John grinned and nodded, patted Sherlock's hand and disappeared upstairs to get washed, shaven and dressed. When he returned, he was wearing one of the new shirts Sherlock had bought him, as well as the watch, and wore tight jeans. "Ready?" he asked.

Sherlock smiled fondly as he looked him over, "You look lovely, John. Where did you want to go this early in the day?" he asked, grabbing his coat. "Sightseeing, was it?"

John grinned and nodded. "Well, yes, but didn't you want to go to the Yard first?" He grabbed his own leather jacket and slipped his hands in the sleeves.

"Might be a bit early, but sure. We can knock Greg up if he's not awake already. Let's go."

John zipped his jacket up and grinned. "Sure. Shall we go on foot? I don't mind walking. Actually, I'd love to. If that's okay with you?"

"Totally fine with me, John. S'not that far, and you might as well enjoy the air, hm?" Sherlock grinned, jogging down the stairs to the door.

"Exactly," John said, smirking as he followed Sherlock slightly slower. "Though you don't have to show off, Lockie, if we go running I will win."

"Keep telling yourself that, John," Sherlock winked, holding the door open for him. "No one's ever beaten me when I have the right motivation."

John narrowed his eyes. "Okay... shall we run to the Yard? The one to arrive last buys dinner." He grinned.

"You know you'll lose, so you just want me to fail on purpose, don't you?" Even so, Sherlock shot off. Even if John had military training, Sherlock had his cases – and longer legs.

John laughed and began to run too. Sherlock may have longer legs, John was smaller and could slip past the other pedestrians more easily. He grinned, exhilarated and giddy. His strides were even and smooth, and he felt his breathing speed up just a bit. He focused on the back of Sherlock's head and sped up, pushing his body to the limits. He heard the shouts from offended passers-by, but he didn't care, he wanted to win.

Sherlock wove his way through the others, but found a bit more difficult. He didn't want to push people out of the way, as John would lecture him for it, so he did his best to fight the crowd.

John grinned as he rounded the corner, leaving Sherlock behind him. This part of the street was quiet, so he could speed up nicely. He heard Sherlock's footsteps behind him, and gritted his teeth. He had to win! And he did. He slammed his hand flat against the wall of the large building and doubled over, completely out of breath, tasting blood.

"Typical!" Sherlock grumbled, joining him and bending over too, trying to get his breath back. "You win, John. Are you alright?"

John raised a hand, still bent over. ""Ye-yeah," he panted, eyes squeezed shut. "A-am fi-fine."

"Sure?" he checked, giggling a little as he looked up, and straightened, panting much less by now. "You look half-dead."

John pushed himself up, too, grinning a little at his friend. "Well, a bit," he mumbled, pressing a hand to his stomach. "Though I did win."

"There is that," Sherlock murmured, nodding and quirking an eyebrow, "but now we're here…beat you to Lestrade's office…!" winking, he dashed off again through the building.

John laughed and decided to let Sherlock have that victory. Slower, he got inside, taking the lift.

Sherlock was already fluttering about Lestrade's office, presenting diagrams and explaining the last case. All they had left now was to bring in the killer.

John grinned a bit when a kind, dark-skinned woman brought him over to Lestrade's office. He grinned at Sherlock and then looked at the DI. "Good morning," he said pleasantly. "I'm John, Sherlock's friend."

"John Watson," Greg rolled his eyes, shaking his hand warmly, "I do remember you from your teen years, you know," he winked. "You've not aged that much!"

John laughed, a bit embarrassed. "Of course, sorry, sir." He shrugged. "I'm just used to introducing myself. And, is my dear friend here helping?"

Lestrade nodded with a grin. "Very much so. And don't apologise – it's nothing! Call me Greg."

John smiled and nodded. "Okay, sir. I mean, Greg." He chuckled and then looked at Sherlock. "So, case closed?"

"Almost, we've just got to go bag our criminal. Thought it would be funny to nick returned officers' rifles and sell them off at a higher price. I've located him, though – but he might try and make a run for it, so we've got to get down to his residence quickly." He looked meaningfully at Lestrade, who obediently grabbed his coat and doughnut.

John followed the other two, not sure what was going on, but planning on being there anyway. "Right. So, is he dangerous?"

"Reasonably, if armed. You have questions?" he added the question casually as they hopped into a cab.

John blinked and followed his friend inside the car. "Erm, what has happened?" he asked, "Some nutter stole... guns?"

