I've got to warn you! John and Sherlock tend to swear when they get pissed! Which they will be in this chapter, so be warned. Other than that, enjoy Sherlock and John do their thing!

Chapter 8

Sherlock sputtered, "A-Wha- Me? Make you breakfast? You know I don't cook!"

"Make us breakfast, Sherlock, and there's a big difference from 'don't cook' and 'can't cook'. You're the genius, I'm sure you can manage. I'll be there to help you as well."

Sherlock growled in annoyance. "And then can we go catch a madman?"
"Yes, then we go catch a madman," John agreed, snickering at Sherlock's petulance.

"…Fine," Sherlock finally agreed. "I'll made breakfast. And you're helping!"

As it turned out, once Sherlock realized that cooking wasn't rocket science (though if it had been it would hardly have been a problem) he was able to make a decent meal. Eggs and roasted toast wasn't the most complicated dish either, and under John's instructions they had a hot plate of breakfast in no time. Both done eating, and after John's quick shower they were ready to go. John felt much better going down the stairs now that he could at least outline the horizon, though that was more or less it. Every sane person would have stayed home where he was less likely to hurt himself- but every sane person would also never have followed Sherlock Homes anywhere for the same reason. But John just shrugged mentally and let Sherlock guide him into a cab. "Where to?"
"The Yard, and be quick about it. We're in a hurry," Sherlock answered quickly.
"We are?" John asked. He had, as usual, not been filled in on Sherlock's plan for the day.

"Aren't we always?" Sherlock smirked. John huffed in answer. They came too a halt outside the yard and Sherlock dragged John out the car. "Sherlock," John stopped Sherlock before he stormed in the door to the Yard where he surely would be lost to John in the dim light of the offices in there. "Um- I don't think-"
"Yes, of course, here," he too John's hand in a firm grip and dragged him along once again. "Oh! Uh, okay then!" John stuttered surprised. He bit his lips imagining what Sgt. Donovan was going to say to this. Sherlock's brilliant idea of holding hands through the entire yard was going to be on the lips of the gossiping Sergeant for weeks- no months! Oh hell- not like there was anything he could do. John held Sherlock's hand a little firmer when the busy voices and shouts met both men as they barreled through the door. Sherlock didn't slow down in the slightest as he pushed his way through the crowd. John was getting more uncomfortably the louder the shouts became and the longer from the exit they got. The whole thing reminded him too much of the battlefield at night- disorientated, blinded by darkness and only hearing screams and shouts from enemies and friends you couldn't see.

"Mornin' lads," Greg's voice suddenly cut through the growing chaos. John let out a breath he didn't know he had held back and smiled widely. "Hey, Greg."

"Morning Lestrade," Sherlock greeted. "As I said yesterday, we're looking for a resourceful male individual with access or connection to delusional men. The resourceful individual has the means to promise the delusional men something of such value that will make them give up their lives. It is not religious. And I highly doubt it is money that he is giving away, since starting up drug dealing would be much easier."
"Uhm, sure Sherlock, let's cut right to the case!" Lestrade put down the coffee he had been sipping at, and sat back in his chair. "John, there's a chair to your right," he said helpfully. John put out his hand and stumped it against a wooden chair. "Ouch, ha, yeah I've found it," he chuckled. He let go of Sherlock and sat down slowly. Sherlock blinked at them and then continued, "I've ruled out everyone I could think of so far, including Mycroft-" Sherlock began.

"Wait, Mycroft?" John questioned with a quirked eyebrow? The hell?
"Yes, John- a person with resources that could make a man blow himself up for what he had to offer? And not to mention the contacts with lunatics."

John chuckled, "That lunatic wouldn't be you, would it?" Lestrade snorted a laugh though he tried his best to contain it. "Ha-ha, very funny," Sherlock retorted childishly.

"Okay, well, great. Mycroft's not the one who is trying to kill us! Then who is it, Sherlock?" John inquired. Sherlock huffed before continuing, "I'm missing something. I need to go to the first bombing scene to look for clues. I'll have that prick hunted down by midnight."
"Getting touchy, are we Sherlock?" Lestrade snickered as he sipped at his coffee again.

"He messed with my property, Lestrade. Nobody does that," Sherlock retorted his voice ebbing with death. Lestrade kept his mouth shut and simply waved at Sherlock for him to go do his thing. John mused over Sherlock's choice of words, but didn't mention anything. Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled him to his feet. John hadn't seen Greg's gesture and stumbled after Sherlock in surprise, "Later, Greg!" he shouted as they made it for the exit. Sherlock successfully got them a cab within five seconds and thus they were off again. Everything seemed to happen a lot faster when John couldn't keep track of it all with his eyes. It was making him slightly dizzy.

