Panthera Pardus

Chapter 8: Grief Counseling

John's fists were clenched tightly, his nails biting into his palms. His lips formed a thin line, and his back was ramrod straight. Before him lay the pale corpse of First Lieutenant William Murray. Well, he'd been a First Lieutenant when John had known him. He'd been promoted to a Captain before his honorable discharge. However the man looked practically the same as when John has last seen him. Still had the flaming red hair, freckles everywhere, long crooked nose (from when he'd broken it in a fistfight, of which John had helped him win. They'd both been put on suspension for three days, but it was well worth it), and John knew that if he were to open the man's eyes they would still be a warm brown.

John had known this man. He'd fought beside him, played rugby with him, swapped tales over a pint, comforted him when he'd received a 'Dear John' letter from his girl back home, and been comforted when John had been shot and was going to be sent home. Overall, William Murray was probably one of the closest friends John had had in the RAMC. And that was just it… had… Bill was dead now. Everything about the man was now past tense. He clenched his fist tighter, the pain of his nails digging into his palm keeping him grounded, because there was no way he was going to allow himself to breakdown with Molly, Lestrade, Sherlock, and a few others from NSY there.

A hand clasped John's shoulder, and he flinched away from it. His head whipped around to see a worried Sherlock gazing back at him. John just shook his head, and went back to staring at the corpse before him. "Yes," he finally spoke, answering Lestrade's question. "This is William Murray."

"Thanks, John," Lestrade said quietly, covering Bill's face back up with the white sheet. "Appreciate you coming down. There were no other family listed in the database."

"No, there wouldn't be. Bill's parents died before he joined the RAMC. I think that was a big part of the reason he joined up in the first place." John took in a deep breath, trying to calm his thundering pulse. "And he never married or had kids. It was just him. Poor bloke." John let out a soft laugh then. "Used to joke about that actually. Always said that I was his brother, even though we looked nothing alike. Actually convinced a few people that it was true a time or two."

"I didn't even know he'd been discharged," John said quietly.

"Happened just a week ago according to his records," Lestrade filled in, looking down at a file in his hand. "He was discharged honorably with the rest of his unit."

John nodded, his gaze shifting from the white sheet to Lestrade. "Is that all you needed from us?"

Lestrade glanced back and forth from Sherlock to John. "Well, that and to see if Sherlock could find any more clues, but you can go, John. I wouldn't blame you."

John frowned. He didn't want or need Lestrade's sympathy. However he didn't say anything as he turned to face Sherlock. The detective's gaze ran up and down John for a moment before fixing on a spot just behind him. John turned, curious, but all that was behind him, was Bill's body, covered by a white sheet, his red hair sticking out the very top. Sherlock moved forward and reached toward Bill's hair. John reached out to stop him (didn't the man have ANY decency?), but stopped when he saw what Sherlock was reaching for. There was a single short strand of black hair.

The detective plucked it from amongst the ginger strands and studied it in the light. "Fur," he said succinctly. He quickly put it in a small baggy he pulled out of his coat pocket, then hid it before Lestrade turned back to them.

"Alright, you two can go if you have nothing to give me, Sherlock," the DI said, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. John could see dark bags under the man's eyes and frowned. Lestrade was sometimes a bit too much like Sherlock in his dedication to the case. "You'll call if you think of anything?"

"Of course," Sherlock waived the man off and turned to leave, one gloved hand coming to John's elbow to steer him along.

The taller man led his flatmate out of the morgue, and onto the street where he hailed a taxi and instructed it to go to Baker Street. John was quiet the entire way; his only thoughts were on how his friend was dead. It was obvious, that Sherlock had found an important clue, but John was incapable of appreciating it just then. He was jarred out of his thoughts by Sherlock's hand on his arm, letting him know they'd arrived back at 221b.

