John paced the high street till he settled on an all day breakfast diner, he realised how hungry he was considering he had thrown his slice of toast at Sherlock before storming out. But when he sat down to eat the food tasted bland, he couldn't swallow most of it and when he did he felt more empty then he had to begin with. Another hour passed as he wandered through Covent Gardens contemplating Sherlock's perspective. He guessed he understood his reasoning but the performance was unforgivable. At least he wasn't angry anymore, just disappointed at his treatment. He really thought he had made a breakthrough with Sherlock, he thought he could make him that little bit more human. He made his way back to Baker Street, deaf to the surrounding buzz of London.
As soon as he set foot in to the now strung flat he was confronted with a wide eyed Sherlock: "John, sit."
"Sherlock, not now I just want to have a shower, just give me 10 minutes then I can start to comprehend all of this." We waved a hand vaguely at the hanging wonder.
"No, John, this is, just sit." John rolled his eyes but sat where directed, opposite Sherlock, the coffee table separating them. On the table was two tea cups on saucers, each identical: design, position, amount and colour of content. He looked back up at Sherlock. "Remember the: 'A Study in Pink' case as you so 'observantly' put it." John nodded. "Same concept."
John stared back at the cups and back up to Sherlock, Sherlock apparently was waiting for John to make the connection. He didn't. "Two cups. Your choice and I will drink whichever one you choose for me." John stared at Sherlock again, pale eyes showed no falter and no real clue as to what was actually happening.
"John." John still hadn't said a word, but Sherlock's eyes had now softened. "I've, disappointed you, but I'm not sorry." John scoffed. "I did what had to be done and now it seems it is stretching our relationship. So I'm going to show you that we can trust each other. One cup I poisoned and you have the choice of which one I will drink."
"Are you saying this is all a roundabout way of apologising?" John shook his head and stifled a laugh; he didn't know whether to pity the ego or be touched by a Sherlock trying to be thoughtful, as elaborate and twisted as it was. "Wait, poison? What sort of poison?"
Sherlock ignored that; "John look at me." John stopped smiling and looked at Sherlock, who had gone deathly serious. "I trust you John, with my life. And I need you to feel the same."
'Of course I do.' Sherlock moved the cup on his right closer to John. "This is the one without the poison."
John paused for a second taking it all in. "What, no. Sherlock." Realising Sherlock was actually expecting John to go through with it. "Sherlock, I'm not doing this, this is ridiculous. I accept your apology."
John started to rise from his chair but Sherlock reached across the table and guided him back down. "John, this is important. Please."
John was getting annoyed and increasingly worried. "No, I won't...I can't. Don't be an arse." But Sherlock only replied with hard eyes and a slight pout, John knew this look, he wasn't going to give in. So he sat back down and stared intently at the tea cups. 'He's leading me to the left one, but it could be a bluff, or a double bluff...or a triple bluff.' His head began to spin, and Sherlock could see it all. 'But why would he direct me to the left one. This is a trust thing right? So he wants me to believe him? Or pick the right one to get even? It has to be left. Has to be.' "Please Sherlock; you don't need to do this." 'I've always trusted you, I was just angry.'
"Have you made a decision" John's eyes darted to the left one briefly but remained silent refusing to play this idiotic game. But Sherlock saw, and before John had time to react, Sherlock downed the now luke-warm tea on his right. He stared unblinking at his friend.
"I...what...SHERLOCK! Damn it are you ok?"
"Of course John."
"...So I picked the correct cup?"
Sherlock smiled up at him and John swore under his breath with relief. "I really hate you sometimes."
Sherlock winked and turned his languid body so he was laying flat, length ways of the sofa; he propped his head up and eyed the ceiling.
"Well?"
"Hmmm?"
"Well a few hours ago you were running around like a maniac and now you're just lying there."
"Yep." John threw his arms up in confusion. Sherlock's gaze didn't move. "There isn't much to do but wait; besides, I don't want to do myself an injury when it kicks in."
John's thoughts stumbled over what he said about the case then snapped back painfully when he mentioned the drugs: "Wait, what?! Sherlock! You told me I picked the right one!"
"You did. But I drugged both."
John leapt across the table kicking over the reminder of the tea, "Sherlock. Sherlock?! What do you need? What did you put in the tea?" Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed. John's voice broke as he forced the eyelids opened checking the pupil's reactions: "No, Sherlock. Don't." He pushed up Sherlock's jacket sleeve and ripped the cuff open. He forced up the shirt sleeve and began to check the pulse when he saw the ink just under the fabric; he rolled it up further and on his wrist was written: 'Conc. Xanex.' John collapsed on to his heels and his panic exchanged for nervous laughter. "What a prick."
