeps smirking at him.
"You know the problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock raises a brow at her. "However hard I try, it's always a self-portrait."
"You think I'm a posh university-attending teenager with a high degree?"
"I think you're damaged, delusional and believe in higher power. In your case, it's yourself. Somebody loves you... well, if I had to live with that face, I have to take care of you, too."
He laughs, "Can you put something on, please?" she looks at him with a smirk. "Anything at all, a napkin?"
"Why? Are you feeling exposed?"
"Clearly John knows where to look," Sherlock says, standing up and grabbing his coat from the coatrack.
The woman looks at him, still, and stands up in front of him. "I think he knows exactly where." Goddamn was it hard for him not to look down. She turns around to face Sherlock and gets the coat from him. Sherlock is really allowing her to have the coat? His coat? The coat he loves so much? "Not sure about you..." she tells him.
"If I'd like to look at naked women, I'd borrow John's laptop."
"You do borrow my laptop."
"I confiscate it."
"Well, nevermind, we've got better things to talk about, now I do not like being told what to do, Mister Holmes...," she sits down on the sofa and removes her shoes. He decides to sit back on his own armchair. Thank goodness the woman has clothes on now.
"What?"
"James Moriarty sends his love..." she smirks. Sherlock narrows his eyes at her. "Nothing much. Just want to tell you. I do, however, want to talk about a certain friend of mine."
Oh... Miss Adler is a client, perhaps? I mean, it would explain why Sherlock knows her or something... God, why does this bastard always fail to tell him what's going on!
"A friend?" Sherlock raises a brow.
"You know which friend," she gives an amused grin.
Sherlock has his realisation face. His eyes never left hers.
He feels like he is an awkward third wheel or something.
"John. Please leave the flat."
"The flat? Not even the room?"
"I'm afraid, Miss Adler and I have lots to discuss. Go to Mary's John. Now." Miss Adler raises a brow at Sherlock.
And him? He's angry. Angry at Sherlock for making him leave. He knows this woman and he won't tell him. Now, he suddenly tells him to leave the flat?
Well, fuck it. So he does.
Oh shit. What if she's his secret girlfriend or something? Oh god, what if they'll shag the moment he left the door? Oh god, the thought of thetwo shagging everywhere in 221B.
It's disgusting.
No. He doesn't care. He's going to Mary's.
"Mary Morstan is our mutual friend, I assume." He tells her.
"Well, Mister Holmes. I don't know her as Mary Morstan. But I do know who Amanda Granuaile Róisín Abbington is."
"Irish name."
"Irish woman."
"Hmm. Well, Miss Adler. Start talking."
AN: Indeed. I take a lot of care and effort for names. Amanda Abbington, though. It is the perfect name for AGRA. If you were able to observe enough, you'd see that John's mother, Doctor Laura Audris Watson, has the initials LAW. They killed LAW. I take my name meanings seriously.