A/N: Hello, people!
I don't own Sherlock. Quotes from the show aren't mine.
I have no beta.
ENJOY!
John Hamish Watson stood in front of his flatmate - two months already - with an embarrassed look on his face. Never before in his life had he ever felt so, exposed and ridiculous. But the circumstances that lead him to standing in the middle of their flat without grocery bags hanging off his arms like they were supposed to be, was simply pathetic.
Sherlock glanced over the top of his book to cock a brow in his direction.
"You took your time."
John's flush became a morbid shade of puce. He wrinkled his nose and looked down at the floor, wishing that the bloody thing would just swallow him up.
"Yeah," he began slowly, wondering how he could word the next few sentences without sounding like imbecile. There was no other way that he could come up with. "I didn't get the shopping."
"What?" Sherlock asked, lowering his book a little to give himself a better view of the flustered doctor. "Why not?"
Summoning up the courage he didn't feel he had, John answered, "Because I had a row...in the shop...with the chip and pin machine!"
A smile broke out across Sherlock's lips and he asked in a very disbelieving tone, "You…..you had a row with a machine?"
John sighed and looked away from those eyes that were laughing at him. Yes, inside, Sherlock was laughing his fine arse off. It really wasn't funny.
"Sort of," he answered. "It sat there and I shouted abuse at it."
He sighed again, "Anyway, have you got cash?"
Sherlock stared for another minute, causing John to groan.
"Stop laughing at me! I know you don't want to risk your appearance as a man unaffected by emotions and all but even I can tell that you are dying of laughter on the inside and I do not appreciate you poking fun and my problem! Those machines are just horrid!"
Sherlock did not rise to his words but a question of how John knew what he was thinking, flitted through his mind.
"Never mind that, take my card."
With a huff, the doctor moved to do so, hoping that there would be no complications this time around.
There weren't.
Still, an unneeded trip all because the damn machine couldn't do what it was created for!
As he placed the groceries in the available spaces in the fridge and cupboards, he hummed a little tune to himself, remembering the last time he'd sung in front of people. Small celebration on his birthday about four years prior. Some of the men had pitched in for him and they had a small karaoke gathering, demonstrating songs from their homes and reminiscing about their childhoods. Good times.
He finished putting everything away and moved into the living area, when he noticed something.
"Is that my laptop?"
"Yes."
Sherlock was using his laptop, but for what exactly?
"Why?"
"Mine was in the bedroom."
John huffed, "Are you sure you aren't the one who's selectively participant in certain things?"
Sherlock sent him a mildly offended look. "Do not compare me to Mycroft, ever. He is just...ugh."
"How did you find out the pass code?"
"It's not exactly Fort Knox you know. It was easy to crack."
John sighed in frustration, "Just don't break it, please?"
"Nonsense, I am not violent."
"You shot the wall out of pure boredom!"
"I was bored, however at the moment, I am not."
"Cause that just explains everything."
"It does."
"Whatever."
John moved over to the coffee table to pick up the rent for the month. "I'm going to go and give Mrs. Hudson the rent ahead of time."
"Hm."
The old woman thanked him for being so punctual and head of schedule. She offered him some tea and biscuits and the spoke about Sherlock mostly and how he needed to eat more and sleep better. The man was like a robot and ignored the basic needs in his life. John promised to get him to eat more, though it would take time.
He returned to their flat half an hour later to see Sherlock in his, 'thinking pose'. Hand held in front of his mouth as he stared at the wall.
"You need to eat something."
"Dull."
"Eating pertains to your health."
"Dull."
"Fine. No eating means no nutrition. No nutrition means the body will lack the proper energy to function. No energy means no moving. Having none of the above means deteriorating health which will negatively affect a thin man such as yourself, cutting the usually possible 40 days without food, down to 20 - that is - if you bother to keep yourself hydrated. No water immediately cuts that 20 in half. Weakness and severe weight loss will eventually set in and hinder the body of certain a consulting detective, causing loss of complete motor functions, meaning no keeping his eyes open. The brain will cease proper function not too long after. Eventually it all leads to painful death. But it's not my business on whether or not you wish to be able to even go on cases, that's your decision."
Sherlock's ever tapping fingers paused on the keys and he looked over to John, whose arms were crossed and he was resting a hip against the kitchen table.
"My size really matters?"
"Seventy-two inches tall and you weigh 11.5 Stone, Sherlock. You're thin enough as it is. Your time will decrease drastically. How can you not know this?"
"I think I deleted it. Truly I hadn't expected the repercussions to be so negative. However I still don't like wasting my time."
John sighed, "Sherlock, it isn't a waste of time. If you can sit still for three days without actually thinking about anything, you can spare five minutes to eat. It isn't difficult. You can even eat on the go. This is about keeping you healthy and alive. If you want to be a consulting detective, you need to be alive to do so. What use are you if you're dead?"
"Why do you care?"
"You're my flatmate, you're my main source of entertainment, you're interesting to be around, I consider you a friend and I can't very well let someone as amazing as you die over something as stupid as malnutrition."
Sherlock looked at the computer screen for a moment, before glancing back up and looked slightly uncomfortable as he asked, "Do you know you use the word a lot when referring to me?"
"You are amazing. Nothing will change that."
The consulting detective flushed and looked away. "I'll eat," he mumbled.
John's grin could have split his face. "Thank you!"
Sherlock got a 'special case' offer from an old 'friend'. Though since Sherlock was the way he was, it probably someone he met that considered him a friend but the feelings weren't returned. Sherlock didn't understand sentiment.
John of course, followed him.
Sherlock entered the revolving door with finesse and John would swear that he nearly got stuck inside it. Like it moved fine for Sherlock but hated John and decided to fuck with him.
The man who asked for Sherlock's assistance - Sebastian - seemed shocked when Sherlock introduced John as his friend. John rolled his eyes inwardly, knowing that Sherlock did not feel that way about him as of yet, though he distantly felt admiration for John. Sentiment was too confusing for the man as of yet.
John was positive that Sebastian was thinking the wrong thing about their relationship. Especially when he murmured the word 'cute' under his breath. Why did everyone assume that Sherlock and John were a couple? Did they give off some kind of picture or vibe or something?
John could feel the tension between the men. He was correct. Sherlock did not actually view the man as a friend let alone an acquaintance. The man simply began to regale to John the stories of when they were in University and how Sherlock seemed to know everything about a person's night just by a glance at them. John did not appreciate when Sherlock was referred to as a 'weirdo' and a 'freak', though he never had a chance to react, because Sebastian plowed on.
