Sherlock was laying on his bed, back in his thinking position. Though, he's thinking of John, rather than the case. He knew that John couldn't hold off forever. Especially not after that morning.
The sound of running water came from the other side of the wall.
John's in the shower.
Sherlock got up and sat against the wall that connected the bathroom with his bedroom. He listened to the sounds that John made.
Was that a groan? My dear, John Watson, are you wanking in the shower again?
Sherlock's mouth twitched up in a triumphant smirk. On the bedside table, his phone alerted he had a new text. A smirk still plastered on his face, Sherlock got up and grabbed his phone.
Hey, we need you and John to come in. -GL
Sherlock sighed. He walked out of his room and knocked on the bathroom door.
"Yes?" John called, a small hitch in his voice.
Must have been close to the edge.
"Lestrade needs us to go down to the Yard today. I assume it's rather important."
Or at least it better be.
"Okay! I'll be done soon!"
Sherlock's smirk grew. "Oh, I bet you will," he muttered to himself with a chuckle.
He went back to his bedroom and got his purple shirt and black trousers out of the wardrobe. The bathroom door opened just as he had taken off his robe and shirt. He pretended not to notice that John's footsteps had stopped shortly after exiting, and pretended not to feel John's eyes burning a hole right through him. Sherlock continued to remove his trousers, and then his pants. He stood for a moment and stretched his arms and back.
By the time Sherlock was done getting dressed, John had gone to his own bedroom. He waited in the living room.
About 20 minutes later, John came running down the stairs apologising for taking so long.
"Sorry, sorry, I know that took forever."
"What were you doing up there?"
It was a stupid question, because Sherlock already had the answer.
He's panting. Face is a bit rid. Beads of sweat riddling his forehead and upper lip. Could have passed as drops of water had he come out right after his shower. John was wanking again.
"I was getting ready. Couldn't find my coat. Still can't, actually."
Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "That's because your coat is in here on the hook, next to mine. Like it has since you moved in."
John swallowed hard. "Right. Off we go, then?"
Sherlock got up and they left for New Scotland Yard.
"Here's the list of all the victims," Lestrade said, showing them a board covered in photos and names. He pointed to a brunette girl with brown eyes and a tanned complexion. "This is the girl that you discovered had HIV. And this guy over here is the anaemic."
"Excellent. Is this the whole reason you called us over here?"
"Not quite. Anderson found some DNA that doesn't belong to any of the victims and doesn't come up in any database."
"Oh, so you called me here for Anderson. I'm touched, really I am. Couldn't this have been done through text or something?"
"Well, we figured you'd want to give it a look before Anderson started handling it again."
"A sweet gesture, I assure you. I'll pick up the DNA sample on my way out and I'll take it with me to analyse. Good enough?"
"Well," Lestrade started. "Yeah."
He's embarrassed. Excellent.
"Sherlock, it's important that we get this done quickly. There are multiple victims who had families. Those families need this case to be over with. They're going to be bombarded by the press."
"I said I'll get it. What are you worried about?"
"Because you're supposed to be our consulting detective, and quite frankly, you're not doing your job very well."
"Let me tell you a little something, Detective Inspector. I don't ca-"
Sherlock was interrupted by his ringing mobile. He fished it out of his pocket and the screen read Mycroft Holmes.
"What do you want now?" Sherlock asked, irritated.
"Hello, little brother. How's domestic life?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course not. Well, I dropped by your flat, but you don't seem to be in it."
"You knew I wasn't there, Mycroft. Don't pretend it was just poor timing."
"Worth a try. I need to speak with you. So, leave Dr. Watson at Scotland Yard and come back to the flat."
"Why can't we just do this over the phone?"
John was giving Sherlock a look of sheer curiosity.
"Just come home, Sherlock. This is rather important."
"I'll see what I can do."
Sherlock hung up the phone before Mycroft could reply.
He turned to John. "John, I need to go back to the flat."
"Alright, let's listen to the rest of what Greg has to say, and then we'll-"
"Who the hell is Greg?"
"I am," Lestrade said.
"Since when?"
"Since I was born, Sherlock. All this time and you never wondered what the G stood for in my initials at the end of my text messages?"
"Never cared. Oh, would you look at that? I still don't! John, you stay and talk with .. Greg. I'm going to run back to Baker Street."
"Alright," John said.
Sherlock didn't await any reply. He walked out of the Yard and hailed a cab. The cabbie took him right past 221B Baker Street and kept going. Minutes later, he arrived at Mycroft's office.
If Mycroft is going to be so incessantly irritating, I'll just have to make it worse on him.
He had the cab wait for him while he popped in for a moment. Sherlock shifted through all levels of security right to his brother's office. He moved elegantly and changed the position of almost everything in the room. Desk moved about half a centimetre, lamp moved one centimetre, and so on.
Satisfied with himself, he left and went back to Baker Street. He paid the cabbie, went through the front door - after setting the knocker off kilter once more - and bounded up the stairs. Mycroft was standing at the window, watching the streets below.
"What took you so long?" Mycroft said, turning around to face his little brother.
"Traffic," Sherlock replied, his voice already flat and bored. "What are you doing here, Mycroft? Shouldn't you be off stopping a war? Or, better yet, starting one?"
"That would be none of your business. I'm here, because it seems you've taken a liking to Dr. Watson."
"Well, of course I like him; I live with him!"
"You know what I mean."
"Well, if I know what you mean, then why don't you be so kind as to share your point?"
"I don't want to see this go south for you."
"Worried I'll go back to.. old habits?"
"I worry about it every day."
"For God's sake, it's going to be fine! If it doesn't work out, then we'll move on."
"Do you really think that either of you will be able to move on from it?"
"Absolutely!"
"I see. So, let's say it doesn't work out and you're both vulnerable. You two couldn't handle seeing each other every day. John would move out, and you'd be all alone. Again. I'll be the only one you have left."
"No, because if it happens as you have now predicted, I will leave you. You've now put forth a notion of how this arrangement is going to fall apart. I've dealt with you being correct about a lot of things, Mycroft, but if you are right about this, I won't be pleasant about it. Who knows, maybe the shock will send me back to times of addiction. Or maybe it will just be having to deal with your smug face and the look of 'I told you so.' I won't have it."
Mycroft touched his fingers to his forehead. "Must you make everything so difficult?"
"For you, yes."
Mycroft sighed. "Fine. Then I will just have to take matters into my own hands again."
"Matters are always in your hands, Mycroft."
The older Holmes brother smiled a cheeky grin. "So they are. Good day, little brother."
Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.
He gave Mycroft a few minutes to get far enough away. Sherlock made his way outside and again went on his way back to Scotland Yard.
Sherlock walked into the room that John and Lestrade were in, interrupting their conversation.
" -not the right person to talk to about that- Oh, you're back," Lestrade said, noticing the extra person in the room.
"How observant you are today, Gavin."
"It's Greg."
"Actually, it's irrelevant. Is there any more information you need me to have at this time?"
"Uhh - No, not really."
"In that case, we will be on our way," Sherlock said, turning on his heels. He called out behind him, "John!"
He could hear the doctor mutter apologies to Lestrade and his quick steps to catch up.
"You could do with being nicer to him, you know. He's kept you out of jail many times."
"Where's the fun in being nice to people?"
The only response he got was an irritated sigh. They left the station and headed to Baker Street once more to work on their case.
John went up to his room, and Sherlock thought of a wonderful experiment to conduct in the flat. If he wasn't going to directly do anything to John, then he was going to make John do things instead. Sherlock's mouth twitched up into a cocky smirk.
This was going to become very interesting.