John's stomach sank as he and Sherlock stepped out of the lift on Lestrade's floor at Scotland Yard. He was hoping beyond hope that Sally and Anderson would be out on a case somewhere, but instead they were loitering outside Lestrade's office. Of course, John thought as he realised that they hadn't seen either he or Sherlock since the encounter with Moriarty and probably wanted to hear the story first hand. Sherlock seemed to sense John's worries and gave his hand a quick reassuring squeeze. That was not helping, thought John, though somewhere within himself he was oddly comforted by the gesture. That was until he witnessed the scoff from Anderson as he took in their situation with apparent delight.
"Finally decided to make it official then boys?" he said menacingly.
"The fact that your wife has finally left you doesn't mean that you should take your feelings out on those around you, Anderson," Sherlock retorted instantly, his face a perfectly smooth mask of indifference.
As always, he appeared completely unfazed by the sudden attention they were receiving from everyone in the vicinity. John bit back a grin at the look of shock on Anderson's face. Sure it was harsh, but John was rather of the opinion that Anderson should know better by now than to try to go up against Sherlock. However, the look that Sally was giving him wiped the traces of humour from his face pretty quickly. It was typical of her usual mix of worry, pity, and contempt. But this time there was an added element of shock, as though through all her warnings she hadn't actually believed John to be so well and truly under Sherlock's influence until now. John tried to smile reassuringly, tried to convey that it was okay really, that it was just another of Sherlock's mad games that wasn't to be taken too seriously. But she turned away before he could say anything.
The pair entered Lestrade's office and Sherlock closed to door behind them. John instantly felt better once he was in the privacy of the office, away from prying eyes, but again his relief was short-lived. Lestrade glanced up at them from his seat behind his desk as they entered, and raised his eyebrows.
"Care to explain?" he asked, gesturing to the cuffs that bound them, and taking a sip of the mug of coffee he held.
"We're experimenting," Sherlock explained in a deadpan tone.
Lestrade promptly choked on his coffee and proceeded to turn bright red. John buried his face in his free hand. The bastard was doing this on purpose.
"Not like that, Lestrade. Do get your mind out of the gutter, for god's sake."
Lestrade recovered sufficiently to look a little ashamed at his reaction, but an awkward silence ensued, and Sherlock didn't seem inclined to further elaborate on the purposes of the experiment. John cleared his throat.
"So, shall we...get down to business?" he asked the room.
Sherlock and Lestrade nodded their consent, and before long John and Sherlock were seated opposite the desk, making their statement about the night at the pool. John was proud of how steady his voice was as he told Lestrade about how Moriarty's black clad snipers had grabbed and silenced him part way down Baker Street and strapped the bomb vest to him, but he sensed Sherlock twitch ever so slightly beside him nonetheless. Sherlock took over and told Lestrade about the conversation with Moriarty, how Moriarty had left and they had removed the bomb vest, how he had fired at the bomb and grabbed John, forcing them both into the swimming pool and therefore escaping serious injury. And about how when they had finally managed to struggle out of the water, all traces of Moriarty and his men were gone, leaving only the burnt out pool complex and a swarm of emergency crew workers.
"So, now that we've regaled you with that intriguing tale, can we please get onto the details of the murder case?" Sherlock asked dryly when he and John had finished their account and Lestrade had written his notes.
John still wasn't sure whether Sherlock was annoyed or relieved that Moriarty had escaped without a trace. He felt sure that Sherlock was aware of just how dangerous Moriarty was, but another (and John suspected a larger) part of him was almost in awe of Moriarty's cleverness and ingeniousness. It bothered John for reasons beyond the obvious- ones that he couldn't quite place.
Lestrade scrutinised Sherlock for a moment then sighed deeply and launched into his explanation of the case. A high profile politician's wife had been found dead under suspicious circumstances in their high security Kensington townhouse. The husband had an iron clad alibi, making him an unlikely suspect. As of yet they had almost no leads, and a full search of the property had turned up no sign of a break and enter. Lestrade handed the file over to Sherlock with a strict warning that they needed to tread carefully here, because of the high profile nature of the victim's husband.
Sherlock balanced the file on his crossed legs, flipping through it with his free hand, asking Lestrade the occasional question, and commenting as he passed things to John that he found particularly noteworthy. John felt Lestrade watching them in a way that made him feel uncomfortable, but whenever he looked at him directly, the other man was glancing down at the paperwork on his desk, or sipping his second cup of coffee. He wondered if perhaps he was just letting his paranoia about what other people thought of him and Sherlock get the better of him. Why did he care so much anyway? So what if they thought there was something going on between him and Sherlock. It wasn't as if they were right...was it?
"I think we have enough to be going on with for now," Sherlock informed Lestrade, pulling John from his internal struggle before he could get too carried away with that particular line of questioning.
Lestrade nodded as the two of them stood up in unison and prepared to leave.
"Just so I know, is this...experiment...going to be going on for long?" he asked, unable to keep a slight smile from his face.
"Well that all depends," Sherlock replied with a smirk as he and John headed for the door.
John just shook his head and gave Lestrade a somewhat apologetic smile as they left the room. Thankfully, Anderson seemed to have found some actual work to do, but John didn't miss Sally's disapproving shake of the head as she watched them disappear into the elevator.
John had succeeded in convincing Sherlock that they needed to take a break for lunch. They had left the flat without breakfast and had spent most of the morning in Lestrade's office, recounting the Moriarty encounter and reviewing the new murder case, and John felt his stomach growling in protest.
"Look Sherlock, working as a team means that it has to work both ways," he had told him firmly. "I'm going along with your mad experiment, for whatever reason, but you need to learn to be a bit more adaptable."
Sherlock had turned to face him, sighing deeply as if it were all such an inconvenience, but had finally conceded to stop at a small cafe not far from Scotland Yard.
"You do seem awfully distracted, John," he had said disapprovingly. "Hopefully some food will enable you to focus a little more."
Of course, Sherlock wasn't eating and was instead staring at a point just past John's head, lost in his own world of thoughts and deductions. John was just finishing the last of his chips when Sherlock finally spoke.
"The question remains, how did the murderer manage to get past all those security measures without being seen, captured on surveillance or setting off an alarm," he murmured distractedly, almost to himself.
"You think it must have been an inside job?" John queried, and took a mouthful of his tea.
"The husband is hiding something, John, I'm sure of it. And we're going to find out what."
And with that he was on his feet again, clearly in the same state of agitation mixed with excitement that often accompanied a new mystery, but actually waited for John this time before attempting to move away. Maybe they would learn something from this after all, John thought. But he still had a bad feeling about this.
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