Sherlock answered a couple questions and gave a simple - yet extremely fake - smile to the man, who laughed without humor and told them about how glad he was that they were there.
"We've had a break in. Sir William's office, the bank's former chairman. His things have been left there, like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."
John queried about what they stole and the man answered with a simple, 'nothing'.
"However they did leave a message."
They entered the room and John's eyes immediately landed on the portrait above the desk. An obese man with a mustache but his face was marred by a large strip of yellow - parallel to the floor - going across his eyes in a straight line. To the left of the portrait was another yellow symbol, but this one resembled a figure eight, almost. It had a line above it.
He stared long and hard, because something in his mind, told him he'd seen them before. Something that happened long ago.
"John?" Sherlock intoned softly. Questioningly.
"They're numbers," he stated firmly, head tilted.
"What?" Sebastian asked.
"It isn't exactly a message, they're just numbers. The one on the portrait is the number 'one' and that is number 'fifteen'."
Both men gave each other a look, before looking at him to explain.
John sighed.
"I'm thirty-three, born in the late seventies. It was in the early nineties that this style of Chinese numerals went out of date. I was six and attending an academy that was being funded heavily by an old and wealthy Chinese gentleman. He was in his late eighties and his granddaughter attended the school and was in my class. Her parents were murdered, I found out later, which answered why she lived with him. Anyway, the school constantly put Chinese culture into our classes because they wanted to keep the man happy, so he'd donate frequently. Because of his age, he was pretty set in older times and preferred to use an older style of numerals instead of the newer, preferred versions. The school taught small classes on Suzhou numerals and right before us, are two different numbers. I don't understand the significance of the numbers, but...yeah."
Sherlock frowned and pulled out his phone. He snapped a few pictures and mumbled a 'for later'.
Sebastian got over his confusion and lead them back to his office where he showed the footage of the room from the night previous. In the course of one minute, the marking appeared suddenly but no sign of a break in. The doors of the building were keyed into the main desk and every time one opened, a note was made. There were records but the door wasn't opened so how did the person get in?
Sebastian was offering figures for Sherlock to find the hole in their security. Sherlock gave John a look and John sighed and proceeded to work out the exact price with the man.
"I'm the assistant/colleague/flatmate and anything else he could possibly come up with."
Sherlock proceeded to do an odd version of duck and weave through the office, garnering the attention of most of the workers who were shooting him odd looks. He kept moving further away from the desecrated room until he backed his way into an office. He came out a moment later and everything was set in order.
Once they were cleared of the building, Sherlock explained that the message was for a traitor in the office to find at midnight, which was only a couple of minutes after the message was put up. An Edward Van Coon, who was the Hong Kong Desk Head. Strange, considering his position and the fact that the symbols were an old Chinese numeral system, outdated for nearly twenty years. Sherlock found this to be particularly interesting and vowed to look up Suzhou later on.
Sherlock had John consult the online phone book to find the man's address.
"Why couldn't you do it?"
"Who is the assistant in this relationship?"
"Hm."
John found it quickly on the cab ride over, luckily they had been riding in the right direction. Sherlock had totally swindled a woman who had just moved in, to buzz them into the building when the man they were looking for, wasn't home. John rolled his eyes at how easy it was for him to act. She even let him use her balcony!
John obviously used the sensible way and just rode the elevator up to the required floor and waited in front of the door, for Sherlock to do his magic.
There were no sounds coming from the flat.
A few moments later, John was finally let into the apartment and he saw what had taken Sherlock's time. Edward Van Coon was dead on his bed, gun lying beside his body.
Sherlock looked to John expectantly, even as the sound of sirens lit up the outside of the apartment complex.
"Fine," John sighed. "He's been gone for a few days, judging from the bag and how many pairs of clothing are inside. He only recently returned, seeing as the body is relatively cold and clothes were unchanged, he didn't even get his shoes off, so last night definitely. Why was he meant to see the message though? Why couldn't they text or email? Unless…. Judging from the suitcase, something else was in there and now it's not. Maybe he was being threatened because he had something of value."
Sherlock was smiling at him even as he bent over the body to identify an strange occurrences.
"Well done, John."
Before either could say any more, their discussion was interrupted by Dimmock. DI Dimmock who would be handling the current case and who stated very clearly that he didn't need Sherlock's assistance. Sherlock handed him the evidence bag he'd been using and smiled. It was fake.
Dimmock said to one of the men in blue, "We're looking at a suicide."
John frowned and couldn't help himself from saying, "You didn't even bother to look at anything. Not even the body. How could you just assume what happened, when you were barely in the room for ten seconds?"
Before the man could respond, he was continuing. "Surely you aren't that lazy. Can't bother to at least look? Gregory at least tries to take in the situation fully before coming to a warped conclusion. Then again, you're just a child compared to him, so I'm not so surprised."
Dimmock finally seemed to grow some bullocks then and stood up straighter, though his height didn't give him much on John. He was short too. "Just who the bloody hell are you?"
"Brigadier General John H. Watson, formerly of the Royal Army Medical Corps and when I was lower in rank, former Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, at your service, temporary Detective Inspector Dimmock."
John had taken off his glasses in order to make unwanted eye contact with the man who was ten years his junior. Dimmock paled upon revelation of John's former status.
"How could it not be a suicide…..sir?"
John looked to Sherlock in expectancy. The dark-haired man, who had been watching silently as John pulled rank, brightened and began to explain why it wasn't as Dimmock assumed.
"Van Coon is left-handed, proven by everything in the flat being turned toward the left. It would take quite a bit of contortion to shoot himself in such a way. Unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself on the right side of the head, conclusion being that someone broke in here and murdered him which is the only explanation of all the facts."
"But the gun-"
"He was waiting for them, because he'd been threatened."
Sherlock began to put his coat on and Dimmock asked, "When?"
"Today at the bank," John supplied with a shrug.
"He fired the shot, it missed, and it went out the open window."
"How did the killer get in if the door was locked from the inside?"
Sherlock smiled darkly and said, "Good. You're finally asking the right questions."
John followed him as he swept from the room.
Sherlock barged his way in on Sebastian's lunch break. The man had been with a couple of friends and Sherlock's comment about Van Coon's death, immediately making the fun atmosphere disappear.
