NOTE: I know that the chapters seem to be getting shorter but don't worry, the next one is already in the making and it wouldn't work if I didn't build up some suspense, would it? ;) Please tell me what you think of it, so far!
- 3 -
John had been watching crowds of people rushing by for at least half an hour now. The remains of his supper had gotten cold. After Sherlock took off to the mourge, he decided to grab some Chinese. The restaurant was small, but warm and cozy and John had found a single table next to the window to sit at and stare out into the nightlife of London. Bright lights reflected on the glass. He had lost himself in his thoughs completely. Why had Sherlock acted like this? It wasn't unusual for him to leave a crime scene without John, but why would Sherlock even bother to look at the other victims if he wasn't interested in the case in the first place? There was something he didn't want John or Lestrade to know. It was the only explanation for his behaviour.
"I'm sorry, we're closing." A short man with a strong chinese accent greeted him with a smile. John took out his wallet and left an adequate amount of money, including a generous tip, on the tabe. The Chinese bowed down thankfully and kept smiling. John reached for his jacked and walked out the door. Cold air filled his lungs, and the sound of traffic and people talking took over the scene. He braced himself for the inevitable confrontation with Sherlock, when he would get back to 221b, and waved at a cab.
...
The door unlocked and John stepped in. No one had been here since they had left. He flicked the lightswitch and, not expecting an answer, called into the vanishing darkness.
"Sherlock?" Nothing. He flicked it again, there was no point in staying up to wait for him. He was a grown up man after all... A genius. He wouldn't get himself into trouble, would he? John tried to make himself believe. After freeing himself of his jacked, he went straight up to his bedroom.
...
He couldn't sleep. A nightmare had woken him up and now his thoughts wandered in circles until they came back to Sherlock. It was far from midnight, already close to dawn - 5, maybe 6 AM. A quick glance at his arlarm reassured him.
6:12 AM
There was no way he would be able to go back to sleep again but the comforting warmth and sofness of his bed kept him from getting up. One of the perks -the only perk- of suffering from PTSD was being used to the lack of sleep due to nightmares. In his dreams, there was screaming, and blood and- he cut his thougt and sat up. Cars driving by caused rays of light to break through the curtains. Ever since he returned, nothing has felt quite like home... except 221b. It was his harbour, a bastion of calm. Thinking about it, he couldnt describe how grateful he was for meeting Sherlock and moving into 221b. It was more than simply a place to crash and eat. A smile crept upon his face. No point in trying to fall asleep again. He arched his back and got up, deciding to start his day early. After his usual morning routine of using the bathroom, getting dressed and setting up a kettle of his favourite tea blend he sat down to blog about their most recent case. John watched the sky shift from black to blue. Thinking back on yesterdays occurrences, he couldnt help but wonder if Sherlock had made it home. John couldn't just simply walk into his room, could he? And Sherlock spent most of his nights on the couch, anyways... He didn't return. Discomfort spread in his chest. The thought of loosing his only friend again made him feel sick. "No messages" he muttered under his breath as he checked his phone. Nothing. Maybe Sherlock had informed Lestrade about what he was up to... Highly unlikely, but It was worth a try.
Did Sherlock let you in on what he's been up to?
He didn't make it back to the flat tonight.
- JW
John ignored the fact of how gay that might have sounded. It wasn't like anyone still believed that they weren't a couple. Tapping his fingers impatiently, he waited for Lestrades response, eventually turning his attention to the blog once more. Half an hour and a blogpost later his phone vibrated.
No, sorry. He's been to the mourge but left around 11:30 pm yesterday.
- GL
Sinking back into his chair he thought that maybe it was for the best to just leave him alone. Maybe he was on the right track, already on to the the killer. Or maybe he had gotten himself into some deep trouble. He would've at least texted me... John let out a sigh and started typing.
Where are you? Are you alri-
He backspaced.
Where are you? How's the case going?
- JW
Send.
Moments later, a familiar jingle echoed through the room and ripped him out of his thoughs. At the noise of a squeaking door he turned his head to watch a tall and dark figure step in. Sherlock.