John hurried through the rest of his dinner, his appetite diminished but the knowledge of how many calories that he needed fueling him to eat. Even Sherlock plucked up a few chips. More than his usual diet allowed. Sherlock paid the bill with a light tip, before he and john stepped into the darkened streets of London. Obviously they had been in the café for longer than they thought.
"What now? Without Morgan there really isn't much we can do." The detective shrugged.
"Want to see if we can beat Lestrade at finding him?" The doctor grinned mischievously.
"Considering that he's got Anderson? Do you really think it's fair?" Sherlock laughed.
"The disadvantage is having you against him. Now come on." They hopped into a cab and drove to where Sherlock thought that Morgan might be. The cyber café was crowded, yet nearly completely silent, save for the whirring of computers and the occasional clinking of glasses on tables. Sherlock spotted a figure hidden in the dimly lit corner of the room, and walked carefully to him. The man was completely still, except for his eyes, which seemed to be moving at thousands of miles a minute. A nod to John confirmed that this was Anthony Morgan, and yes, we should probably catch him. Sherlock sat in the chair adjacent from the man, still completely unnoticed, while John snuck up behind him. After a moment's pause, The detective slammed the laptop lid shut. And the startled man looked up at him in horror. He made a move to run, but John's hand wrapped around his shoulder, firmly holding him in place.
"Anthony Morgan?" The man's eyes flicked around the room quickly, searching for a quick exit. John'es hand squeezed firmly at his flesh.
"Yes, yes, alright. It's me. How did you find me? No, don't answer that. Dorothy. Damn. I should have figured that she was too weak a mind. Cracked so easily. Oh well.´He mumbled on for a bit longer, while John quickly phoned Lestrade.
"We've got him."
"You've got to be kidding me . We've been looking for hours." John winced. Dinner really had been a bit long.
"We've been looking for about ten minutes. Look he's at the cyber café on fifth. Sherlock and I will hold him until you get here."
"Alright. Thanks. Oh, can I have my-" John ended the call, his hands firmly securing the man. The doctor marveled as Sherlock's inquisitive gaze slowly tore the criminal apart. He saw the detective catalogue and question, deducing ever scrap of information in a matter of moments.
Sherlock could feel John's gaze on him. He always could. It was part of the reason that he made such a show about his deductions. When he had finished his examination of Anthony Morgan, he looked up and smirked at the doctor.
"Lestrade is on his way, shall we take our guest outside, or wait in here." John glanced down at the man, and then around at the café. No one had register their presence at all. They were all still completely engulfed in their own worlds. The doctor found the whole scene unnerving.
"Let's go outside. Lestrade should be here in a matter of moments." Sherlock nodded, glancing around the room. He noted that three of the café patrons were reading John's blog, completely ignorant to the fact that yet another story was unfolding literally right beside them. Sherlock nodded, and stood, James' computer in his arms. The man stood as well, towering over John. The doctor simply gripped his arms firmly, trying not to lose his previously intimidating demeanor. .
Three men walked outside. John securing Anthony and Sherlock taking pont. As soon as the door closed behind them, the previously stoic criminal sprung to life. He elbowed John savagely in the ribs, before kicking in the back of his knee, sending the doctor crumpling to the ground. Anthony ran swiftly down the street, while Sherlock bent to help John up.
"Go!" The doctor shouted, point to the rapidly fading figure bolting away. Sherlock glanced worriedly at the doctor, who was desperately trying to regain his balance. After a few hobbled seconds, he seemed well enough to continue, but the criminal was already out of sight.
"Why didn't you go after him?" John huffed, irritated. He hated losing a perp.
"Because you were down, and that would have required leaving you here, injured." The detective stated this with his usual matter of fact it-should-be-obvious tone, and John balked. Did Sherlock really care about him? One glance at the hurt and concern in the detective's eyes and he knew the truth. He took a deep breath, before grabbing the detective's shoulder.
"Is there any way that we can catch up with him, or figure out where he's going?" Sherlock smirked, grabbing John's hand once more and sprinting off through the corridors of alleyways. He followed his mental map of London, allowing for a head start and possible attempts at changing paths. John simply ran along, trusting the detective to get them where they needed to be. After nearly ten minutes of running, they saw their suspect walking casually down the street. Sherlock slowed their pace, texting Anderson his instructions for Lestrade, before bolting at Anthony.
The man heard the footsteps charging at him, and looked back in shock. He bolted again, this time a bit more frantic than the last. John and Sherlock followed in pursuit. They were both mildly surprised when he leapt up a fire escape climbing swiftly to the rooftops. Sherlock followed seamlessly, his long legs letting him reach the ladder with ease. John shook his head, taking a flying leap and barely gripping the bottom rung in the process. He scrambled up to find Sherlock bent down to pull him the rest of the way.
