Panthera Pardus

Chapter 7: More Than Meets The Eye

The morning after the massage, John had woken to find Sherlock missing from the bed. The sheets were cold, so he'd been up for a while. John sighed as he rolled out of bed and pulled a housecoat on over the thin sleep clothes he wore. He rubbed his face as he wandered into the bathroom and started up the shower. It was nice to let himself sink into the daily ritual of shower, shave, brush teeth… it felt normal. He didn't need to think about them and he could let the actions fill his mind. Anything to not think about Sherlock for a bit longer.

It was all so complicated. John didn't know how to explain to Sherlock why he didn't want to seal the bond. It's just that every time he thought about it, a flutter of nervousness swept through him and he kind of felt like throwing up. He knew it was irrational. He liked Sherlock. He really did, and he wanted to explore how much farther their relationship could go, but the idea of tying himself to one person for the rest of his life was terrifying. Perhaps Sherlock was right? Maybe this was about commitment.

John let this thought shiver through him as he walked down the stairs after getting dressed in his own room. To his surprise, a hot cup of coffee and a plate of toast with jam were waiting for him on the table. Sherlock was there as well, still examining the beetle he'd found at the warehouse. It looked like he was having no better luck than before.

Sitting down, John tucked into his small breakfast, surprised to find that Sherlock had made the coffee exactly how John liked it. He ate slowly, watching as Sherlock turned the beetle over to examine the belly. His white-gloved hands were sterile looking and professional. Sherlock set the beetle down and resumed looking through the book sitting next to his elbow. John tried to peer over to see, but was surprised to find that he couldn't read it.

"It's in French," Sherlock's deep voice said.

John looked up at him. "I didn't ask."

Sherlock glanced up at him for a second before going back to the book. "Yes you did. You just didn't ask verbally." He flipped the page again.

"Fantastic," John breathed. Sherlock pretended not to hear, but his expression lightened subtly. John waited for a few more page turns before he worked up the courage to speak again. "Sherlock," he started. "I just… I want to apologize for last night." He paused to gauge the detective's reaction, but couldn't derive anything from the neutral expression fixed there. So he continued. "I do want to be with you. I think last night proved that, but I…" He paused again, unsure of how to continue.

Sherlock finally looked up from the book. "I understand, John. You don't want to put yourself in a position that you might later regret. Of which, I'm sure you will later in life. However, if that is indeed the case, I would have to insist we part ways. I don't believe it would be easy for either of us to live together with a partial bond. I'm sure my brother would assist you monetarily while you find another job and place to live." Sherlock went back to his book, flipping the page again.

John's jaw had dropped at some point during Sherlock's speech. "No… I…" He wasn't quite sure how Sherlock had gotten so far off base. "No you great prat! I don't want to leave you."

"Like I said, John. It would be difficult for us to remain living together with only a partial bond."

"That's not what I'm saying! Listen to me, please!" John pleaded. Sherlock turned a surprised expression toward him. The former military doctor took in a deep breath. "You were right," he stated. "As usual. Last night when you said that it was about commitment… you were right. There's just something about the thought of tying myself down so thoroughly that terrifies me." John's eyes were fixed on the crumbs on his plate as he spoke. "I imagine there's some kind of psycho-babble term for it, but it's just how I am. I want to be with you. I really do, but I just…" John let himself trail off.

A moment later, John felt a strong hand raising his chin, forcing his eyes to meet with ice blue orbs. Sherlock scrutinized him for a moment before speaking. "You were hurt. Someone hurt you a long time ago. You trusted them, and they broke that trust."

John wanted to lower his head again, but Sherlock wouldn't let him. "Sherlock," he whispered.

"John, I want you to know that I would never abuse whatever trust you decide to give me." He let his hand drop from John's jaw, but John didn't look down now. He felt himself leaning towards Sherlock, but just as he was about to reach up to bring Sherlock down to his level, a shrill ring filled the air.