A message from his boss while they were trying to get information out of him, revealed that Dimmock filed a report of it being a suicide. He left them to their business after a snide comment about Sherlock's detective abilities.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and he and John departed from the building swiftly and heading for the flat.
A few days of pretty much nothingness passes.
Sherlock was in the middle of something and kept mumbling out curses. John finally looked up from his chair and asked, "Are you alright?"
"Just fine. I doubt you'd understand though."
Feeling as if his intelligence was being questioned, John stood and moved into the kitchen to see what experiment Sherlock was doing.
The man kept going back and forth between his notepad and his beakers, murmuring to himself. John was surprised he had even gotten an answer from the man.
A magnifying glass and a few slides of he didn't know what. Sherlock kept going back and forth between them all.
"The Formula is off," he heard the man mutter.
"Which Formula are you using?"
Sherlock's back straightened and he looked at John as if he was an alien life form of some kind. "Pardon?"
John gestured to the notepad and said, "By the look of it, you're writing that all down in Structural Formula format. Of course you're having a difficult time. Either use Empirical or Molecular. Easier that way."
"How do you know about the Formulas?"
John flushed and looked to the side. "Well…."
"'Well'?" Sherlock repeated, expectantly.
John sighed, "I was an overachiever as a child. Always doing work and skipping grades until finally, I just took the Standardized Test to finish my time at the Academy, early. Five years early to be exact. I applied to King's College immediately on multiple scholarships and donations. I took up many classes. I had already gotten my qualifications as a Doctor by the time I joined the Army. I had also, already had a Master's of Science in Biochemistry and Microbiology, and a Doctoral Degree in Biology. Hell, I could be a Pharmacist if I wanted to do so. These things, just come easy to me and I don't understand why. It's one of the reasons why Harry and I don't get on. She struggled to maintain her basic schooling and I passed her out easily, making her a laughing-stock among her year mates. She still holds it against me and blames her drinking addiction on me."
John frowned, remembering the insults his own sister had thrown at him for being smart. Much like how people treated Sherlock for being so brilliant. He shook himself of the depressing thoughts that were meant for another day.
"Anyway, I did tell you a while ago that I was more than a doctor and very good at all my titles."
"A Biochemist and a Microbiologist," Sherlock breathed, eyes going wide. A smile was blooming on his face. "Amazing."
"Don't get excited. It isn't that big of a deal, you know."
"You don't understand, John. It's perfect! You're perfect! You observe a lot better than anyone else I know - except maybe Mycroft - and you're accepting of me and don't try to change me and you're intelligent and have a degree in one of the subjects I have a degree in. The list can go on, but this just makes you even better as a flatmate/assistant/colleague and more."
"Glad to know that you're so...happy about this, Sherlock."
"I'm ecstatic."
"I can see that."
"John! John! I have an issue I don't understand!"
John, who had been chopping vegetables in the kitchen, turned to look at the man who had rushed into the room, pulled him away from the cutting board and proceeded to shake him by the shoulders. Sherlock looked half crazed and his hair was more disheveled than usual.
"Are you actually admitting to not knowing something and needing help?"
"Save me the theatrical sarcasm, John. I have a problem. A woman winked at me!"
"So? Why is this so confusing?"
"I was content to just ignore it, seeing as people do that sort of thing all the time and enjoy it when I do it, for some reason. But then she slipped a piece of paper into my hand and winked again. Why did she give me a phone number? What am I supposed to do with it? Why do people like winking? What is the purpose behind such banalities? Who did she look at me so strangely, but not call me a 'freak' like other people do when they give me similar looks?"
John stood there, staring at his flatmate who looked genuinely lost to the whole situation. He sighed, wishing that Sherlock wasn't so emotionally introverted.
"Sherlock, she was flirting with you. She gave you her number in hopes that you'd call her later. Possibly for a date."
Sherlock went ramrod straight and began to quote, "Flirting: a flamboyant type of behavior dedicated to catching the interest of a particular individual for a source of amusement and very rarely for serious intentions."
"Where did you come up with that definition?"
"That is my own definition."
"It's slightly skewed, but okay."
"Why was this woman...flirting with me?"
John pulled away from Sherlock to give him a thorough once over and placed his knife on the cutting board.
"Sherlock, I know you don't understand emotions and sentiment all that well, but surely you must have realized at some point in your life that you are an attractive man?"
Sherlock nodded once, "I am aesthetically pleasing to the human eye, yes."
Okay, so he was going to be all scientific about it then. If that was how to get him to understand.
"Since you know about this, you should be made to understand that people will display a certain amount of interest in you. Your looks are a big part of what makes people fumble around you. Why they stutter and flush. Physically, you could be labeled as 'perfection'. Tall, light-colored skin, heterochromatic blue eyes, dark, curly hair, cheekbones that could possibly cut diamonds in half and an extremely deep voice. The human body is attracted to beauty and you have it in spades. Of course women and men are going to flirt with you. Some of them want to do even more than that."
"They don't know me."
"Ever hear of a one night stand? They don't need to know you to want sex from you. And unfortunately, most people would lose interest if they heard you speak because you ignore niceties and proper measures when out in public. You call everyone 'idiots' and expect them to just accept it as fact. You flaunt your obvious intelligence and some people wouldn't appreciate that. Very few people would accept you for who you are because of how you are. Very rarely would someone stick around long enough to try to change you."
Sherlock was frowning, "'Change' me?"
"Yes. Make you into what they want, instead of just accepting your flaws and faults. People who do that, don't truly care for you by the way. If they can't be bothered to love and care for even what is considered the worst of you, they aren't meant for you and don't deserve you."
"You try to change me."
John scoffed, "No I don't. Changing you would be me demanding that you stop experiments, no more body parts, no playing violin at random hours, no sitting still for days on end and no deductions. That would be an example of someone trying to change you. I simply ask you to eat and sleep so that you remain alive and healthy. I happen to like you the way you are and wouldn't change you for anything."
Sherlock glanced at the floor and huffed.
"So basically people display their interest in my appearance by acting like ignoramuses with mad convulsing issues?"
At John's confused look, he demonstrated a repeated winking and shaking of the head.
"Well, I've never seen someone flirt like that before, but sure...we'll go with that."
Sherlock head tilted, "How do people usually flirt?"
"Smiling, normal winking, chatting, attempted humor, complimenting, teasing, brief touching. Those sorts of things."
