The next morning John woke up with a satisfied stretch. He snuggled deeper into the sheets, reluctant to get out of bed when he brushed against a solid form. His first reaction was to jolt out of bed when he caught a flash of a black curly lock of hair. He turned over and smiled at the deep-sleep body of one Sherlock Holmes. It as refreshing to see his companion in such a state of sleep he didn't bother to wake him up. A bit of a lie in would do Sherlock some good. Carefully, to avoid waking his slumbering friend, John rolled out of bed and gave the sleeping man a fond look before heading downstairs to the kitchen to make tea and breakfast.

Sherlock startled awake at a small commotion heard from downstairs. He frowned as he realized he was laying in John's bed. He replayed the events of last night in his head carefully before shaking his curly mop in distaste. Normally he would have waited until John had fallen asleep before moving downstairs to lounge on the sofa. However, there was something comforting resting his weary body next to ex-army doctor. He found his eyes easily lowering and his mind creeping to a pace where he could ignore the musings in his brain. When he felt coherent enough, he made his way downstairs to see what John was up to.

John heard light footsteps coming down from his bedroom as he finished pouring two cups of tea, making them both how he and Sherlock liked them. He handed the detective his cup and heard him head off to his own room. It came as no surprised to John as Sherlock spent more time in close proximity with someone in one night then he did in a month. After finishing his tea and his breakfast, John bathed, changed, and headed to work.

It was a couple of hours later when John got his first text.

We're out of milk. -SH

The good doctor rolled his eyes at the message as a young teenager walked into his exam room, coughing and clearly congested. Bloody flu season.

That's lovely. The Tesco's open until late today, go get some. -JW

It's near freezing outside. It isn't a sensible idea for me to go out. -SH

John gaped at his phone at the audacity of his flatmate. Really, he shouldn't have thought any different when he came to Sherlock. One could always hope, though.

So, you're going to me ME go out, after being exposed to all kinds of illnesses for hours, just to get milk... -JW

You're the one that insisted on getting that infectious job. You wanted to work. I never implied or insisted for you to find employment. -SH

John wondered why his eyes didn't hurt with all of the eye-rolling he'd been doing lately. I can't live at Baker Street on an army pension, Sherlock. We've discussed this. I NEED this job. Get the milk yourself. -JW

Three appointments later he checked his phone again.

You're upset about last night. -SH

I'm perfectly fine. -JW John swore he would crack him one, one of these days.

When will you be leaving that infernal place you call a job? -SH

He took a quick look at his schedule and the paperwork on his desk.

Another hour. Mary gave me a half day, why? -JW

Good, Lestrade just called with a case. We have a murder to investigate. Now, you HAVE to pick up the milk. See you then. -SH

John wanted to scream. Of course, he would have to pick up the milk. Sherlock was probably halfway out the door already. He texted his displeasure.

Damnit, Sherlock! Fine! I'll meet you AFTER I put the milk away. -JW

It came as no surprise that Sherlock didn't text him back. Why would he? He was probably too busy on his phone researching the details of the murder that Greg had most likely texted him. With a sigh, he went back to work.

An hour and a half later, John was pulling up to the crimes scene. He jumped out of the cab and made his way over to Sherlock and Lestrade. "Did I miss anything?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, we were just about to head in."

John nodded and followed the two taller men inside. He listened closely as Lestrade began to describe the crime scene.

"34-year-old female, no identification. Body was found early this morning by the landlord. It looks perfectly preserved but what we found interesting was that she was cut up into pieces."

Sherlock frowned. "Why have me come, then? Seems cut and dry."

"Just wait til you see the scene." Greg shook his head and opened the door to the crime scene.

If John wasn't used to the carnage of going on investigations with Sherlock he would have lost his lunch. Body parts littered the floor in no particular order. The facial expression on the, once beautiful, woman was grotesque and a little frightening. After showing them in, Greg turned his heel and walked out, commanding his team to clear the scene for a couple of minutes.

John looked to Sherlock, already looking over the body for every minute detail, and began to give him his own account. "Not exsanguination, there's no clotting around the wound. No signs of asphyxiation prior to death. Maybe sedation or poison?"