John jumped back and Sherlock looked somewhat disappointed, but reached across the table to grab at his mobile as it rang again. "Lestrade," he said tersely. John listened intently, but couldn't make out Lestrade's end of the conversation. Whatever he said, it was short and to the point because Sherlock hung up less than a minute later after promising that he and John would be there shortly.

"What's going on?" John asked as he grabbed his coat.

"They've found the murderer. Got him down at the station," Sherlock replied pulling his own coat on over his scarf.

It took about thirty minutes to get to Scotland Yard, but once there, Sherlock wasted no time in marching straight to the interrogation rooms. Inspector Lestrade was already inside talking to the man. John looked through the two-way glass to inspect the murderer a little more. He looked like an average man, medium build and height, graying hair, glasses. John noticed that he did appear to be left handed, and he could tell the yarders must have picked him up at his practice, because he was still wearing scrubs under his jacket.

Sherlock rapped on the glass to get Lestrade's attention. The DI paused in the middle of his sentence, and excused himself. "Sherlock, John," he greeted them as he stepped outside. "I suppose you want a moment with him?" Sherlock nodded. "He's everything you said he'd be Sherlock. Even found out he was in Afghanistan working on patching up kids who'd been wounded, trying to make 'em look normal again."

Sherlock nodded again, "I'll take it from here," he said.

Lestrade ushered him into the room, walking in himself behind John and going to stand in the corner, arms crossed. John sat in the seat Lestrade had vacated, and Sherlock paced the room slowly, never taking his eyes from the man on the other side of the table. "What's your name?" Sherlock started.

"Max Ketter."

"Max," Sherlock stopped pacing behind John's chair. "What is it about formerly wounded veterans that you hate so much?" He didn't wait for Max to answer. "It can't be that someone you loved died, that's not it. No, it's more personal. You hate them for something that offends you."

"That's insane, why would I hate soldiers for protecting our rights and freedoms?" Max interrupted.

"A good question," Sherlock rested his chin on his fist as he studied Max Ketter. Silence filled the room and eventually Max dropped Sherlock's gaze and opted to look down at the table instead.

John frowned at the man. Lestrade had said he fit all of the criteria that Sherlock had listed, so this had to be their man, didn't it? Suddenly a notion overtook John and he smiled. "Max," he addressed the man, who looked back up. "Max I'm John, Captain John Watson formerly of the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers actually." At this, Max's eyes widened, then narrowed as they swept over John's face. "I served as a doctor and a soldier. Just like you."

Max was still silent, but John knew he had his attention. "It's difficult, isn't it? Fixing up those kids only to send them back out to get shot up again? Kind of makes you sick to your stomach, right?"

"They were careless," Max said quietly.

John paused for a moment, looking back at Sherlock, who nodded encouragingly. "How so?" John asked.

"They didn't care if they came to us broken, because they knew we would fix them regardless. They had no self-preservation. Why should they, they who don't care about their bodies, live, while others die?"

Max's tone had turned angry. He was still looking at John though, ignoring everyone else in the room. "But they're human beings too, Max. They have a right to live…"

"NO! They forfeit their right! They don't take the trouble to even care about if they get shot, then they don't deserve the life they've been given."

"No one wants to get shot, Max. Trust me, I know."

Max's eyes hardened and he sat back. "You're one of them." He accused.

John's eyes hardened at this and he leaned forward. His tone was strict and held traces of his years as Captain Watson. "I was shot taking care of a patient. We were traveling through what was supposed to be a safe area when our Lieutenant went down. We couldn't save him. We took what shelter we could, but more were still being hit. A man next to me…" John paused for a second. "Kid… he was only a kid. Corporal Timothy Daniels. He was shot in the thigh. I tried to stop the bleeding, but the bullet knicked his femoral artery." John paused a bit longer here. "He bled out in under a minute."

Sherlock placed a gloved hand on John's shoulder, squeezing tightly. John accepted the wordless sympathy and continued on. "I was shot trying to save his life."