It was 9 hours before Sherlock woke in bed with a glass of water by his head and some biscuits, he sat up, he felt slow and groggy. He downed the water waiting for his brain to kick back in to motion. He sucked half a custard cream then put it back on the pile. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept so long, it didn't agree with him. But he stumbled out of bed, stretching, his pyjamas rising, revealing a white stomach to the cool breeze coming through the open door. 'So John can keep an eye on me I take it. Always the doctor.' "Wait, pyjamas?" His mind raced back to the hours before; 'Suit, it was definitely a suit. I was wearing a suit. He looked in his full length mirror: Pyjamas. 'He dressed me.' Tussled bed hair danced on his head as his hands ran through it while his cheeks flared red. He slipped on his dressing gown and decided not to bring it up.
He trod out into the living room and was met with John inspecting the web network on one of the walls; he turned when he heard Sherlock's movements.
"Evening, Sleeping Beauty." John's eyes crinkled in a smile. Sherlock straightened his lips in a look of disapproval, which was completely see-through to John. John giggled again and then turned back to the pinned papers. "I can't believe you did all this. In one night."
Sherlock walked to the kitchen to fetch another glass of water, unable to hide a small grin of pride and satisfaction. "So do you see now?" Sherlock returned with shiny lips from gulping and shiny eyes for the case.
"Urm, I think so, well, most of it. I think. But go on tell me, I know you're dying to."
Sherlock waltzed gracefully between the mesh of string and hanging papers to get to the centre with John. He started explaining, directing John's vision to various pin points and John couldn't help but see him as a concert conductor, he could almost hear the music seeping from Sherlock's mind simultaneously dancing with his thoughts.
"Lestrade has been collecting them for months. I don't think he understood what it meant though, because he didn't fully see the links. See, what do these 12 clippings have in common from all the rest?" He looked at John expectably
"Urm, they're all the biggest death losses."
"Good, what else?"
"Err..."
"The photos John."
John moved closer to study them.
"Well, there's..." He paused and moved back and forth between the others: "Wait, there's..."
"Exactly! John exactly!"
"But what are blue boxes doing all around London?"
"1950's police boxes " Sherlock corrected, "And I don't know. Yet."
"Maybe it's like art thing? Or a joke at the printing office?"
"John, do they look faked to you? No." John inspected the 12 closer, each picture contained part of a police box, sometimes only a slither of a blue corner, but in every one of the 12 photos there were signs of their presence. "Now Lestrade saw this but didn't look deep enough, but you can't blame him, he's an idiot."
"Well he managed this much, you wouldn't have got all this without him."
Sherlock shot daggers at his flatmate: "Yes, well, I rarely read the papers; I get you to do that for me,"
John didn't know why he winced at that but disguised it through a snort of indignant air and told Sherlock to proceed.
"First thing was first. Organise them in to dates. That's when I saw it."
"Saw what?"
"...You outstand me sometimes John." He threw John a notepad with: 'TIME IS OPENING' scratched across it and the 'G' circled. John looked back to the newspapers; it was silent for a few minutes as John's cogs creaked. Until he gasped: "That's fantastic!"
Sherlock grinned: "The first letter of each of the 12 headlines: "Two dozen people killed Regent's Park: 'T'" He ran to the eighth one: Pupil shootings at London South Bank University: 'P'" He ran through the whole list: "...TIME IS OPENIN!"
"So what about the 'G'?"
"Precisely John! Where is it? Which led me to this!" He spun John round 180o to face another wall, a map layout of London streets: "Each location of the big news pieces are plotted with these blue pins. They're circling; they form a perfect 4x4 square see? And then the four corners: Regent Park, Islington boat club, London South Bank university, Victoria Station, connect the four corners together..." He stuck the centre with a white pin in the blue box: "Great Queen's street, our 'G!'"
John stood there, he figured his mouth was unhinged but he didn't care, he felt like he should applaud but settled with: "Bloody brilliant." Then: "But when?"
"Ah! See now back to the dates!" He sped them back round to the third wall, barely avoiding the dangerous string. "See! It's always the same."
"Every 4 weeks..."
"EVERY 4 WEEKS!" "Sherlock was beaming. "Something big is going to happen John. Something big, in 4 days, and we're going to be there!"