The doctor smiled, taking the proffered hand and holding it as they sprinted across the rooftops after the criminal. His lead was rapidly decreasing as the two men picked up speed. In a last ditch effort of escape, the man leapt across a particularly wide rooftop, his ankle cracking sickeningly as it collided with the edge of the roof. Sherlock jumped the gap without hesitation, tackling the injured man on the other side.
John stood on the adjacent rooftop, watching as the shadowy figures grappled with each other. He heard the sharp crack of a fist against skin, and then Sherlock's grunt. All apprehension about leaping the distance was gone. He backed up a few paces, took a rung start and lunged across the gap. He rolled up on the other side, only to come face to face with Sherlock, a limp body at his feet.
"You alright?" John huffed, pulling himself to a stand. Sherlock nodded, his eyes evaluating the doctor openly
"Yea." They stood their for a moment, simply staring at each other and panting for breath. Suddenly, something snapped. Before they knew what was happening, they had stepped forward, lips colliding. Both men could feel the electricity coursing through them, filling their senses and setting their bodies alight. Sherlock pressed into the kiss, following his instincts. John responded in kind. His lounge flicking out at Sherlock's bottom lip, gaining him entrance to his mouth. The ball was entirely in John's field, and he held nothing back, his tongue ravished Sherlock's mouth, exploring every available inch.
Sherlock balled his hands in John's jumper, while John's hands tangled in the detectives hair, pulling him down to his level. The sound of approaching sirens pulled them apart.
John was panting, his face flushed and his body humming from the kiss. Kiss. He had finally kissed Sherlock. Or had Sherlock kissed him? He gazed at the detective, taking in the near-black eyes, the rumpled hair, the panted kiss-stained lips. His shirt was rumpled looking, and, it can't be. John observed the slight bulge in his flat mate's trousers with utter shock. Sherlock was aroused, by him! Just by snogging him.
Sherlock watched John watch him. He could see the obvious attraction of the man before him, but was more than a little surprised by the intensity of his own. He glanced down sheepishly, aware that John had become aware of just how attracted he was,
"Sherlock." John intoned, suddenly afraid. What was going on? He had just snogged Sherlock! On a case! Case. His eyes fell to the body on the ground.
"Is he dead?" Sherlock focused back on the scene at hand. He had forgotten about the case!
"I don't think so. I'm pretty sure I just knocked him unconscious." At that moment the detective's phone started to ring.
"We are on the roof. Morgan is unconscious. And injured." He handed the phone to John, who knelt beside the man and quickly examined him.
"Broken ankle, his fault. Cracked jaw. Also his fault, as Sherlock was provoked." There was a huff across the line.
"Alright. We're on our way up now." John looked up at Sherlock, his eyes resting on the bulge in the detectives trousers once more. He hung up the phone, looking around quickly.
"Sherlock! Y-you need to cover up." Sherlock looked down again, and blushed. His usual grave was gone as he fumbled with fastening his coat.
Suddenly there was the sound of splintering wood, and Lestrade came barging forward, Donovan and two other officers right behind him.
"Bloody hell you killed our suspect!" Donovan screeched upon seeing the man on the ground.
"He isn't dead." Sherlock stated flatly. As if on cue the man groaned, his head lolling around.
"See? Clearly not dead. Now if you"ll excuse me." The detective made his way to the door, when Lestrade gripped his arm.
"Hold on moment. Just what did this guy do? What's going on? Why are you in such a hurry to leave." Sherlock glanced at John. And then turned his attention back to Lestrade. He huffed, launching into a torrent of words,
"Anthony Morgan is your murderer. He programed software that controls a person's decisions and influence their actions through subliminal codes. You'll find that all of your victims died of a brain aneurism. He created a code that overrides a person's self-preservation instinct. All of the evidence you need is on his laptop." Lestrade held out his hand. Clearly instructing the detective t hand it over. He swallowed, It was tucking in the inside pocket of his coat, John caught on to the predicament and went scarlet with embarrassment for his friend.
" Hand it over Sherlock." The detective sighed, glancing that Donovan and the other officers were busying themselves with Morgan. He quickly unfastened his coat and wrestled the laptop out of the pocket. Lestrade's eyes nearly instantly found the issue at hand and he glanced away quickly. His cheeks red.
"Err, Sherlock. You. Um, you have an issue there." Sherlock rolled his eyes, chucking the laptop ant the DI and quickly fastening his coat.
"Yes, I do. If it isn't too much trouble, I'd like to go home now so that John can take care of it." Both men looked at the detective as if he had gone mad. John feeling himself react to the comment, and Lestrade simply groaning internally.
"Go. Just go." Lestrade huffed, exasperated. He pointed at the door, and Sherlock strode out purposefully. John glanced back.
"Oh, and here." He chucked the phone at the DI, before following Sherlock off the roof.
Donovan walked over to the DI a few moments later.
"Why did freak want to leave in such a hurry?" Lestrade worked his mouth for a bit, trying to find the words.
"He was, err, injured fighting with Morgan. Got hurt." Donovan looked unconvinced, but they way the DI was glaring brooked no arguments.