Sherlock placed a strong hand on his shoulder and looked him deeply in the eyes. "This is flirting?"
At the utter seriousness in Sherlock's tone and face, John broke down into loud guffaws. Poor Sherlock was so lost, it was cute in a sort of way.
"No, Sherlock. It's very different from just simple touching. There's a way to go about it."
"Dinner!" Sherlock said suddenly, hand falling from John's shoulder.
"Huh?"
"We'll do an experiment at dinner. You will show me what it's like for people to flirt. I don't like not understanding and though I may delete the usefulness in the end, it would be pleasant to know at least. That way I can properly redirect people's attentions to a more worthwhile venture."
John chuckled and nodded along. "Sure."
Sherlock smirked and went into the living area to sit on the sofa, where elbows met knees and hand were held in front of his lips. Typical 'thinking pose' for Sherlock.
John finished preparing the meal - simple salad, pasta with meatballs and garlic bread - and they began the 'experiment'.
Sherlock sat rigidly in his chair as he waited for John to flirt with him.
John served his plate and gently brushed the consulting detective's fingers when handing it over. Sherlock caught the action easily and gave him a questioning look, that he returned with a simple smile.
They ate slowly, John began asking Sherlock questions about certain things and whenever Sherlock gave one of his extremely long and very well deduced answers, John would tell him that he was 'amazing', 'brilliant' and the one that got him a flush - though he was sure that Sherlock didn't know it - 'extraordinary'.
He complimented the man's clothing and told him his hair was luscious.
Casual caresses against Sherlock's wrists and the sleeves of his navy blue blazer.
John made sure to smile often and it wasn't forced or anything. Sherlock was an easy person to smile for. He couldn't explain it but there was just something about the man. John was sure he was a little smitten with his flatmate. And why wouldn't he be? Sherlock was stunning. Both intelligent and attractive. The full package!
"Are you sure all of this is part of the flirting process?" Sherlock asked toward the end of the meal.
"Yes. I've done similar things with friends who became something more. Luckily, we're still friends and never ended our relationships on a bad note. I'm pretty good at flirting. It's not supposed to be forced and uncomfortable. It takes a natural sort of ease to flirt properly. Success is usually determined when the other party shows interest in you and what you have to say. If they want to get to know you better, that's a particularly good sign."
"The...touching is a requirement?"
"There are many different components to flirting but not everyone does it the same way. I for one, revel in physical contact with who I'm talking to. If you've noticed, I tend to touch you and other people more than what is considered normal. It's my thing."
"Is the meal finished so that I may give you the conclusion I've reached?"
"The main is finished, unless you don't want pie?"
"Apple?"
"Always."
"I could spare a slice."
"Then tell me what you've noticed while I fetch the cutlery and such."
Sherlock sat back in his seat and folded his hands atop the table. John took to carrying the crockery to the sink, to soak.
"I have concluded that you flirt with me on a day to day basis."
John dropped a plate in the sink and whirled on Sherlock with a shocked face.
"Yes. Everything you did during our meal, are things you do all the time. I'd go so far as to say you're a housewife, seeing as you clean when you want, you cook all the meals, you look out for my health, you defend me often, you tolerate me even when I'm annoying and generally, you care. You're like my wife, but not."
John's eyebrow couldn't help but arch upward. And the doctor thought about it very closely. Sherlock was correct. Everything he had done, wasn't too hard. There was no need for effort and it had all truly been natural.
Bloody buggering fuck! He'd been flirting with Sherlock the entire time.
"Sorry," he mumbled awkwardly, twisting his fingers in his jumper.
"No, it's…" Sherlock began slowly and looked around, as if searching for the words. "I've become used to it. It's fine. Besides, you didn't repulse me like the woman earlier had."
John looked around for a moment, before nodding his acceptance, "Well, thanks...for that. I take it I'm a good flirt."
"I wasn't uncomfortable and I didn't wish to get away at the closest convenience."
John gave Sherlock a sly look and asked, "Does that mean you liked it?"
"I most certainly did not detest it."
And that was the best answer he'd get but John understood the meaning beneath, so it was just fine with him.
Sherlock wasn't so used to just owning up to his feelings and emotions, so he worded his response in a way that sounded like he neither liked nor hated it, in order to avoid revealing anything important.
Kudos to Sherlock.
When John entered the flat a few days later, Sherlock was in his 'thinking pose', John's laptop pulled up right beside him as he faced the hearth.
"Something wrong?"
"Another murder. Locked doors, windows bolted from the inside. Exactly the same as Van Coon."
"Dear Lord, what is this killer's game?"
Sherlock hummed lightly, before standing and claiming that they needed to go the New Scotland Yard to see Dimmock. John rushed to follow and make sure that Sherlock didn't drop his laptop in his haste.
The man who sat behind the desk had his arms crossed and her looked huffy. He obviously didn't want to be speaking to Sherlock in the least.
"Brian Lukis," Sherlock began as he looked over the web page. "Murdered in his flat, doors locked from the inside."
John was nodding, "You have to admit it's the same circumstance as Van Coon."
Sherlock nodded along with his 'assistant'. "You didn't really believe that Van Coon was just another inner city suicide, did you?"
Dimmock just stared.
"You've seen the ballistics report and the shot that was fired wasn't from his own gun, correct?"
"Yes," Dimmock admitted lowly.
"So the investigation might move a bit quicker, if you were to take my word as gospel."
The doctor nodded, "He has a point. It's be best that you just listen to him."
Sherlock leaned over the desk and said, "I've just handed you a murder inquiry. I want five minutes in his flat."
And so they were taken to the flat, because Dimmock couldn't hide the fact that he needed help.
Sherlock walked around the room calmly, his keen eyes taking in every detail he saw. John stood by the door with Dimmock and they watched as Sherlock smirked to himself as he paced back and forth, murmuring about locked doors and assuming safety.
He flashed John an excited grin on one of his turns and proceeded into the hallways, explaining that the killer could climb and cling to wall like an insect. He popped open the latch on the window in the hall and smiled wider. "That's how he got in!"
Dimmock gaped and looked around, before questioning Sherlock's mental health. The consulting detective sneered and gave full explanation as to how it was possible, seeing as he had managed the first one on his own. Breaking into the flat via neighbor's balcony.
He looked around, "Have to find what connects these two men."