"It was futile though," Max protested. "Why waste your time on someone who is doomed to die? You were asking to get shot by doing so."

John stood abruptly, rage coursing through his eyes and his face turning red. His fists were clenched, ready to strike out. "John!" Sherlock grabbed hold of his flatmate, wrapping both arms around the struggling man.

"Let go, Sherlock," John's voice was deadly calm. Sherlock didn't let up his tight embrace at all though, and John struggled even harder to get loose. "How can you call yourself a doctor?!" John shouted at Max as Sherlock and Lestrade dragged him from the room.

"By taking care of patients who are alive! Not the walking dead!" Max retorted before Lestrade slammed the door to the interrogation room.

"Damnit, John! Don't make me call back-up!" Lestrade growled as he and Sherlock struggled to contain the raging doctor.

John ceased his struggles as he realized the commotion he was making, and suddenly went boneless. The DI and the detective continued to support him as they walked to Lestrade's office. Once there, they dumped John in a chair. The doctor stayed where he landed, head slumped against his chest. The only indicator that he was still awake was that his eyes were still open and blinking. "John?" Sherlock tried to reach him.

"You wanna tell me what the hell that was about, John?" Lestrade took the less delicate tact. "You and I both know he was trying to provoke you, and we both know that if you had hit him, that would effect his court outcome. So please tell me why you almost let a murderer walk free!" Lestrade folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against his desk.

Sherlock remained by John's side, one hand resting on the blond's shoulder. He wanted to wrap John up and take him home, but Lestrade probably wouldn't allow that just now, and Sherlock wouldn't be able to get John out the door without his help. Instead, he squeezed John's shoulder again, willing him support and strength.

After a minute, John raised his head to look at Lestrade. Sherlock could see that his eyes were slightly more moist than usual, but didn't react. "I've never told anyone that," he said quietly. "Not the whole thing at least, not even my therapist."

Lestrade's expression softened a bit, but he didn't say anything. "I'm sorry," John apologized. "I shouldn't have let my temper get the best of me."

"Forget about it," Lestrade finally said. "I probably would've done the same." Apologies offered and accepted, Lestrade turned to Sherlock who was still studying John. "I didn't just call you here because of Mr. Ketter. There's something you should see." Lestrade turned to grab a file from his desk. "This is a list of the veterans who were in danger of being victims." He handed the file to Sherlock, who took it quietly and began perusing over it. Lestrade stayed quiet until he saw that Sherlock had reached the end of the list and his eyes widened a bit. "He's caught now, Sherlock. Nothing more will happen."

Sherlock nodded, but his eyes were still glued to the paper before him that held a multitude of names, but only one that mattered. John H. Watson. "Funnily enough, the representative from the VA who gave us the list let slip that someone else had requested the same list not too long ago. Mr. Ketter probably had the same idea we did."

Sherlock's fist tightened around the paper, crinkling it slightly. "I need to talk to him again."

Lestrade's brow furrowed and he straightened slightly. "I don't think that's a good idea, Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't listen though and headed out the door and back down to the interrogation rooms. Lestrade cursed and followed. John stayed where he was. By the time Lestrade caught up with Sherlock, the detective was already in the interrogation room, looming over Max Ketter threateningly. "Sherlock!" he yelled as he opened the door.

Sherlock ignored him and asked a question of Max instead. "I asked you who is commanding your operations? You're far too simple minded to have done all this by yourself. Probably wouldn't have even started if it weren't for the right nudge."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Max defied, leaning back, away from Sherlock who was leaning over the table between them.

"Oh yes you do. You were working for someone. I know you were."

"No, I was working alone."

Sherlock grabbed at the man's wrist that was handcuffed to the table and squeezed. Max let out a strangled yell. "Stop! Please!" he pleaded.

"Tell me who you were working for!"