Sherlock hummed his assent. "Been here about a week. Worked with her hands, yet they're very clean and not stained. Medical field. Nurse. Probably a veterinary nurse going by the small piece of hair on her shirt. Curious as to why they left her clothes on. Not a rape crime, then."

"There's no blood on the floor either." John added, frowning. "She wasn't murdered here."

"Moved, indeed. Her shoes have gravel on the sole; red mud so she's from the countryside." Sherlock continued to go over the body.

John nodded. "Lestrade mentioned that all of her possessions weren't on the body. No I.D. and no family that we know of."

"Of course her personal effect would be taken. Her murderer or murderers knew her. Hence, the lack of struggle. The gravel on her shoes aren't natural and artificially made. There was wind when she was killed as there are traces of the aforementioned gravel in the open wounds." Sherlock took out his travel test kit and added a serum to the sample he added to the phial. "These chemicals are cheap yet of a decent quality. Probably from a local school that can be easily accessed at all times of day and night. Small town, then."

Before John could blink, Sherlock was out the door and on his way to find a cab. Dutifully, he followed the whirlwind closely, a few steps behind. "Where are we going?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, hailing a cab. "The countryside, obviously. Do keep up, John."

"Sherlock," John sighed with a frown, "I have work tomorrow. I can't possibly go to the countryside today. Do you have any idea of what time we'll be back? Late. Too late to get a functioning nights' sleep."

"Then I go alone." Sherlock hopped in the cab. It was about to drive off when John opened the door opposite of him. The doctor pulled out his mobile to make a quick phone call. He apologized profusely and made promises to take several other shifts to make up for calling out. Sherlock was smirking when he hung up.

"Don't be so proud of yourself, prat."

Sherlock feigned innocence. "I haven't said a word."

"You don't have to. You're radiating 'smug'." John scowled.

They arrived at the train station and quickly bought their tickets and boarded their train. Sherlock looked to him once they were seated. "I knew you would come once I said I'd be going alone. You're very predictable."

"You nearly get yourself killed when I'm not around. I'm surprised you survived this long." John scoffed.

Sherlock grunted. "I'm not dead."

"No, if anyone's going to kill you it's going to be. After you've cleaned up after your experiments. I still can't get whatever the hell it is off the kitchen ceiling."

"You think you can kill me, but you won;t. I'll see it coming before you can even try." Sherlock rebuttled smartly.

John sighed. "You're impossible."

"Yet here we sit."

Oh, he wanted to punch him. Instead, he took out his phone to text a quick message to Lestrade.

A few hours of silence later, John and Sherlock finally made their way off of the train and began to walk to a nearest driving service. After they hired a car, they both began driving along until they came across an abandoned school. It was a few minutes later they came upon an older house, lived in but lacked care. Sherlock stopped the car a ways off, turning off the headlights before jumping out and hurrying towards the crumbling building.

"Thought so." Sherlock said.

John frowned. "What?"

"The grounds match the gravel on on the victim's shoes. She was killed here." He said as they approached their destination.

It was then that they both fell silent, stealthily walking around the grounds. It was a bit difficult as there were no lights on anywhere. The only light they had was provided by the moon and it crept in and out of cloud cover. Sherlock signaled for them to split up and made his way to the front of the house to peek into the windows. John, however, headed to the back of the house, checking the ground as best as he could to find any evidence that would confirm that this was where the killers had "done the deed". That was when he spotted a dark spot of what could have been oil on the ground. He bent down and dipped his fingers in the gooey substance and brought it up to his nose. That was no oil.

He stood to call for Sherlock when he spotted a small shed towards the edge of the grounds.

"Sherlock!" He hissed as loudly as he could as to not alert anyone around of their whereabouts.

Sherlock peeked his head around the corner with a frown. "What?"

John pointed to the shed and then pointed to his dirtied hand before ushering him over. When Sherlock stopped at John's side, he took out his phone to use as a brief light. They discovered that the doctor's fingers were colored red. Blood red. John was glad that he stopped at their flat briefly to drop of the milk...and grab his gun. He pulled it out as they made their way over to the shed and inside. What they saw inside made John actually want to vomit.