He snatched a book from the many piles on the staircase and opened it, before proceeding down the steps, yelling John's name as he went.
They were in a taxi a few moments later, on their way to a library.
Sherlock had the woman at the desk scan the book for him and it was taken out by Lukis the very day he died. With a finger pointing them in the right direction, Sherlock lead them to the bookshelves.
"There has to be something here. Anything. Check the books in this section, John."
"Okay then."
Each chose a side of the shelves to work on and both began pulling out books of all sizes. Sherlock flipping through them at record speed.
John grabbed a few at once and removed them from the shelf but his eyes caught something familiar in the shade of yellow and he called Sherlock's name as he removed more books.
The taller man spun around and before their eyes, was the exact same message that was on the chairman's portrait in the bank. Sherlock's phone was out in a flash and he proceeded to take pictures, for his wall. The Wall of Suspects, as John liked to call it.
Back at their flat, they spent some time trying come up with how the men were connected. What did they have to do with the cipher written in Suzhou?
The next day, Sherlock pretty much dragged poor John all over the city to find a man that could give them some leads over what the spray paint that was used was called. If they found the manufacturer or possibly where it was sold, maybe the salesman/woman would be able to explain if they saw anyone suspicious come through their store? It was a mild shot but it was all they had at the moment. Or maybe the man would know the person behind it if he recognized the symbols or paint color.
Sherlock actually admitted to needing advice! John couldn't stop snickering.
"I recognize the paint. Michigan Hardcore Propellant," he had told them.
Sherlock then asked him to look around and see if he could find any more of the paint or the symbols. John placed the can of spray paint the teen had tossed to him, on the ground, seeing no reason for him to hold it any longer, since Sherlock was about finished.
"I'll look around."
"Hey!"
The three men ran for it, John and Sherlock splitting off from the kid, even as the cops behind them screamed for them to 'stop'.
John easily began to outrun Sherlock, who commented on John 'leaving him behind' and wasn't it supposed to be 'in this together' or something like that.
John's response was, "In the army you fight together until you're the last man standing. And you keep fighting, even then. When you're brought to your knees you keep on keepin' on and even on your last breath, you make damn sure you've caused trouble for the enemy. That is an honorable thing to do. Staying by your men, even in death. However, we aren't going to die, honor is not involved and since you got us into such a situation and I don't feel like paying a fine for something I didn't do, every man for himself."
John was moving even faster now, getting further ahead of Sherlock, who scoffed form far behind him.
John cut into an alley and managed to get enough momentum to jump high enough onto a closed skip and from there, to jump onto the fire escape that he proceeded to swiftly climb like a monkey. He could hear Sherlock following him, though not as fast.
John was just better at Parkour. He was military trained in it after all.
He sprinted across the rooftop easily, distantly hearing Sherlock finally make it up after him.
What followed, was a very long and tiring game of jump-the-rooftops. Only when John was positive that they had lost the cops, did he finally lead them back to the ground.
They huffed and puffed in a small dead-end alley, John giving Sherlock an appreciative look.
"Impressive that you managed to keep up at all."
"I thought I was evil."
A snort. "What now?"
Sherlock looked around for a moment and grinned. "I need you to go to the station."
John had never hated words more than in that moment.
Dimmock wasn't such a bad bloke after all.
He gave the journal John had been there to collect, over and simply told him that Sherlock was an 'arrogant sod'. Compared to the other things people had called him, John began to like Dimmock a lot more.
The doctor literally crashed into Sherlock as he was following the instructions in the journal.
Sherlock began his high-speed, rambling about how he pieced together how Van Coon had dropped something off in the particular area and all he needed to find out, was where. Flew back from China, stopped in the area to drop something off but Sherlock needed to find out why and where.
John rolled his eyes and grabbed the man's shoulders, spinning him around. "That shop over there! Lukis was here too."
Sherlock gaped, "How do you know?"
John held up the journal and began walking toward the building.
Inside, they found the Suzhou symbols everywhere and Sherlock was so shocked, he was silent.
"What? No miraculous deductions?"
Sherlock's eyes rolled and he left the shop, John close on his heels.
They stopped by a small restaurant across the street for a bite, since John was willing to admit that he was a bit peckish. Sherlock refused food and received an earful from the doctor for it.
"You better eat supper or so help me, Sherlock Holmes, you won't like me when I'm angry."
"I'm not hungry. There is not point in eating if I'm not hungry. Do you want me to start looking like Mycroft?!"
John snorted around his Lo Mein, choking when it went down the wrong pipe. Sherlock's hand slammed into his back hard enough to let him cough up the food. "Thanks. You could have waited until there wasn't food in my mouth though."
"I had no idea that you would find my simple yet truthful question, so humorous. Thousand pardons, truly," Sherlock replied blandly.
"That sincerity is going to make me emotional, I swear."
"Sarcasm? Really? That's just an easy way out for a lazy man when he has nothing good to respond with in an argument."
"And not even an hour ago I was running across rooftops and you were struggling to catch up. Amazing how I became so lazy in such a small amount of time."
"Back onto the subject of The Lucky Cat and Coin. These men came back from China and visited there, for some reason. And we've established that they were both holding something of value. Do you remember what Sebastian said? Van Coon lost a lot of money, but made it all back in a week, during a trip to China. How?"
John didn't need to look in Sherlock's eyes to get the answer. The answers were easily right in front of them. Laid bare for all to see, if they bothered to observe of course.
"They smuggled something."
Sherlock smiled suddenly and nodded, "Correct! Now we need to find out what they had that put them in such danger. Van Coon did business frequently in China and Lukis was a journalist who wrote about China. Both had large suitcases and that was the drop off."
"But why would someone want to kill them, if the jobs were already finished?
Sherlock sat back and assumed his 'thinking pose', which left John enough time to shovel his food in his mouth. Who knew when Sherlock suddenly needed to get up and move? He'd like to eat all of his food before a hasty departure.
John froze, fork halfway to mouth, when a dark smirk spread across Sherlock's lips, making him look devilish. "What if one of them was light-fingered?"
John swallowed, in order to not risk gaping unattractively and giving poor Sherlock a view unneeded.
"What if they stole something from the hoard?"
John nodded, "And the killer doesn't know who, so he threatens them both."
They sat in contemplative silence and John managed to finish his food and tea. Sherlock had been staring out the window.
His eyes narrowed suddenly, "Remind me, when was the last time that it rained?"