"Sherlock! Stop it!" Lestrade moved forward to help the man, but a glare from Sherlock stopped him in his tracks. Lestrade had never seen such a dangerous look in the detective's eyes before and it stopped him cold.

"Who were you working for!" Sherlock's grip tightened and Lestrade swore he heard bones popping.

Max let out a scream. "Moriarty!" he finally said.

Sherlock let go immediately, and Max curled forward over his broken wrist. "He's all yours, Lestrade," Sherlock said calmly as he swept past the DI.

Lestrade watched him go, still in shock at what the man had done. After a minute, his senses came back and he shouted for some help.

Sherlock made it back to Lestrade's office in record time and was pulling John up gently. "Come on, John. We're going home now."

John complied without protest, letting Sherlock direct him as need be. They made it back to 221b in short time and John was sitting on the couch with his jacket off before he even noticed. "John?" Sherlock knelt before him, a worried look on his face.

"I'm fine, Sherlock," John insisted.

"You don't look fine."

John gave Sherlock a weary smile. "Well I'll be fine. Could I get some tea maybe?"

Sherlock nodded and rushed off to the kitchen to start the water heating. Five minutes later, he presented a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit to John. "Thanks," John accepted the proffered food and drink. He ate and drank in silence, Sherlock sitting beside him. The warmth that came off of the detective's body was soothing, and John found himself leaning in against him. He thought he could probably spend the rest of the afternoon there easily. However there were things that needed to be done. "So the case is solved?" he asked of Sherlock.

"Supposedly." John sat up to look at his flatmate. Sherlock sighed and continued. "I suspect that Mr. Ketter was just a pawn. There's someone else out there calling the shots and he's the one we need to find."

"Do we have any leads?"

"Moriarty," Sherlock all but whispered.

"Who's Moriarty?"

"No idea. Plan to fix that soon though."

With that, the detective leapt from the couch and went back into the kitchen. "Still with the beetle?" John asked turning to see Sherlock.

"The beetle is the key, I'm sure of it, John."

"Alright then. I think I'm going to take a walk."

Sherlock's head popped up from the microscope. "By yourself?"

"Of course by myself," John replied reaching for his coat. "You have things to do, and I just want a bit of fresh air. Besides, I'd only be in your way."

Sherlock's lips thinned and he looked like he wanted to say something, but was holding back. John sighed as he shrugged his coat on. "What?"

"I'd just prefer if you didn't go out by yourself."

"Why not? I'm a grown man; I can take care of myself, Sherlock."

"John," the detective was quiet, as though he didn't really want to tell his flatmate whatever he was thinking. "You were on the list."

"What?"

"Your name was on the list."

John was quiet for a moment before asking, "The possible victim list? The murderer was caught, Sherlock."

"But the manipulator is still out there, John. The mind behind the murders."

"It's over with, Sherlock. The person, Moriarty, whoever it is, wasn't the one actually performing the murders. I'll be fine."

John moved to walk out the door when Sherlock's mobile ran. He paused as he heard Sherlock pick it up and address Lestrade. A minute later, he hung up. "Well?" John asked glancing back at Sherlock.

"Another body was found in the same warehouse district. It's fresh." John stared at Sherlock for a moment, unwilling to believe what he'd just heard. "Lestrade also wants you to come down to indentify the body."

"Why me?"

"Because according to his military ID, he's formerly of the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

At this, John's face paled. Sherlock watched as his flatmate wrenched open the door and marched down the stairs. It didn't take him long to grab his own coat and follow.

oxoxoxoxo

A/N: So I almost didn't publish this today. Wasn't sure if it was ready. Still not sure it's ready, but I figure it's Friday! So I'll keep to my schedule and let you guys have a chapter. I'll just have to fix any mistakes I made later. Thank you all for the support you keep giving. I really do appreciate any reviews you guys give me. I try to reply to the ones who ask questions and whatnot. Please feel free to leave any comments, questions, critiques... whatever floats your goat!