There was blood everywhere. The walls, the floor, the ceiling. Entrails littered the concrete slab of the floor as well as the wood table where deep scratch marks were evident of use of a knife or sharp instrument to cut things apart. Sherlock immediately wandered around the grab samples and take photos on his mobile as a log for himself for future reference. Not that he needed it. It was nice to have a clear visual just in case.

"Two men," he mumbled, "once larger than the other. Both tall in height and large in build. Both grounds workers. The woman must have lived here and they were the hired help."

John stayed in his place at the door, keeping a close eye out. "Any idea of when they'll be back?"

"Soon. This hasn't been reported in the media, yet, and they'll be back to clean up the mess. No one's looking for them yet." Sherlock nodded and headed out, closing the door behind him.

John kept his gun in his hand. "Plan?"

"Stay out of sight. Keep a clear sight to see when they come back."

John nodded and made his way to a small brush to lay low and wait. Sherlock hiding in a similar place opposite. Then they waited.

It was hard to distinguish how long they waited. John estimated about two hours before he heard footsteps coming up the gravel. He took a deep breath and steadied his heart rate. It wouldn't do to have his adrenaline run rampant just yet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock moving to get closer to the shed as the man entered. John immediately went to grab his attention. Sherlock froze and glared at him but softened his expression when he saw the second man arrive and head inside to meet his cohort. John nodded and they both made their way to stand outside to listen in.

The two men were arguing, their accents so heavy that John almost couldn't understand them. When it was clear that they would have the element of surprise, he looked to Sherlock with a nod and cocked his gun slowly and as quietly as possible. He peeked around the corner and quickly retracted.

"No weapons." He mouthed, letting Sherlock know they would have a decent chance, knowing the murderers didn't have anything at the ready to defend themselves. Sherlock nodded and tensed, ready to go. John took a deep breath before swiftly turning to look inside the shed and fired off two shots. The man on the left took a shot to the shoulder and the one on the right crippled with a shot to his leg. As the one made fell, John took a swing with the butt of his gun to the side of the other's head.

After that it was a blur for John. The man he shot in the leg had hobbled onto one foot and had socked him on the right side of his face, splitting his lip open. He fell to the floor and knocked his head against the ground, his Sig Sauer sliding to a halt feet away. It was after he'd been hit that Sherlock had rushed in and grappled the man to the ground before subduing him.

John gathered his bearings before standing, stumbling slightly, and dabbing his lip with the back of his hand. He scowled as he felt his lip beginning to swell but brushed it off as he'd taken out his phone and called Lestrade.

"All right, John?"

He nodded when he'd ended his call. "I'm fine. Just my lip."

Sherlock nodded.

It wasn't long before the local PD arrived and Lestrade shortly after. John had walked over to the DI and gave his and Sherlock's statement. Sherlock watched as they wrapped up their conversation before started another. The playful punch that John landed against Lestrade's shoulder with a smile made Sherlock scowl. They seemed awfully cozy. He'd had enough when the Inspector said something that made John blush heavily. Striding over, he nodded to Lestrade before grabbing John's jacket and hauling him away. John protested but waved goodbye to Greg as they got into a cab and headed home.

It was late when they got back to Baker Street. By then their adrenaline was beginning to wear off and John was starting to feel exhausted. He'd made two cups of tea and joined Sherlock on the couch to watch tellie to calm their nerves. Habitually, John started to lick his split lip, not bothering to ice it as the cold weather had done it's job of numbing it for him. Now, the irritation was becoming a nuisance and he'd subconsciously began to sooth it with his tongue.

"Stop that." Sherlock commanded with a frown.

John just glared at the screen.

"What?"

He huffed. "I don't do it on purpose. It's irritated and I don't feel like icing it."

Sherlock rolled is eyes and turned his attention back to the tellie. His eyes, however, followed John's movement as he reached into his phone and grinned. Sherlock scowled and turned his attention back, schooling his features into aloofness.

