Hey! It's been ages since I updated this fic... Anyway, I'm afraid there's going to be a it on an anti climax. Enjoy! And review.
John followed Sherlock closely as he wove through the small groups of people making their way to the airport, or on their way out of it. Their suspect was moving slowly, now next to the possible victim. Slowly, the pursued and the pursuers made their way towards the bus station. When Sherlock realised their intentions, he stopped John by throwing out his arm.
"They're going to get on that bus." he hissed.
"Yes, I realised that Sherlock."
Sherlock shook his head, and bounded forward.
"Sherlock!" he snapped, the the consulting detective ignored him, instead barrelling straight into their supposed killer.
John hurried forward as Sherlock easily knocked the man down. The women beside him let out a shriek, and Sherlock groaned, shaking his head. He grabbed the man's hand, and pulled him up.
"Terribly sorry. I did see you in this dark." he said, brushing the man down.
Then, without another word, he turned on his heel, and ran back to John.
"Not our killer then?" asked John.
"It's not my fault he was acting suspiciously." snapped Sherlock as they made their way back to Heathrow.
"So now what?" asked John.
"We go back and sit. It's only half four, so we've still got a while before we need to get back to the flat."
"Oh great. We get another chance to get ourselves killed."
Sherlock strode on, ignoring him. Soon they were seated again, Sherlock jiggling his knees as he scanned the room. Half an hour passed like this, and Sherlock made no move. John was just dozing off when Sherlock stood.
"Come on, nothing here." he said.
John jerked awake, and stood, following Sherlock more out of habit than anything.
"So that was a total waste of time?"
"Basically, yes."
"Next time, go alone."
"I can't, I currently have no desire to be killed, and so I need to be with you."
"But, you said the forth victim was with her son?"
"She might not have been with him when the poison was administered, or maybe the killer doesn't consider a two year old child a witnesses."
"Okay, so what now?"
"We go to Lestrade, and get him to identify the poison."
"Alright," John glanced over at Sherlock, and watched him send a text. "Isn't it a it early to be waking him?"
"Probably."
They reached the flat by half past five, and sleepily climbed the stairs. Just as they were about to enter the flat, Sherlock froze.
"Look." he murmured, pointing at the door which was open a crack.
They both hovered by the door, Sherlock carefully examining the door knob.
"They're still in there." he whispered, so quietly it was barely a breath of air in the stillness.
"I'll go in first." said John.
"Okay, try not to get killed." he said softly, excitement lighting up his eyes.
"I will."
John pushed the door open, and it creaked ominously. He drew a deep breath, and stepped into the room.
For several seconds, nothing happened. Then a form jumped out of the shadows, knocking John to the ground. Sherlock switched the light on.
"Stop right there." he snarled.
John's attacker froze, staring across at Sherlock, then down at John, who was sprawled on the floor.
"Mr. Holmes!" the man exclaimed, before turning to look at John. Sherlock watched him warily.
"Who are you, and what are you doing in our flat?" asked Sherlock, ready to spring into action.
"I'm officer Johnson. At a little past four this morning, I was called out. Your land lady heard people moving around, and called the police."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, and dropped down beside John, examining him carefully. Johnson had known what he was doing when he hit John. He was out cold.
"It was us you idiot." snapped Sherlock irritably.
"And what were you doing up at four in the morning." said Johnson.
"We went to Heathrow in the hopes of finding the killer. Help me get him onto the sofa." said Sherlock, grabbing John under the armpits.
Together they managed to haul the unconscious army doctor onto the sofa.
"It's okay boys! Only the owner." Johnson called, and two other men appeared, one from Sherlock's room, and another from the kitchen.
"You were called out an hour and a half ago. Why are you still here?"
"Well as it was your house that had been burgled, and both you and Mr. Watson were gone, we thought we should stay in case the kidnappers returned."
"Kidnapper? You thought we were kidnapped? And you thought your kidnapper would return? Forget his comfort blanket did he?" Sherlock asked, sneering.
"We saw you were gone, and your land lady heard noises. But we were hoping for a ransom letter."
"And you didn't just think we went out?"
"Well, no offence sir, but no respectable people go out at four in the morning."
Sherlock sighed, shrugging.
He turned John's head over, and examined the bruise already forming there. The detective groaned.
"Could you have looked before you attacked him?" asked Sherlock.
Johnson shrugged uncomfortably.
"You haven't told anyone we were 'kidnapped'?"
"Not yet, sir."
Sherlock shook his head, and looked round the flat. The officers hadn't messed it up to much. A few papers were strewn across the floor. He scowled.
"Well I think you can go now. Enough damage has been done by your thoughtless action."
"Yes sir, right away." said Johnson anxiously, shuffling to the door.
He and his men hurriedly left, clattering down the stairs and probably waking the whole flat.
Sherlock carefully re stacked the strewn papers, and then stood, watching John, unsure of what to do next. There was a gentle knock at the door, and he turned to see Mrs. Hudson peering through the doorway.
"Sherlock! I am glad to see you. That nice man, officer Johnson, said you might have been kidnapped," she stepped into the room, and saw John sprawled on the sofa. "My goodness! What happened to him?"
"That nice man hit him round the head." said Sherlock irritably.
"Poor dear, is there anything I can do?" she asked.
"Some biscuits would be lovely, and a cup of tea."
"Alright dear, just this once because of poor Dr. Watson. But just this once, remember that."
Sherlock smirked as Mrs. Hudson retired to the kitchen.
"Goodness me dear! What have you been doing?" she asked, clattering around.
"Just an experiment." murmured Sherlock, seating himself in a chair, and drawing his long legs up to his chin. He needed to think, and however well meaning Mrs. Hudson was, he was sure she could be a little quieter.
Soon she reappeared with a cup of tea and a few stale biscuits. She handed these to Sherlock, and bustled round the room, clearing up folders, books, old cups and generally all the stuff Sherlock left in his wake.
"You really ought to keep this place cleaner. You'll catch something one of these days." she huffed.
"Please, Mrs. Hudson. Shouldn't you be getting some sleep?" asked Sherlock forcefully.
For once she took the hint.
"Alright then dear. Try and get some sleep yourself. I hope the doctor wakes up soon, poor thing." she hurried out, softly shutting the door.
Sherlock sighed in relief. Finally he could get the peace and quiet he needed. He reached for the nicotine patches.