"Unbelievable," Sherlock snorted as the cab halted. "What is?" John asked as he was led out of the car and grabbed by his hand once again. "The police are still around. Donovan and Anderson as well."

"Good God. Please don't attack Anderson today, I'm relying on you to walk around, remember?" John almost begged. It would me mayhem if Sherlock jumped Anderson with neither Greg nor John around. Sherlock simply grunted and led John through a forest of dark shades of black and grey. John estimated there to be six uniforms, not counting Donovan and Anderson. Why was it always those two? Sherlock must have been thinking this for as long as he has known them.

"Hey freak, I see you've brought lover-boy?" Sally sneered.

"Please seize talking, you're making my ears bleed. I'll just have a look at the center of the explosion and we'll be off," John followed Sherlock silently, hating the situation more than he had expected to. Sally snorted behind them but kept silent. Anderson didn't get the memo though, so he appeared right at Sherlock's side and hissed "If you as much as touch my crime scene I'll have you arrested, Sherlock. I can't believe Lestrade let you in here! It's amazing the lunatics you have to deal with when you're on the force!" Anderson complained loudly.

"Shut up Anderson, you don't even own a badge," Sherlock brushed him off.

"Oh, and you do?" Anderson's voice was already hurting John's ears.

"As the matter of fact, yes," Sherlock said with a smirk. "John, I need you to go back to Baker Street and check something for me. Have Mrs. Hudson help you look for small slivers of metal with blue markings. I'm seeing them all over this area, and I need them to confirm-" John cut him short, "Sherlock I can't get there," he shook their joined hands lightly.

"Sure you can. Have one of the officers escort you to Baker Street and do as I said- make Mrs. Hudson help you look for the slivers," Sherlock stated simply.

"You can't just have an officer lead John around like a dog, Sherlock, you-" Anderson's rambling was interrupted by a young police officer, "I'll take him. We're not finding anything here anyway… sir," he added. Anderson snorted, but turned around and stomped away in defeat. "Thank you," John said, letting go of Sherlock and following the officer to his patrol car.

"Call me as soon as you get to Baker Street!" Sherlock yelled after him, John acknowledged and drove off with the officer.

"Here we are," the officer announced as the car rolled up Baker Street. He got out of the car before John could protest, and took his hand out of courtesy when it was offered to him. "Thank you, but I'm sure I can manage from now on," John assured,

"But how will you make it to your flat? Are the stairs not gone?" Bugger. John fiddled on the spot, drawing a blank on good excuses for this one. "Um, yeah, Sherlock helped me get upstairs last time, but I'll make it myself just fine," John couldn't reveal the location of Sherlock's 'secret ladder', Sherlock would kill him, but he didn't really know what to say. He couldn't possible make it to the first floor on his own, not blind. "All right, I'll give you a push if you need it," the young officer said.

John just shook his head a little. He was a very nice kid he just didn't need his help. Not right now. But if he wanted to get him to his flat so badly, then John could get a cup of tea before bothering Mrs. Hudson. With help from the officer John made it successfully to the first floor. "Thanks!" he called down the missing stairs.

"No worries, Doctor Watson!"

John made it inside then, and as he put the kettle on he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. "Yes?"

"John! Are you at Baker Street yet?" Sherlock was panting, running.

"Yes, I'm here- what are you doing? Everything all right?"
"I've got it," Sherlock cursed as a car honked close by on Sherlock's end of the line. "It's like Anderson said; Police! They deal with lunatics everyday! Delusional men with nothing to loose except the ones they leave behind when they die- or when they go to jail!"

"So what are you saying?" John asked confused. The water was slowly starting to boil and he held his hand over his other ear to hear Sherlock better.

"Our resourceful man, John! He's an officer of the law! He has connections to delusional men who can be manipulated easily! You trust officers, right? We trust them! He'll have the advantage of never being questioned and he would have been on the first scene of bombing, and he'd know our address too!"