John exited the cab, and paid the man before following Sherlock into the flat. It was while he was hanging up his coat that everything seemed to crush down on him. The wall that he'd thrown up to prevent a breakdown at the morgue came crashing back down, and John locked his knees to keep himself upright. His hand gripped the coat rack tightly, and his chest heaved with heavy quick breaths. He'd had panic attacks before, his PTSD had made sure of that, but this was different. There was a kind of despairing weight that settled around John that he didn't get when he had a panic attack.

A warm hand settled on his shoulder then, and a deep voice called his name. He shuddered as the calming sound washed over him, but his breaths didn't slow. "John," the baritone intoned again accompanied by a pull toward the couch.

John didn't think he could move; his knees were locked, and he was afraid that they would buckle if he tried. However the pulling was insistent, and with the support of a strong arm around his back John found himself moving forward. His breathing started to slow a bit as he was settled on the couch. The warm arm didn't move from around his shoulders, and he found himself grateful that he could lean into it and the body it was attached to.

"John?" Sherlock's deep voice asked.

It took a moment, but John eventually remembered how to speak. "I'm fine now, Sherlock," he replied, his voice quiet, but steady.

"No, you're not, but you will be," Sherlock parroted John's own words back at him, making John smile a bit. "Let me get you some tea."

The detective rose and fiddled with the teakettle. John could hear the sink running and figured that Sherlock was actually washing a mug for him. He'd have to remember to mark it on the calendar. A few minutes later, Sherlock handed John a mug filled with Earl Grey and a splash of milk. He took a sip, the soothing hot liquid running down his throat. "Thanks," he said. "And sorry… about all of that," he waved a hand toward the coat rack.

"It's understandable, John. From what I've deduced, you and William were like brothers. Losing a family member is always difficult."

Sherlock stood in front of John awkwardly for a moment before John realized what was happening. He let out a small chuckle. "Thank you for the tea, Sherlock. And yes, you can go study that hair you found. I'll be fine."

Sherlock hesitated for only a moment, checking John over carefully, before running towards his coat to retrieve the hair, then to the microscope at the table. John took another sip of the relaxing tea before reaching for his laptop on the coffee table. He hadn't updated his blog in a long time, and it was probably time that he did so. The last case with the bank needed to be written up. With that, he let himself go into blogger mode. The previous case filled his mind, and he numbly pecked away at the keyboard. He knew that it was going to take a long time to feel normal again after seeing Bill Murray dead, but he hoped that with the hair lead, Sherlock would be able to catch the killer and that would help.

: : :

Sherlock sat down at the table and pulled on a pair of gloves before taking the hair out of the evidence bag. He glanced over at John once more before starting his study. The doctor was worrying him. John had gone through a lot in the last year, Sherlock being one of them, and the detective suspected that it was rather weighing down on him now. The problem was that he had no idea how to alleviate it. Being that he was one of the issues, Sherlock wasn't sure that he was the right person for the job. But if he couldn't do it, then who could? It was a difficult quandary to be sure.

The detective placed the hair under the microscope, his eyes going to the viewer. It only took a moment of study to see that it was a piece of fur, not a hair from a human. However that left the question of what kind of animal, and why was it in Bill Murray's hair? Sherlock continued to study the hair, his eyes squinting at every detail. No kerf marks, so the fur was shed naturally. Not smooth like in domestic pets, so this was a wild animal. Length and width suggested it was from the outer coat of a larger animal, meant to keep it warm in the winter. He would need to do chemical testing to figure out what species it belonged to.

With that, Sherlock took the hair out from under the microscope and he proceeded to gather the necessary chemicals he would need to determine species. He let his mind drift back to his problem with John. He knew John had a sister, but she wouldn't be the right one to help him either due to their confrontational relationship. There were John's old army buddies. There were even a few in London. It wouldn't necessarily be a bad idea. He would have Mycroft keep a close eye on CCTV footage, for obvious reasons, but over all, it sounded like a good idea. All of John's army buddies would be morning over William Murray's death. Now would be an opportune time to reach out to them.

