Chapter 5: Are you Cold?
"So that text you sent me?" John says as he approaches the sofa and sits on the arm rest. Sherlock is still facing away from him but sitting close enough for John to hear his deep breath.
"What text?" Sherlock asks monotonously. John pulls out his phone from his pocket, in an attempt to get his flatmate to look at him John doesn't pass the phone to Sherlock.
"This one."
Sherlock shifts so that he can see the phone in John's hand. "I must have fallen asleep on my phone, and done it by accident." he says raising a hand to push some of his unruly curls out of his face. At that moment John can see the dark circles under Sherlock's eyes and guilt coils in his stomach, heavy as an anchor and hot like burning coals.
John brings his hand up quickly towards Sherlock's face, when his fingers brush the skin of Sherlock's jaw, the tall man jumps back a bit and turns away from John.
"Sherlock?"
"I'm going to bed." he says, standing up without looking at John.
"Goodnight Sherlock."
Other than a disgruntled sigh, Sherlock didn't acknowledge John as he stalked off into his bedroom.
New Message: 6:12 AM:
Get up.
-SH
New Message: 6:14 AM:
I'm really bored.
-SH
New Message: 6:20 AM:
I'm contemplating the effects of smoke on a decomposing body.
-SH
New Message: 6:22 AM:
Which means I'll be lighting something on fire.
-SH
New Message: 6:22 AM:
Please do not light anything on fire. I'm up.
"Sherlock?" John asks cautiously as he enters the kitchen, he is thankful that he cant smell smoke yet.
"I'm here." Sherlock calls from behind a particularly high stack of newspapers and case files.
"Nothing on fire then?"
"Oh no. I conducted that experiment weeks ago, I just wanted you to wake up." The detective says, standing and stretching gracefully. John is sure that he should look away when Sherlock's shirt rises over his stomach as he lifts his arms up over his head and leans to each side, but instead his eyes seem glued to the taller man's exposed skin.
"Tea?" Sherlock asks, mid stretch, thankfully pulling John's attention from the smooth, pale expanse of Sherlock's abdomen.
"Mhm" John nods, spinning quickly to face the kettle. As he maneuvers around the kitchen fixing breakfast and tea for himself and Sherlock, he wonders about Sherlock's change in mood. When he had gone to sleep the previous night, Sherlock had seemed practically distraught, now he was almost chipper, and it was confusing John greatly.
"Have you got to the surgery today?" Sherlock asks, non looking up from his petry dish on the table.
"No, it's Sunday Sherlock."
"Oh, right." Sherlock looks up for a moment just as John brings his tea across the room. "The police are being imbeciles again, and I'm fairly sure that we can find the killer of those girls before them."
"Whey don't you just tell the police what you know and let them deal with it?" John asks, the perpetual voice of reason.
"Well, that's no fun is it?"
"Actually it seems for fun that getting shot and my body being dumped in front of an international embassy."
Sherlock smiles a little and sips gingerly at his tea.
"Well? are you going to help?"
John hardly thinks about it, "Of course."
New Message: 12:33PM
I forgot to put nicotine patches on the list.
-SH
New Message: 12:35 PM:
I already got them. I'm on my way home.
-JW
Moments later John enters the flat, and sees Sherlock already in his coat and scarf, standing by the door.
"Going somewhere?" He asks.
"We both are going to the main suspects flat. Put the groceries away and hurry up."
John shakes his head but doesn't argue, not wanting to upset Sherlock again.
After being dragged to a dingy flat above a hair salon, talking to several aquantences of the victims and grabbing a kebab on the go, John and Sherlock are crouching behind a low concrete wall by the river at an old dusty warehouse.
"Why would he come here?"
"Because I noticed in his flat that he had a pair of work boots, that were extremely well worn, why would a man who works at a night club have work boots?" Sherlock doest wait for John to answer. "Well, I was curious so when I excused myself, I looked through his bag by the door and found a paycheque from the company that owns this warehouse. Since he didn't return to his job at the club, or the flat, we can assume that he might show up hear. And since the police are incompetent, we are here."
"Oh." John says, slightly annoyed, and cold.
"Are you cold?" Sherlock asks, sounding surprisingly concerned.
"Yes Sherlock, it's getting dark out, and we're twenty feet from the river." John snaps, his knuckles whiting against the wall. John is surprised when Sherlock reaches up and pulls his scarf off.
"What are you doing? put that back on, I'm not taking care of you If you get a cold Sherlock." John scolds glaring at the detective.
"Shut up." Sherlock says, pulling the scarf around John's neck quickly and looking back towards the exit of the building.
"No, take this back," John protests, thinking wildly, about how out of character Sherlock is acting.
"John, shut up."
John just stops talking and looks at the tall man before him, Sherlock is watching the door intently and against the harsh fluorescent light his eyes glow strangely, like water through a pool. The pool, john remembers. The bloody maniac had actually shot the pack of semtex lying on the concrete, thinking quickly John had pushed the other man into the pool, just as the world above the water had erupted into flames and debris.
John remembers again the feeling of absolute terror, so similar to his days in Afghanistan, that had over whelmed him in that moment of uncertainty as he pulled Sherlock from the pool, his body heavy and sopping wet. It was obvious that Sherlock had breathed in too
much of the harsh chlorine filled watter almost immediately, with the building still smouldering around them he had preformed CPR.
"John, there he is." Sherlock says quietly. John looks around again and shakes his head. "Are you going to approach him?"
"Not yet." He says as he straightens up and looks down at John still on the ground. "Come on, we're going to see where he goes." And with that Sherlock strides away towards the road where the suspect has disappeared. "John?" he calls back briefly.
"Yeah, I'm right behind you." John says, getting to his feet and jogging up to his friend.
The pair are silent as they follow the suspect farther into the depths of London, only about a ten feet behind him. The man's path does not seem to lead towards his flat, or towards a tube station or bus stop, but keeps winding through the busiest sidewalks filled with London's night crowd, and tourists. Finally he turns behind a restaurant into an ally way.
John looks to Sherlock for reassurance, and the detective nods and swiftly follows him into the darkened side street.
"We've called the police, and they'll be here momentarily, so, just relax, and we'll be getting along fine."
"Not bloody likely mate." the man says stepping out of the shadows, he is huge and muscled, and his face is grimy from working in the warehouse. Then there is barely a heartbeat in which the man lunges at Sherlock; who sidesteps him, and the man goes sprawling side of the dumpster with a resounding crash.
"John check if he's conscious." Sherlock says pulling out his phone.
John just shakes his head and wonders over to the man, thinking about how rediculous Sherlock is.
"He'll be out for a while, Are the police really on their way?"
"Yes, I texted them as we were walking."
It takes Lestrade ten minutes to show up with five other policemen and he quickly dismisses John and Sherlock, thanking them briefly for their help.
"Hey, do you want this back?" John asks once they are situated in the warm cab. He holds out the blue scarf to Sherlock tentatively.
"Thank you." Sherlock says taking it from Johns hand. Their lock eyes briefly, and John blushes as Sherlock's fingers come into contact with his own.
"No, thank you." he says and looks away out the window. Silence follows for a while, but it's a long ride back to 221B and eventually John looks over towards Sherlock again.
His scarf is placed back on his neck, and he is also looking out the window at the nightlife passing by. John hardly thinks as he reaches out and places his small hand over Sherlock's larger one. Sherlock simply looks towards at him, smiles warmly and looks back out the window. the rest of the car ride is passed in comfortable silence, with the warm pressure of Sherlock's hand curled in John's.
*** I made some edits. Sorry i had so many mistakes in the first copy... I'll update soon!