He was out the door the next moment and John scrambled after him, leaving a few pounds bills on the table.
Sherlock crossed the street and touched the packaged Yellow Pages outside the white door immediately to the right of The Lucky Cat and Coin. It was wet and he mumbled, "It's been here since Monday."
"How does that pertain to anything?" John couldn't help but ask.
He rang the doorbell and told John to take note of the name, 'Soo Lin Yao'. When no one answered the door, Sherlock walked around to the alley on the side of the building and used his obvious height to pull the fire escape down. John followed after him quickly, not wanting to be left behind.
"John, no one has been in that flat for three days."
"Holiday maybe."
"You leave your windows open when you go on a holiday?"
"Point taken."
Sherlock led him around the side and in through the open window.
"Why do I have a feeling that you just break into people's flats on a regular basis?"
"I do not break anything, John."
"Right."
Sherlock jumped in through the window and knocked over a vase, that was empty. Judging by the large wet stain on the rug, someone had already been inside and knocked it over but didn't bother to pick it up. John was a lot more careful when it came to slipping into the flat. He landed soundlessly.
Sherlock proceeded to took at everything in the flat from top to bottom. The laundry in the machine. The walls, the sink.
"Do you really need to go into the bedroom?" John asked, uncomfortably. He really didn't want to see someone's knickers. Knickers because the flat was very girly with frills and lace and obviously home of a Asian woman.
"Yes."
Sherlock was obviously a fan of brevity.
Just as he thought, knickers thrown over the shoji screen. He gave a long suffering sigh and stayed by the door, not wanting to touch anything.
Sherlock slowly approached the screen, but stepped back suddenly when a black mass appeared from behind it and attacked him.
John had his gun out and cocked in the same moment.
The person, who had managed to get something long and white around Sherlock's throat in that small time frame, froze in place. Though he couldn't see the face, since it was covered by a black cloth, he could tell that they were watching him.
"Release him, or I shoot you."
When the man didn't move, John pulled the trigger. The man fell over, bullet between the eyes.
Sherlock rolled away from the fallen body and ripped the white from his neck. He choked in air and rubbed at his neck several times.
"You didn't give him...a chance," he wheezed out, sounding much like a smoker would.
"We don't give the countdown in the Army. It's either do or die. He chose to die."
John placed a hand on Sherlock neck and applied light pressure, making the younger man wince.
"No speaking for a while. We should get out of here. Most likely, someone will call the police after they heard the shot.. This can just be added to the list. Doors lock with an open window and a dead body with a bullet in the head."
"Clever way to get out of trouble, John."
John smacked him upside the head, "No speaking!"
Sherlock stumbled to his feet, with the assistance of John and after collecting the mail of the former resident, they slipped out the window and climbed to the top of the building.
"Another rooftop run. Is this going to become a regular occurrence?"
Sherlock stuck his tongue out.
After a few hours in their own flat, Sherlock decided it was time to continue the search for information.
John had made him drink several cups of various teas and even an herbal one in hopes of soothing his throat. He even purchased a bag of lozenges for Sherlock's sore throat. The consulting detective was finally able to speak again.
"We're going to this museum on the letter to find this 'Andy'. He seems to care for Soo Lin a lot. An admirer."
Sherlock easily sauntered into the museum half an hour later and use his suave tone to get information on where to find 'Andy'.
The young man was obviously of the misunderstood type. He dressed perfectly with not a wrinkle in his clothing. Dress shirt buttoned all the way up. Someone who followed the rules.
Sherlock began the questioning.
"When was the last time you saw her?"
"Three days ago, here at the museum. This morning they told me she resigned, just like that. She left all of her work unfinished."
Sherlock turned to face the young man and asked, "What was the last thing she did on her final afternoon?"
Andy led them into the back of the museum, towards a line of lockers. He explained how she did a tea ceremony for the tourists and how she would pack her things and put them away.
John had been looking around the corridor and paused when he saw something, elbowing Sherlock in the process and pointing.
Sherlock saw it. The statue a few feet away, with the very same symbol like in the last two people who had been killed. The Suzhou number 'fifteen'.
They thanked Andy for his time and left immediately.
It was already dark out and Sherlock was mumbling about having to find Soo Lin Yao. John pointed out that if she was already dead, it would be pointless.
"Sherlock!"
Said man's little friend from earlier in the day came running up and he smile, gesturing with his head for them to follow.
After a long walk in the darkness of the city, he led them to an underground park. More like a stunt park. There were teenagers with all sorts of bicycles, skateboards and scooters, performing tricks and daring each other to do better.
The teen showed them a large expanse of wall where sure enough, there were more numbers in symbol form.
Sherlock pulled out his cellphone and proceeded to take several pictures for later.
After thanking the teen for his assistance, Sherlock ordered John to go in one direction around the whole area, while he went in another. Searching for anything that seemed similar to the numbers or paint.
John's search wasn't very forthcoming. He actually had to use a torch in order to see anything, it was so dark. The train tracks were broken up, obviously no longer used. He didn't have to worry about a train coming and killing him.
It was when he saw yellow paint on them, that he paid more attention. Paint, then a can and finally, he came to a large brick wall off to the side of the tracks, covered in the entire Suzhou number system. He pulled back a bit and used the torch to make taking the picture easier. Once he had a few good pictures and made sure there was nothing else around, he ran off to find Sherlock.
It took nearly ten minutes to find Sherlock but when he did, all he had to do was mention finding something and the man was coming! Quickly!
It was gone. The entire wall was cleaned when they made it back. John's head tilted to the side, "Is it washable?"
"Someone doesn't want us to see it," Sherlock supplied. He then placed his hands on either side of John's head and leaned in, making the doctor flush.
"Sherlock, what are you doing? I thought you were married to you work."
"Concentrate, John."
"Why?"
Sherlock began spinning them around and John couldn't see Sherlock's eyes in the darkness, so nothing to go on.
"I need you to maximize your visual memory."
"Sherlock, you're making me dizzy."
"This is important, John."
"I took a few pictures!"
The suddenly ceasing of movement made John pitch forward and bump into Sherlock who landed on the ground, harshly.
"Let this be a lesson to you. Don't spin people."
The doctor rolled off the dark-haired man and groaned.
"You took pictures?"
"Yes."
"Are they visible?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Good show, John. Sorry about the...touching."
"It's fine. Let's get going."