"Sherlock that's-" John froze. An officer? It's true. He trusts officers. In fact, he trusts them enough to let them drive him home and trap him in his own flat. "Sherlock there's an officer just downstairs! How do we know which one he is? Are we-" John gasped as a thick metal chain was forced around his neck. His hands flew to the intrusive object and his phone fell from his grasp. Faintly, he heard Sherlock shouting his name, but it was soon washed over by the rushing of his own blood in his ears. He coughed and rasped as he struggled to wrestle his way out of the grip of his attacker. He tried to maneuver himself around but nothing worked. The kettle whistled loudly and John reached for it on instinct. He managed to grab it, and swung it forcefully over his head and hit his attacker dead between the eyes. "ARH!" John only had a moment to remove the chain from his neck and gasp twice for air before his attacker was back on him. This time John pushed him off though, and swung the kettle at him once more. For a moment he had the upper hand, getting a few well places hits on the intruder. John had time to realize that the man he was fighting wasn't wearing a uniform. He could tell by the obvious outlines of a hoodie. His attacker jumped him suddenly, and John hadn't the time to defend himself so he was pushed to the floor where he was pinned by the man. "Get off me asshole!" John yelled angrily and out of breath. He received no answer, the man only took both John's wrists and successfully kept them trapped in one of his hands. Was momentarily taken aback by the strength of the man, but was ripped back to reality when a scolding hot liquid was being poured on his palms. John yelped in pain and surprise. The water was boiling hot, and John quickly realized his attacker had turned his kettle to his advantage. The fucker was searing off his palms with the newly boiled tea water. John trashed his legs to kick him off, but he sat solid over his stomach as if nothing was happening. The water came coming in a steady stream, never seeming to stop. Then John jumped as he heard the intruder's contemptuous voice close to his ear. At first John didn't understand a word. Then the murmured words of an Afghani dialect hit him hard. "…thief! He says your fingers should be cut, and the eyes of you friend be seared of his face! He says you steal from him! From all of them!" he growled at John.

"Who?" John panted, still struggling and gritting his teeth at the boiling water on his skin. John only faintly acknowledged that he had begun speaking in the tunes of the familiar dialect without giving his consent, "Who said that?"

"You already know too much," the man growled and lifted the kettle from John's hands and held it over his head moving as if his was planning to bash John's head with it, only he was stopped by taking a foot to the face- Sherlock's foot to be exact. And then Sherlock's hands and feet were all over the guy, and he cried out in agony when something snapped loudly. His arm, John suspected. The cry was cut short by a loud thud and everything was dead silent for a moment. Then Sherlock turned to John and curled his cool fingers around John's wrists, gently pulling him into a sitting position. "John, your hands…" he whispered. "I'll get some cold water immediately." Sherlock shuffled and released John's wrists as he ran into the kitchen, which John had left while battling his attacker. Sherlock returned and took John's wrists again. "Tell me what happened," he demanded angrily.

"He- I didn't see him, I thought he was the police officer for a moment, but I don't think he is, and I couldn't hear him because the kettle- and you on the phone-"

"John-"
"I was loud, but I managed to get him off- I mean he grabbed me with this chain-" John kept rambling, trying to get everything out at once.
"John!" John closed his mouth. "I don't understand a word you're saying. Please speak English." John blinked. Speak English? What else would he be speaking? Oh.

"Sorry," John muttered. "He spoke Dari. I don't know what happened."

"You were in battle, someone spoke Dari to you so you spoke Dari back. It makes perfect sense. Try again in a moment. Now, open your hands for me," John winced as he complied.

"Is he dead?"
"No, just unconscious. I need him for interrogation. Then I'll kill him," Sherlock's voice was the true sound of death and hatred, and John pulled a face imagining what Sherlock had in stock for the man. "Sherlock, maybe we should just call Lestrade? Get him to go through some police records or something? To find our guy I mean."
"Lestrade is with the police, John. Until we find our madman we will not have any contact with him. And before you ask – no, I don' believe Gregory would have the brains to pull a trick like this. He's clearly not our man," Sherlock explained as he slowly lowered a cloth soaked in ice-cold water to John's wounds. John jumped and bit his lip when the cloth made contact. He grunted in pain put didn't say a word. "Forgive me," Sherlock mumbled. Both men jumped when a startlingly loud noise broke the silence. The ring of a phone emitted from the jacket pocket of the intruder. John and Sherlock made eye contact before either of them moved. "It could be our guy," John said. "Should we take it?"
"No. It's likely he's calling to make sure he got the job done. If he doesn't pick up-"
"-he failed. And our madman will be nervous. Makes it more likely for him to make a mistake and reveal himself. Good thinking," John ended Sherlock's string of thought. Sherlock gave John an approving lifted eyebrow and a smirk. "Yes, it is. Now let's get you fixed up and ready to take down this son of a bitch."
Sherlock is swearing. He really is pissed. Well, John was one of his favorite things, and this was the second time he had been messed with, so what can you do? John almost chuckles at the though but winced instead as the cold droplets of water runs down his scolded fingers. Yeah, this guy is in big trouble once Sherlock has the information he needs beaten out of John's attacker. Big trouble.