By the time John woke up, it was early morning, the sun barely above the horizon. After checking his clock, he decides to get up, doing a bit of his morning exercise routine before gathering clothes for the day and his little toiletry pack, knowing he will feel much better after a shower, especially after the rather odd night he had an odd dreams.
John is a little surprised when he steps out of his room only to see that the consulting detective is not around, though judging by his closed door he guesses he's asleep. Seems what he said in the night wasn't exactly accurate, the detective does sleep. It is also noteworthy that it seems a little neater, but things are still a bit foggy from the night before so he's not entirely sure. The doctor doesn't linger too long though, the cold floors urging him into the bathroom where he starts the shower heating up while he brushes his teeth and shaves.
The hot shower is welcome and blocks out all other noises, what few there are this time of day anyway. It is possible that he indulges a bit and spends longer under the hot water than he might otherwise, but it lets him make sure all the sand and dirt of the desert are gone. When he does finally turn the water off, John frowns a bit to hear two voices from outside, Sherlock's baritone easy to pick out, but while he can tell the other is male, he doesn't recognize it. Which only really means that it's not Mycroft. Could be anyone else, for all John knows.
Trying not to strain to hear what the voices are discussing, the blonde dresses and dries his hair a bit, gathering his supplies before stepping out of the bathroom, a chill instantly going down his spine at the change in temperature.
"John. Good morning." Sherlock says a he looks up from a file folder he's holding, cutting off the previous conversation as he narrows his eyes at the doctor, taking in the jeans and snug t-shirt with his ID tags resting visibly outside his shirt. "Good to see you slept well after your questionable dreams last night, but you may want to rethink your wardrobe, it's rather a bit colder here than you are used to. We'll be leaving as soon as I'm done here." He says with a casual dismissiveness he uses with most everyone, but there is an underlying note of concern for the older man.
The other man standing there in a suit with a loosened tie and a trench coat over it all, has brown hair heading toward gray, and lines of strain on his face. A face that is currently displaying complete shock as he looks at the soldier. After a moment though his expression morphs again and he grins a little, "We'll be here forever waiting for Sherlock to introduce us. I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard." He says before offering his hand to the other man.
Realization dawns for John as well, and he smiles before he nods, putting his clothes on the back of the couch before he grasps Lestrade's hand firmly and nods. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Detective Inspector. I've heard a lot about you. I'm Captain John Watson. Thank you, for giving Sherlock the opportunity to work with you, I'm sure he's been helpful in his own way." He says with another grin and a glance over at Sherlock who seems to be immersed in the file that Lestrade brought.
"An army Captain, eh? Well, it's nice to meet you. Afraid Sherlock hasn't said a word about you, though. Oiy, you could have told us you had a bloke stopping by, wouldn't have bothered you, then." Lestrade says with another grin as he looks between the two.
Sighing in exasperation, Sherlock looks up from the folder. "We are work colleagues, you need me to solve cases your idiot team can't have a hope of solving. Why would I tell you if I had a friend staying here while he is on leave? Further, I can see your mind has made some erroneous assumptions about John and I. I would suggest you not jump to conclusions. Now, if you don't mind, we will be at the crime scene in two hours." He says before he gets up and motions toward the door.
Even though he is confused and has more questions, Lestrade knows that there is a time to argue with Sherlock Holmes, and a time to back out gracefully. He will leave for now, knowing that he will see Sherlock in a few hours, and that he'll be able to interrogate the detective then. So he nods a little to the detective. "Two hours." He confirms with a nod of his head before he nods to John. "Nice to meet you, Captain." He repeats before he turns and heads out with a rather bemused expression on his face.
Looking to be a mix between curious and amused, John gathers up his items again, "So, we're going to a crime scene, then?" He calls as he places his items on his bed, and comes back out pulling on an oatmeal colored jumper, sitting down in the red, high backed chair to out socks and his boots on.