"What?" John asked from his left.

"Nothing." He replied, setting his cup down and standing.

John frowned. "Sherlock, you're acting strange."

"I'm fine, good night." Sherlock then retreated into his room and shut the door.

John decided that that wasn't good enough and followed him, opening the door without knocking. He really should have knocked as Sherlock was standing in the middle of his room, shirt halfway off. He stared for a moment before shaking his head and crossing his arms. "Stop doing that, Sherlock."

"Doing what? I'm doing nothing out of the ordinary."

"You have some nerve." He fumed. "You practically jump down my throat last night to deduce me and my actions. But as soon as I start to try and get into your head, you brush me of."

"You will never be able to get into my head, John. Simple." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"No, I won't even pretend that I could. But you could at least help me to understand. I don't have you massive intellect, but I'm not so stupid that I can't retain information well. I did get through med school and become an army doctor."

Sherlock's eyes took on a strange glint. "Never doubt your abilities as a doctor, John. Why so defensive? Because you cannot deduce like I can?"

"If I could, I wouldn't be demanding answers from you, now would I? 'You see, but you do not observe.' As you like to remind me." John sighed.

The dark mop nodded.

John continued. "I'm not like you. No one is like you."

Sherlock turned down his sheets after he'd changed out of his trousers and into his pajamas and listened to John's rant.

"You've been quiet since we left the countryside. You usually rave about how the case was either thrilling or dreadfully mundane. You've been giving me these...looks and I don't know why. What's wrong?"

"There is nothing wrong. I'm tired." Sherlock said petulantly.

John growled before throwing his hands in the air, frustrated. "I may not be as observant as you, Sherlock, but I definitely know when something's off. I've lived with you long enough to know that by now. But if you don't want to tell me, fine." He turned to the door and opened it. "Good night." He threw over his shoulder and proceeded to stomp upstairs.

Five minutes later, after John had changed into his jimjams, his phone chimed. He sat down on his bed and laid down before picking up his mobile and opened his text.

Are you insulted that I do not voice my inner train of thought in this instance? -SH

He sighed and texted back.

I'm not insulted so much as I'm a tad hurt. We've been flatmates and friends for a while now and I just want to know when something's bothering you, is all. -JW

I see. -SH

That and...well, I'd rather not explain further so you'll just have to trust me when I say it matters to me. -JW

Ah. -SH Sherlock sat for a moment, having an inner debate before he got up and walked upstairs and into John's room without knocking.

John almost smiled as Sherlock was nearly bouncing from one foot to the other, trying to hide his awkwardness. "This is a rare thing for me, as you know, but...I am sorry."

"I'm sorry too," the blond doctor nodded and pulled down the sheets and shifted over, "com here. You need some sleep."

"Don't be absurd." Despite his denial, Sherlock made his way over to the bed and sat against the headboard.

John thought for a moment. He wanted Sherlock to stay but he knew his flatmate wouldn't without a sound reason. Sherlock was too logical. Too practical. That was when he internally cheered.

"I want to try an experiment."

Sherlock's eyes and ears seemed to perk like a puppy's would. "Oh? What kind?"

"So glad that I piqued your interest. How about this: I'll tell you my results tomorrow morning based on the events I've cataloged in my mind. Is that fair?" John grinned.

Dark curls bounced as he nodded. "It's a start. By the way, you need a new mattress. This one has little to no lumbar support."

"My mattress is perfectly fine."

"But it's uncomfortable." John could have sworn it sounded like a whine. He felt Sherlock shift and turned to see that the detective had shifted to lay on his side, staring at him. "What will you be doing as a variable in this experiment?"

John snorted. "Then sleep on the floor. I don't need a variable for this experiment. I already have most of the data that I need. This is just to confirm my findings."

He almost laughed as Sherlock actually rolled over to look at the floor with a grimace. "I suppose this will suffice."

John smiled and yawned closing eyes. "Night, Sherlock."

Despite his will to stay awake, Sherlock felt his eyes drooping closed. "Good night, John,"

And then all was quiet.