He slipped his mobile out of his pocket then and fired off a text to a member of his homeless network. He received an answer less than ten minutes later confirming that a former fifth Northumberland Fusilier did indeed live in London at this time. He fired off another text and waited. He didn't expect a response for several hours yet, which would give him time to discover the species of the fur sample.

: : :

John was just about to drift off when he heard his mobile buzz on the table. Groggily, he leaned forward and unlocked the screen to see he had a text message from an unknown number.

John? Is this John Watson?

John stared at the message for a moment before replying. Yes, this is John Watson. Who is this?

His phone pinged a reply quickly. 3 Continents John Watson! It's Jim Kincaid!

John felt his face flush at the nickname he'd accrued in the RAMC. Jim had actually been the one to give it to him after a drunken night telling stories. Jim, not that I'm not glad 2 hear from u, but how did u get my #?

Met a mate of urs. He gave it to me.

John tried to think of who Jim would've met that could've given out his number. Before John could hazard a guess though, Jim texted again. Hey, a bunch of us Fusiliers r getting 2gether at the old pub 2night. U up 4 it?

John smiled. It would be good to see the old gang back together. He glanced back a Sherlock who was dripping something from an eyedropper onto a Petri dish. Normally he wouldn't ask permission to go out, but with the killer still out, John wanted Sherlock's opinion. "Sherlock," he called over to the man. "What do you think about my going out with a few of the lads tonight?"

Sherlock barely glanced up from his work as he replied. "It hardly matters to me what you do in your free time, John. Though I would feel better if you took the Browning."

John nodded and turned back to his mobile. I'll be there.

Great! 7 o'clock!

John smiled as he put his phone back on the coffee table. It was already just past two in the afternoon. He had some time to relax still and finish his blog.

: : :

John tucked his Browning pistol snuggly into the back of his jeans before shrugging into his jacket. Sherlock was standing beside him. He'd finished his testing that afternoon on the hair only to discover it belonged to a black panther. Neither of them knew what to make of that except for the coincidence that it was the same animal Sherlock could shape shift to. He was back to work on the beetle now, except to waive John off. John nodded once, but Sherlock grabbed hold of his arm before he could leave. John looked up to see the detective looking worriedly at him. "Be careful," he said.

John nodded once. Sherlock leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his flatmate's lips. John didn't have a chance to respond before Sherlock was pulling back. With much self control to not pull Sherlock back in, John turned and left. He'd ordered a cab so that he wouldn't have to wait for one, and slipped in to the back seat before telling the cabbie the address of the bar.

It took perhaps twenty minutes to get there, and John soon found he was glad that he'd gone. When he walked in the bar, Jim was already there and greeted him. "John!" he grinned, freckled face beaming. "Good to see ya again, mate!" He gave John a hug and moved back so the doctor could see who else was there.

There were another three former Fusiliers seated at a high top table. George Higgens, Benny Carter, and Arthur Doyle. All five men had served together, and John hadn't seen any of them since his discharge. A single pint turned into two and then three. The laughing became more boisterous, and the jokes became a bit more lewd. However it was towards the end of the night when the conversation turned from nostalgia to current times. "So John, tell us what your up to now?" Arthur said taking a sip from his pint.

"Oh you don't want to hear about me," John shied away.

"Oh come on! We've all shared what we've been up to!" Benny exclaimed, wobbling on his seat.

John grinned as the man nearly fell over. "It's really not that much."

"More than us! What with you being here longer and all," George pressed.

"Fine, fine!" John laughed. He debated for a second how much to tell his mates, and settled on as close to the truth as he could. It would make things simpler. "Well, I'm living with a bloke in a flat over on Baker Street. Actually working with him too."

"A bloke, eh?" Benny grinned.

"Sod off," John grinned back. "Yes a bloke. We've been together for going on eight months now."

"Hang on, John. You mean like, together, together?" Jim asked.

