A/N okay i had this written up days ago but i left my flash when i went home and couldn't put it up. i have Chaps two and three planned in my head so they should be up within a day or two.

Chapter 1- An Idiot at a crime scene

They say hindsight is 20/20 and whoever they are were absolutely right. In hindsight John should have known, and not only thought, that this were going to go wrong seeing as Anderson and Donovan were already at the crime scene when he and Sherlock showed up.

One of them was bad enough but both of them together could wear down his patience like nothing else in the world and seeing as he was living with one of the craziest people on the planet and had to constantly put up with being kidnapped by Mycroft 'I only occupy a minor position in the British Government' Holmes that was saying quite a bit.

Sherlock had gotten the call from Lestrade right after breakfast and they had both headed out. When they arrived on the scene Donovan greeted them with her customary greeting of 'freak' and 'pet' just like normal and they both simply ignored her just because they both knew how angry that made her and walked into the building where the dead woman was.

When Sherlock's eyes fell on the body his eyes lighted in excitement and John knew that this case would be thrilling case just from that one look.

Sadly he wasn't the only one to notice the look. "You've finally crossed the line haven't you," Anderson accused. "I saw the way that you just looked at her body."

Now this sort of accusation was routine but for some reason today it grated on John's last nerve. Now it could have been because of the headache that was pounding like a drum in his head and it might have had something to do with the fact that only his strength of will was a stopping him from tossing his cookies but the most likely reason may have been that Anderson's insufferable attitude had just finally broke his patience.

Before Sherlock could say anything at all John took a breath and put on a smile that was anything but pleasant and looked at the man with such disdain that he should have melted into a puddle of liquid. "I would appreciate if you will keep your opinions to yourself. Sherlock likes to solve crimes not commit them and if you were even competent at your job he probably wouldn't be here. So shut up take a seat and let him work."

With that John stepped back and leaned against the wall furthest away from the man so that he could reduce the sudden urge he had to rip him to shreds.

He felt Sherlock's eyes on him and he saw the slight smile of amusement and couldn't help but return it.

Everything would have been fine had it ended there but Anderson, being the idiot that he was, had to push it.

"So it's obvious that she was dragged here after she was already dead. But the killer was inexperienced judging by the murder weapon and the sloppiness of the kill. Now all I need-" Sherlock deduced only to be interrupted by Anderson.

"That's a good dog standing up for your master. He has you trained properly doesn't he? You'd do anything he told you to wouldn't you?"

John dug his fingernails into his hands as a growl rose in his throat. His body felt like it had been set on fire and the only thing that saved Anderson from certain death was the fact that felt as though his body was trying to pull itself apart and it hurt. He had never felt so much pain in his life, and that was saying something considering that he had been in the army, and the pain was growing stronger and stronger and he was helpless to stop it. The rage was building too and he was literally scared of himself but that was only a bit of his mind. The rest was intent on destroying the bloody bastard that dared to insult his friend and him.

Sherlock took this in and he could see that if he didn't act quickly then Anderson might end up dead. He had seen John mad but the John before him now was murderous and as much as he would like to rid the world of Anderson's idiocy he didn't want his best and only friend to go to jail for being the murderer.

Calmly he walked toward John secure in the knowledge that his friend wouldn't hurt him. "Get Anderson out of here," he said not looking behind him to see if his command was being carried out. He knew it would be because Lestrade had arrived a moment ago and he listened to Sherlock.

"John," Sherlock said quietly once he heard the pair of footsteps fade. Sherlock's eyes locked with John's and he could read everything there. The fear, the rage, everything.

"John," he repeated almost close enough to touch him and then he took one more step. Then another and then in a swift move he hugged him. For a moment the body of his friend stiffened and then he felt the shaking accompanied by heavy breathing. Then John moved in closer and laid his head against Sherlock's chest and his fist loosened leaving his hands dangling at his sides.

Two things came to Sherlock's attention in rapid succession. One that his friend's temperature was way higher than was safe and two that there was a quiet plip plip sound. He pulled away just a bit and he could see the small puddles of blood that were gathering on either side of John. Quickly he stepped futher away and grabbed John's hands with his own turning them palm up. On each palm there were four deep gashes as though he had dug claws and not nails into his hand.

John looked at his hands to as though he was startled to find that there was blood there. Even worse was he was beginning to look around like he had forgotten exactly where he was but Sherlock deduced that that may have been caused by the fever as much as by the blood loss.

What made Sherlock angry was that he hadn't noticed that John was sick. He supposed that he could blame it on the case but John had to have been feeling ill for more than one day. As a friend he should have noticed.

Sherlock shook off those thoughts and began to plan. John obviously needed medical attention so he supposed that he should call an ambulance but something about this felt wrong and if something odd was happening to his friend he didn't want some idiot treating him. That left one option and though he loathed having to depend on his brother John was worth the suffering.

Decided, he held an only barely conscious John with one arm and pulled out his phone with the other. It rang once before it was picked up. "Mycroft I need your help."