Pacing a little in an old t-shirt and pajama pants, feet bare, Sherlock looks over at the older man and nods. "Yes. You wanted to know about my deduction techniques and what I help the police with. You are no stranger to death and your medical expertise may come in handy. Anderson won't work with me. He is the so-called forensics 'expert', though how he got that post I am unsure of, the man is an utter moron who cannot see anything beyond what a five year old could see." He says in an increasingly frustrated voice, running both hands through his hair and grasping at it for a moment.
Watching his pen pal, his friend, as he paces across the floor, John finally gets up to intercept him, gently grasping his arms to look up at him. "Right. Go get a shower, and dressed, we'll grab a bite to eat and you can fill me in on this crime scene, alright?" He offers in a calm, gentle tone, as if he's talking to a skittish animal, which he considers to be not too far from the truth.
Looking into the dark, calm blue eyes of his companion, Sherlock nods slowly as he relaxes. "Of course, that is an excellent plan, John." He says a he straightens his robe and then walks toward the bathroom. "Oh, I wouldn't look in the fridge if I were you, I have some experiments in there." He warns before disappearing into the bathroom.
"Nutter." John mutters to himself, amused for the most part, he does go to make himself some tea, hesitating, he decides to just drink it black rather than risk going into the fridge for milk. Stepping into the living room area, the doctor examines some of the papers without touching them, seeing cold case files mixed with sheet music and pages of notes that are in Sherlock's handwriting. Near the desk by the window is a music stand and violin case, the desk next to that containing a laptop. And John smirks as he sees his letters neatly piled into a wooden box without a lid, their tops all having been carefully cut open with a knife or letter opener.
As the bathroom door starts to open again, John quickly moves away, not wanting to be caught snooping, managing to make it look like he's just wandering around the room sipping his tea. At least that's what he thinks he manages.
When Sherlock comes out of the bathroom it is in typical Sherlock fashion, only covered by a towel around his waist, a smaller towel draped around his shoulders which he is using to rub his hair dry a bit. Mercurial blue eyes scan the room for a moment before they rest on John. "I see you took my advice about the fridge. And you're making yourself at home. Good." He says calmly before he walks into his bedroom and shuts the door.
It's not as if John has never seen another man in his skivvies, but for some reason, watching the slender but muscular form of Sherlock Holmes strut – yes, that is the word he chooses for the way Sherlock moved – from the bathroom to his room, is a little different than any other bloke John has seen. For a moment, he hesitates and shakes his head, glancing accusingly down at the tea before he dumps the rest of it in the sink. Right now he's not really sure what to think, getting brief feelings and fragments from the dream he had the night before. Rather than analyze them too closely, he goes over and grabs his jacket, makes sure he has his wallet and military ID, before he looks out the big wall of windows at the skyline.
"Ready to go, John?" Sherlock asks as he comes out of his bedroom wearing a black suit with a dark plum colored shirt, the first few buttons undone, and shiny black shoes. He walks over confidently, picking up his Belstaff before he turns to look at the doctor as he slips into his jacket and loops his scarf around his neck.
Turning from the window and looking over at Sherlock, John takes a moment to admire the way he moves and how he looks in that suit. "Yep. I'm starving, hope you know a good place for breakfast." He says as he puts on his jacket that he was holding, he heads for the door, patting his pockets to make sure he has his wallet, even though he just put it in there a few moments ago, though he doesn't have a phone so he doesn't have to worry about that at least.
"Come, John. The game is on!" Sherlock says excitedly as he waits for John at the door, finally dashing out and down the stairs, leaving John to follow behind, already having a cab waiting when he gets there so they can continue on to get themselves breakfast.
Their first case together, squee! But of course, things are never so easy. Still, I am going to introduce the major players soon. Donovan, Anderson, maybe even Molly if you're lucky. ;) And John is going to get a first hand look at what he'd only heard about, not only deductions but what he does for a living! I can't wait to start writing this, it will be so hard to go back to letters when John goes back to Afghanistan! I hope you all enjoy this. :)
Reviews/Comments welcome!