Their wall was covered in pictures on Suzhou and Sherlock had John decipher what each number was.
"Always in pairs, but why?"
Sherlock frowned, "We can't crack this without Soo Lin. Perhaps her admirer would be able to help again."
The next day started off rather late, thankfully John had convinced Sherlock to eat lunch before heading off to the museum again. He really needed to learn to take better care of himself.
Andy couldn't tell them anything more. He'd already checked mutual friends and acquaintances and no one knew where she was. He was sad about it.
It was when Sherlock inquired about a tea set placed under a glass case, did John think he'd finally lost it. Andy explained how Soo Lin had loved them and provided their ceremonies with them. In order to keep the clay from drying and cracking, one had to make tea in them at least once a day.
Sherlock surprised both of them by stating that the previous day, only one pot was shined and now there were two. Some tricky finagling got Sherlock and John access to the museum after hours. Sherlock was on to something and once again, didn't feel like letting anyone in on his plan.
Sherlock was like, the Dark Knight with his long coat trailing behind him in the darkness. John rolled his eyes as the man stalked from shadow to shadow, like a predator out for the unsuspecting prey.
Soo Lin was there and she proceeded to make tea in a small closed off from, with the set. Taking her time. Sherlock nearly gave her a heart attack, when he popped by her side and spoke.
She had dropped the cup she was holding, but Sherlock managed to catch it before it hit the floor.
Soo Lin Yao, going on twenty-one years of age. John got a lot of information from her mind.
She and her brother had entered the foot soldiers(smugglers) of the Black Lotus when they were younger, because their parents died and they had nowhere to go. She was fifteen at the time. They received tattoos specifically for their rank. Her brother was the one killing all of the people and he wanted her help. She refused to assist. She had left and had been safe for five years but they found her and she knew she didn't have much time left.
She worried for her brother but refused to help him because he'd become warped in the ways. He no longer say a difference between what was right and wrong. Shan, the General of the Black Lotus had ruined her brother's mind and allegiances.
Sherlock passed her the papers of the numbers and asked if she could tell them about the code. She stated that they were numbers and Sherlock admitted to John knowing the symbols already. John explained his schooling when growing up and why he knew the symbols at all, surprising her.
There was a loud noise suddenly, cutting Soo Lin off from explaining what book the codes dame from. John had been able to see the book in her mind though. A simple A-Z London Street Atlas guide.
John looked down at the desk, catching sight of the very book in her mind.
"It's this. This is the book that the cipher refers to. They're pages, followed by the first number on the page. So it's the first word on page fifteen."
Soo Lin was gaping and Sherlock mirrored the expression. And then John knew. There wasn't a way he could have gotten that information before Sherlock. There was no reasonable explanation for him to give as to why he knew the answer.
"How did you-" Soo Lin began in confusion.
"As you were explaining the book, you were looking at this book, which is already opened to page fifteen and the first word is 'deadman', which you have just written on the picture for us."
It was all truth, but it didn't explain why he'd gotten the answer before Sherlock and that may not go over well, later on. Oh, dear.
"Wow," Soo Lin murmured as she placed her pen down.
Another loud noise sounded, much closer to them this time. Sherlock was on defensive instantly, looking around. John pulled out his gun and cocked it.
"Soo Lin, could you please decipher the entire message as quickly as possible?" John asked, fully alert.
She was shaking slightly but nodded and grabbed the pen and paper and started flipping through the book quickly.
John's military training kicked in and he heard his breathing completely silence. So quiet, he saw Sherlock's head turn in his direction in worry. His ears strained to hear anything beyond the sound of Soo Lin's pen scribbling across the paper.
Sherlock moved toward the windows, testing if they were locked. They were. He then looked around for other possible entrances into the room. There were none. Then that meant that whoever it was, had to come in through the door.
Sherlock crouched behind the first desk, nearest the door. The person who entered, would see John obviously ready to fire at the slightest provocation and if Sherlock managed to surprise them in time, John could get in a good shot without possible danger being exposed to Soo Lin.
A shadow appeared behind the ice translucent window. Male, noticeably.
The door opened slowly, making no sound.
John stepped in front of Soo Lin, protective.
Something glinted silver in the small light outside the room.
"Put the weapon down or else," John ordered.
They didn't move, much like the person in Soo Lin's apartment had. Sherlock charged out from behind his desk and tackled the black clad man in a style worthy of the best rugby player. They both fell to the floor.
John had been moving just as Sherlock had, so he was already halfway to them by the time they hit the floor. Sherlock rolled over, bringing the man with him and John fired, bullet going through the killer's right shoulder, making him scream and drop his own gun. Semi-automatic Pistol, now that John was close enough to see it.
John kicked the weapon away from the man and Sherlock rolled back over and put the man in a choke hold. Guillotine. Why did Sherlock know how to do a move like that?
After a moment, the killer went limp and John could hear his breathed slowly instantly. Rarely were people able to enforce a choke-out through use of a Guillotine. Impressive.
Sherlock dropped the limp body to his left and sighed, relaxing on the floor.
John looked from the body to Sherlock and couldn't help but smile, "You're amazing, you know that?"
Sherlock smiled. He had perfect lips, John realized. Perfection.
"I'm starting to believe it."
John helped his friend up and together, they stared down at the body.
"We should call the police," John said. "I should really invest in some handcuffs."
Sherlock's brows rose slightly, "Indeed."
Soo Lin called to them from the back of the room. "I have finished for you!"
Sherlock turned around with a wide grin, "Thank you!"
Wow. Sherlock was in a great mood if he remembered to give gratitude.
John got out his phone and placed a call to Dimmock.
Half an hour later and Scotland Yard invaded the building, with an ambulance on the way.
John and Sherlock stood out of the way and Sherlock showed join the paper.
Jade Dragon Pin for nine million quid?! Bloody hell! On Black Tramway.
Soo Lin was reluctant to tell the police anything but she realized that it was important and so she confessed about her prior affiliation to the Black Lotus and that it was her brother lying on the floor, bleeding from the arm. She told of the Suzhou symbols and how they used the atlas book to decipher the codes. Her brother was a train martial artist and was a natural climber, explaining how he managed to always get in through the window.
She displayed her tattoo. Gave the name of the General in charge of the London division. She revealed everything.
Dimmock was left looking like a fish. Sherlock then showed the man the cipher and explained about the The Lucky Cat and Coin. How they were heading everything up. He even explained where the hairpin was.
