Sorry this update is so short!
"John!" The doctor leapt up from his bed, running on pure instincts. He stumbled down the hall to Sherlock's room, shoving the door open.
"Sherlock?" John mumbled, dragging a hand over his eyes in exhausted frustration. "There better be a damn good reason why you've woken me up at this ungodly hour."
"All my reasons are good, John, do keep up. I need your assistance." Sherlock's voice was mumbled and John cracked his eyes open. He almost wished he hadn't.
"Sherlock, I invited you to stay with me, in my own house. Please do me the courtesy of explaining why there is a corpse in that bed and you're covered in blood."
"I was observing the blood spatter that occurs when the throat and stomach are slit."
"That's a week-old cadaver."
"Really? How observant you are, John," Sherlock mumbled sarcastically.
"Get rid of it, Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson is not your housekeeper."
"Why not? She's yours."
"Yes, but at least I try and make her life a little easier. I don't leave severed heads on the table or pin fingers to the front door."
"Everything I do has a purpose, John. You know that."
"Sherlock…" John sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "At least promise me this will be gone by morning, by your own hands. If Mrs. Hudson has to clean this up, I'll be very upset with you."
Sherlock's eyes widened briefly, but then slipped back into the cold mask of indifference. John couldn't be sure, but it had almost looked like the thought of John's anger had...frightened the detective. "Yes, sir."
"I mean it, Sherlock. I don't want to be angry with you, but I won't have you taking advantage of Mrs. Hudson, after she's been so kind to you."
"She gives me food and drink that I do not need. It's a waste."
"It's a kindness, Sherlock! If we didn't make sure you were fed, you'd probably end up dead!" John shook his head. "Why exactly did you need to know about blood spatter?"
"There were faint traces of blood on the victim's bodies. Based on the projection, the blow would have come from the victim's left side and been dragged across. in all likelihood, the victim would spin from the force, landing on their knees. Did you not notice the pre-mortem bruising? A blade could have easily been used for the stomach wounds, but not the throat. I've tried every blade I have and I cannot seem to recreate it."
"You do not have claws or fangs, Sherlock."
"Don't you start with that," Sherlock mumbled, his voice like thunder. He glared at John as he paced like a caged animal, taking precisely 2 seconds to get from one side of the room to the other. "There is no Hound, John. There never was."
"I don't know how things are done in London, Sherlock, but I can't agree with you, not completely. I've seen things, things I doubt even you could explain. And this thing has always been a part of our lives. Children learn about it from the moment they can walk and those children go on to teach their own children to beware. You are questioning this town's very identity, Sherlock. This is Baskerville, and it has always had the Hound."
"Aren't you a little old to still be believing in fairy tales, John?"
"Aren't you a little too young to be so condescending?"
"Touché," Sherlock chuckled, throwing the knife in his hand to become deeply embedded in the opposite wall. "The full moon is tomorrow night, John. I need to find where this thing stays, hopefully catch him before he kills someone else."
John gave Sherlock a look, shaking his head again. "You want there to be another body, Sherlock. You're an awful liar."
"Very good, John. Pretty soon you'll be almost good."
"Clean this up and then go to sleep, Sherlock. No violin, no yelling, no slicing up cadavers. I want you to sleep."
"Yes, sir." John shivered at the smooth tone and the way those silvery gray eyes looked at him. Once he closed the door, he couldn't help but wonder if those eyes could even glow in the shadowy darkness of the room.
"He's taking too long." Sherlock paced back and forth, his hands steepled under his chin.
John had long since given up following the taller man with his eyes, instead choosing to look over medical reports from the past victims. "Who is?"
"The murderer! The moon has been up for 4 hours, 6 minutes and 35 seconds, and no sign of a corpse!"
"You're a very morbid individual, Sherlock. Everyone here would be grateful if this night went without a casualty. I...we have had enough of loved ones being taken away. So you'll have to excuse me if I don't hate in your desire for death."
Sherlock huffed, flopping to his knees and lying face down on the floor. "How can you be so calm about this? I watched everyone scatter like ants to prepare and you...you made tea!"
"I know my father is safe and Mrs. Hudson has been given a room for the night. What else is there for me to worry about? The Hound killed my sister. He can have me for all I care." John chuckled, dropping his papers on the table next to his chair. "Not like anyone would really miss me. They'd miss the heir, the tenant, the doctor, but not me."
Sherlock gave John a strange look. "But...I..."
"Are you trying to tell me that you'd miss me?"
"Of course not." Sherlock frowned, looking away like a pouting child. "I prefer being alone. Alone protects me."
"Friends protect people, Sherlock. I think we're friends, so I'll just have to make sure to live. Who else would bother to make sure you don't kill yourself."
"If you must," Sherlock sighed, but propped his head up on his hand with a contented smile.
"You like me, you sod. I'm the only one who can stand you."
"Thank you, Dr. Watson for putting up with the local freak."
"You know that's not what I mean. I put up with the only consulting detective in the world." John smiled down at Sherlock, nudging the man's head with his foot. "A brilliant, amazing, incredibly irritating genius."
"You're acting like a wife, John. People might talk."
"Do they do anything else?" Sherlock moved so that he could lay his head on John's lap. "Why would you want to be my friend?"
"Because you're like me. Unique, regarded as a bit of an oddity."
"How are you odd? You seem so normal."
"I went to medical school, I fought in wars and became a captain even though I was only the ship's doctor. I can read and write and in a town where most forsake education for their fields. I now spend time helping you solve this crime. I clean up after you, I feed you. Hell, I've even had to wash you on occasion! I'm a single man, one and thirty with no marriage prospects. I'm odd, Sherlock, no doubt about it."
"Then we're the perfect pair." Sherlock closed his eyes, nudging against John's hands. John took the hint, moving his hand to run his fingers through the dark hair. Sherlock sighed, feeling his body grow weak. "John...my transport..."
"Go to sleep, Sherlock. I think you deserve a few hours."
"I don't...need..." Under John's hands, the doctor felt Sherlock go still, his muscles relaxing and the chest moving with slow, steady breaths. John leaned back with a fond smile, his fingers never stopping.
"I love you, you hopeless sociopath. I love you, Sherlock. I love you, I love you, I love you."
Oh my goodness, I have been so stressed and busy with university, so I'm taking my Thanksgiving break and using it to get some R&R before finals. Of course, R&R includes writing!
Please, just click that little review button down there and tell me what you think so far. Like it, hate it, think I should change some things? Go ahead, just click that button and let me know! Reviews inspire me to keep updating :)