Hello my lovelies. Sorry this took a while to update, been very busy. Went to an Arcade Fire concert on Wednesday which was amazing. If you saw a very lost, cold looking girl wondering about the capital it was probably me :P
Thank you again for your lovely comments and reviews. I don't deserve you all, novelty shaped, gelatine based sweets for the lot of you. Hope the chapters don't disappoint. xxxxxx
They caught a taxi to Hackney where the body had been found. John's mind was racing, he was trying to come to terms with what had happened. To put it in some sort of logical order. It was all so quick. One minute they were watching a DVD, the next they were dancing around like idiots, then...
Sherlock had been acting so weirdly lately maybe his strange behaviour had rubbed off on him. Why did he try to kiss him? This was Sherlock for crying out loud. His mad, genius, mental flatmate. Everyone assumed he was gay, maybe it was the clothes, or the voice, but John wondered if Sherlock even had a sexuality.
As for John well, he was always so sure he was straight, yet there he was, lying on the floor about to snog Sherlock, a man. Yet. He had always wondered, about that side of himself, that side that wondered what it was like to be with a man. He put it down to simply being a curious youth, and after Harry came out he felt pressured by his parents to be the straight one.
It was a curious moment, dancing with Sherlock around the flat, laughing hard, their bodies pressed together. For a few moments he forgot everything, forgot the war, and the pain in his shoulder, he even forgot himself. He had never felt like that before. It was like being drunk. That feeling pumping round his body, a feeling that he could take on the entire world. When they fell over, and he was staring into his flatmates grey eyes, he had never felt anything like it. In that split second he wanted Sherlock. Wanted to taste him, to feel him on him. He had never wanted anything more. Thank god Lestrade had rung just at that very moment or god knows what they would be doing right now. If his body had its way he would be fucking Sherlock senseless right now. Instead they were on their way to a crime scene.
He hoped it would be forgotten about. However seeing as it was Sherlock, his every move and motive would be dissected. All he could hope for was that this case would keep him interested for long enough. Investigating a dead body or discussing why they almost kissed, John knew which one Sherlock would want to spend his energy on. Or at least, he hoped he did.
'According to the neighbour downstairs her name is Catalina Lopez. She's over here illegally. Doing odd jobs as a cleaner. She was found strangled by her friend when she didn't turn up for work. No sign of a break in. That's about all we know' Lestrade informed them.
'She looks familiar' John asked as Sherlock looked around the bedsit. It was tiny and smelt of damp. There was very little furniture, only a bed and a small kitchen.
'Not surprised, remember the cleaner we interviewed when we found Miss Coyle. It's her'
John raised his eyebrows. 'Maybe she remembered something, was killed to keep her quiet'
'It's very likely. Probably in the wrong place at the wrong time. Look, I'm going to be honest here, we have nothing on the Coyle case, no leads or anything, the papers are already running stories about our incompetence. If you have any ideas. Anything, I need them' Lestrade threw his hands up in the air.
Sherlock looked around the flat, he came back to where John and Lestrade were standing. 'Lived alone, only one toothbrush. Came over here illegally, think it's her ticket to a new life and ends up living in Hackney working for below the minimum wage. Tragic really, John's right she obviously knew something.'
Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a quick text.
'Sorry must dash. John I'll meet you back at the flat'
Sherlock stayed out all day, god knows where he was, but John had gotten used to this. So he spent the rest of the day watching crap telly. Mrs Hudson invited him for a cuppa which turned in to three. He couldn't refuse, he had to stay in her good books or else the unpaid rent would cause problems. Besides, John enjoyed hearing the latest gossip. He was doing the crossword when she handed him a slice of fruit cake.
'Besotted'
'Sorry?'
'Eight down. Strong infatuation, eight letters, answer is besotted. Eat your cake up dear'
John scribbled the word in and continued to chew the lid of his pen.
'Speaking of besotted'
John slammed his pen down with a little more force then he intended. 'How many times do I have to explain, Sherlock and I are flatmates nothing else, our relationship is purely platonic.'
'I actually meant Mrs Turner. Been caught having an affair, awful business. But now you mention you and Sherlock. You should see the way he looks at you. And he needs someone like you in his life'
'Honestly, I am not gay, I like girls, and I certainly do not want a relationship with him. Besides even if I was gay, which I am not, Sherlock is not good boyfriend material.'
'Oh come on give him a chance.'
John left soon after, the way Mrs Hudson was going on, she probably had the wedding china picked out, the honeymoon booked and a list of possible kids names. And yet. God he couldn't believe he was thinking this. But the more he tried to convince others he had no feelings for Sherlock, the less believable he sounded. Everyone seemed to think they were made for each other. Maybe an ex army doctor and the world's only consulting detective were a good match? Did he have a crush on Sherlock? This could not be good.
John made tea, enough for two just in case it was one of those very rare occurrences when Sherlock decided to eat something. He ate the risotto in front of the TV. He thought of waiting for Sherlock to get home, but it was gone midnight so he gave up and went to bed.