John had to ask him how he knew that and he smirked and explained.
"Van Coon was seeing his assistant. The hand soap in his apartment was the same as the one on her desk. She had a very muddled opinion of him and her responses to my inquiries only confirmed it. She keeps her hair in a tight style, reminiscent of a beehive. Inside, is a jade, dragon hairpin. General Shan knew that either Van Coon or Lukis, filched something but didn't know which one, so she sent warnings but neither had the object in question. It had been in Ms. Poulet's possession the entire time."
John and Dimmock stared.
"You're brilliant."
Sherlock flushed upon those words leaving John's mouth. "Thank you," he cleared his throat unsteadily.
It was the next day, when John was busy preparing dinner, that Sherlock cornered him. Literally. He'd been chopping vegetables - Sherlock always had a habit of interrupting him while chopping vegetables - when the consulting detective appeared out of nowhere, right in his personal space.
"Are you okay, Sherlock?"
John turned slightly to look at the taller man in question.
Sherlock took one step which put him right into John's bubble. His chest was pushing on John's left shoulder and his arms moved to cage the doctor against the table. John couldn't help himself. He flushed.
"What's this about?"
Sherlock understandably did not realize the significance of the position they were in. Because of that, he didn't raise a brow at John's accusing one or step away.
"There's something different about you. I can't put my finger on it but you should not have noticed the book yesterday. You answer was too scripted to me. What do you know, John?"
John's heart skipped three beats exactly. Sherlock was definitely more intelligent than he gave credit for. He hadn't expected him to pick up on it so quickly. A few more months at least. He sighed, knowing that Sherlock was observant enough to notice a lie. And according to Sherlock, only lies have obscene detail and attempts to divert the conversation.
"I'll tell you but could you please back off a little? You're in my space and it's hard to think."
Sherlock's brows furrowed, making the doctor sigh once more.
"Your aesthetically pleasing self is making me flushed and flustered."
Sherlock's eyes brightened, "You are attracted to me."
"Yes. Now, personal space, please?"
Once Sherlock was sitting opposite him at the table, he sighed and took a seat of his own. This could take a while.
John removed his glasses, making Sherlock's eyes widen.
"Ever since I was little, I can do this odd thing. It isn't a willing thing and I can't control it. It's the reason why I wear these sunglasses all the time. This strange ability I have, activates when I look someone in the eye. Everything about them. Who they are, what they're about, their pasts, I see everything. It's too much. Not only do I remember all of it, but it'll keep adding on the more I look.
I don't have a Mind Palace to separate everything into perfect order or to delete unwanted information. It stays and stresses me out. Migraines became a normal thing to me and I needed these sunglasses to block light and to make people think I'm looking at them when they talk when in truth, I mostly keep my eyes closed. Most of the time, I hate this ability. However I will conceded to it being helpful when it comes to people like Mycroft."
John looked down at the table, smirking as he thought about their first meeting.
Sherlock was silent, almost as if he was judging John's honesty. But John was being honest and he knew that Sherlock would easily deduce that John wasn't lying.
"You've looked me in the eye. What do you know about me?"
"What don't I know about you, or your brother for that matter?
You had a dog when you were younger, named Redbeard. You wanted to be a pirate. You're a virgin, though you were interested in a young man named Victor Trevor for a while. You're homocurious.
Mycroft is on a diet. His umbrella hides a short sword. He has OCD to the extreme. He is also a virgin and is homocurious as well. Your statement about him being 'the British Government' is right on the mark. Her Majesty and Parliament are like a face and Mycroft in behind them, running the whole show.
Mycroft is seven years older than you. You both care for each other greatly but in your own ways and you'd never admit your feelings out loud. You resented him for leaving you alone with your parents when he went to University and that was when your problems with each other truly began. You were compared to him constantly during your teen years and instead of being praised for your amazing skills, you were shot down and once again, insulted for not being like Mycroft.
Mycroft doesn't understand why you don't react the way he does. If the way to get something you want, is to be done by putting on airs and faking your way through life, why won't you do it? Façades are his specialty. The fact that he's almost as intelligent as you are, makes him wonder how you both are so different. He knows that you are relatively smarter, but feels the need to say that he's the 'smart one'. He feels that he is because of how he lives his life as opposed to your lifestyle choices. Such as creating a job for yourself and solving crimes.
Do you need any other proof?"
Sherlock was looking at the table. His hands were steepled in the usual 'thinking pose' and he was nodding slightly.
"I knew it," he mumbled.
"I'm sorry?"
Sherlock locked eyes with John and smirked, "I knew Mycroft was a virgin!"
John stared. "That's what you say, after all that?"
"I believe you. That information about Mycroft was admittedly all speculation to me but it's swell to know that I was correct. Since you got everything about me correct, it's hard not to believe it. Besides, it would explain how you knew Anderson was an infidel, how Mycroft was my brother, how accepting you are of me and how you knew what Soo Lin was doing."
"And you're fine with it all?"
Sherlock was grinning now. "This is perfect! Cases are going to be so much better from now on."
John gaped. "You don't think it's...freaky that I can practically read minds?"
"No. Are we having salad tonight?"
John laughed at the non sequitur. "Yes."
"Could you put cucumber in it?"
"Yes."
"Okay then. Call me when it's finished."
Sherlock stood and flounced from the room. A moment later, the sound of the violin filled flat. It was lighthearted, meaning that Sherlock was in a good mood. Really? Learning that his brother was a virgin was that great?
He rolled his eyes and felt the adrenaline leave his body. That was surprisingly anticlimactic. He had expected some arguing or at least maybe an accusation of an invasion of privacy.
He should have known that Sherlock wouldn't judge him over it. Sherlock was the sort to understand how 'odd abilities' made people wary express themselves. Sherlock has his moments of doubting himself. Just like others, though he didn't want to acknowledge it.
With a small smile and mumbled 'thank you' in Sherlock's direction, he continued to chop the vegetables.
Sherlock Holmes was indeed spectacular.
A/N: Another one done! Remember, this is BAMF John. He's awesome.
Check out my cute little, John/Sherlock O/S. 'According to You, I am Beautiful'. Sherlock reflects on his feelings for John. Fluffy.
How was it? Let me know in a constructive, respectful manner please? If you are rude or you flame me, do not expect a good response. Treat others how you wish to be treated. Assholes don't deserve kindness, remember that.
See ya! :D