John nodded. He knew these men, and knew they could be open minded about such things. "Wow," Jim smiled. "Finally figured it out, eh Captain?"

John jerked up to look at him. "Figured what out?"

"That you prefer the blokes to the ladies?"

"You knew?" John's eyes widened.

"Course we knew, mate! Just can't believe you didn't know till now!" Benny laughed.

John took a long draught of his pint to give himself some time. They had all known and yet he hadn't… how remarkable. "Right, well you said you was working with him. What do you do?" George asked still grinning at John's expense.

"Detective work. He's a consultant for Scotland Yard."

"Really? That's fantastic!" Benny exclaimed, nearly falling off his seat again.

"Hey, you ain't talking 'bout Sherlock Holmes are you?" Arthur asked.

John nodded, taking another drink. "That's the one."

"Well put me in a skirt and call me princess! I been reading those blogs of yours online mate!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Hang on now, what's this?" George asked.

"He's that John Watson what's been posting all them detective stories online. I sent you a link a while back."

"That's our John Watson? Blimey!" George slammed down the last of his pint.

"Always knew you'd do great things, John!" Benny laughed. "Just didn't think it would be something like this!"

John smiled. "Ta." He raised his glass then slugged down another large gulp, finishing it off. Glancing at his watch, John set down the tall pint glass. "'Bout time I head back actually."

"Oooh, look at Johnny 'ere, all domestic like," Benny laughed and actually did fall off his chair this time which caused the rest of them to burst out laughing.

"Karma, Benny, karma!" John chuckled. "Right," he stood and pulled his jacket back on. "We need to do this again."

"Definitely," Jim grinned. "And soon!"

John chuckled. "You have my number. Laterz!"

John walked out of the bar in an exceptionally good mood. He was rather glad he came tonight and was looking forward to meeting up again. Weaving slightly, he made his way down the street to look for a cab. It was going on midnight now and while London never slept, the streets were thinner now. The street the bar was on wasn't particularly busy, so there were no cabs about.

Weaving along the sidewalk, John got the peculiar feeling of being watched. He stopped and glanced around, but saw nothing. However the tingling feeling didn't let up. The former army doctor walked a bit faster. A busier road was just three blocks away, but at the moment, it seemed a mile. Looking over his shoulder again, John tried to pick up the pace, but that was a bit difficult when your legs weren't exactly cooperating.

Across the street was a small park with a children's playground. As John's eyes slid over the bushes, a pair of golden eyes pinned him. He halted in the middle of the walk and stared. It could be just a dog, he thought to himself. Except that dogs didn't usually hide in bushes and stare at people. John remembered then that the hair Sherlock had found had belonged to a black panther. The blond man's mouth went dry and he turned to run.

He didn't know if whatever it was, was following him, but he didn't want to stop to find out. Instead he forced his legs to cooperate and took off down the sidewalk. His heart was pumping and adrenaline laced his veins as he finally reached the busier street and jumped in the nearest cab, not bothering to check if it was on duty. The back door slammed shut and John looked back the way he'd come only to see nothing, just a dark street.

"You okay, mate?" the cabbie interrupted John's thoughts.

John whipped his head around to see a man wearing a flat cap and a concerned look. "Yeah, just fine," he replied, leaning back into the seat and trying to control his breathing.

The cabbie didn't look like he believed him for a single moment, but didn't comment. "Right, where to?"

"221 Baker Street."

With that, the cabbie signaled and pulled into traffic. John turned back for one last look down the street and could have sworn he saw something slinking along in the shadows, but then it was gone and the cab turned the corner. There had been something back there; John was sure of it. He just couldn't be exactly sure of what.

A/N: Righto! Once again, sorry about missing last week! I was busy getting my ass kicked by a cold. On the plus side, I got this chapter and a goodly part of next chapter done! BIG plus side, next chapter will have some fun adult type touching!

lol... Right, well I'll leave it there! Please review!