"A group of returned officers from military services – most whom were over sixty, and had been issued with rifles – came into the yard complaining about their guns have being robbed. One of them had even walked in on the thief and was shot with his own rifle. When called to the scene of the crime, I noticed that the floor of the dead man's home – a residence which was quite neat – was dusty in some areas. I then analysed the dust to locate where the perpetrator had last been."

John grinned widely. "Brilliant. And where had he been?" He sat up a bit straighter and grinned at his friend.

Sherlock chuckled. "I traced him to a park, and then from the park to a diner. From the diner, I obtained his details, as he was a regular – and we're just going to pick him up now."

John grinned proudly. "Amazing. Seriously, Sherlock, you keep surprising me." He patted his friend's thigh and looked up into his eyes, still smiling. "But we have to be careful? He already shot someone..."

Sherlock blushed a little, and nodded, "Yes…a little careful…" he agreed, smiling at the hand on his thigh. He put his own over it. John's phone, meanwhile, beeped with a text.

Hi John – it's Mary here. Do you want to meet again tonight? xx

John slipped his hand from under Sherlock's and took his phone from his pockets.

Ah. Mary.

Hey Mary. Sorry, tonight I'm spoken for by my best friend. How about tomorrow? J

Oh…tonight would have been much more convenient…I'm working tomorrow night, but I suppose if you really can't…sure. M

Ah, sorry. Tonight I really can't come. I am in London for two weeks... J

Tomorrow's fine, then. M

Excellent. It's a date, then. Shall I pick you up? J

That would be very romantic indeed, Captain. M ;)

John laughed and shook his head. Oh, she was amazing. So funny, kind, beautiful...

Want me to wear my uniform, miss? J

Ooh would you?! I suppose it'd only be fair, since I'll still be in my nurse's… M

Kinky, Miss Nurse. ;-) Shall I bring food? We won't have to…leave the house. J

Sure. Unless you'd like to try my cooking? M

Oh, of course. You can cook, hon, I'll bring the booze. And dessert. J

John smirked again and then looked up at Sherlock. "Almost there, Lock?"

Sounds like a plan, Captain. Xx M

Just as the cab stopped outside a small residence ahead of the police cars, Sherlock woke from his dismal, far-off stare out the window, coming back to Earth. "Oh…uh…yeah…we're here, actually." He paid the cabbie and hopped out, leaving the door open for John. Silently, the police cars drew up behind. Sherlock instructed John to wait with Lestrade outside until he gave the signal, so that the DI and John were not the first inside and therefore ran a lesser risk of being hurt.

John stuffed his phone back in his pocket and waited with Lestrade, but then decided to go after Sherlock anyway. What if his best friend got hurt?

But Sherlock, wisely, had locked the door behind himself discreetly when shown in by the currently unsuspecting murderer and thief. They sat and talked for a while, before Sherlock revealed who he was. The man panicked and reached for the closest gun, but Sherlock was faster and had him handcuffed on the ground in a split second. However, in the scuffle, the gun went off and shattered a nearby vase.

John's eyes widened in horror, and he threw his shoulder hard against the door, until the bloody lock gave way. "Sherlock!" He screamed, running inside, followed by Lestrade and Sally. "Sherlock!"

Then brunette, who was busy gagging his foul-mouthed captive, looked up in surprise, "John...calm down, I'm fine...what's wrong?" he asked, "I said I'd give the signal when you guys could come in..."

"Oh, for.. fuck's sake!" John snapped. "We heard a shot, you idiot! You could have gotten hurt!"

Sherlock went to reply, but Lestrade cut him off. "Remember what happened last time, Sherlock."
The young detective scowled and got up, handing the man over to Sally. Ignoring Lestrade, he went over to John. "Is your shoulder okay?"

John stared at Sherlock and the DI. "What happened last time?" he asked sharply. "Did you do something equally stupid?"

"Sherlock got shot."
"It was just a graze, Lestrade! There aren't any marks."
"Same thing. One of the guys we were hunting down jumped off a moving train to escape us, and he was armed. Sherlock decided it would be a brilliant idea to jump after him."
"You ungrateful sod! We caught the kill-"
"He wasn't worth your life!"
"My life is worth nothing!"

Silence fell as both detectives stared each other down, Sherlock looking away and storming out – secretly embarrassed with the slip. Lestrade stared after him in shock, and even Sally looked a little subdued as she followed him out with the captive.

John stared at Sherlock, as the DI fell silent too. "Say that again?" John asked quietly.

"He said that his life was worth nothing." Lestrade mumbled in answer for the now empty spot John was staring at. Suddenly, something snapped and the DI ran after Sherlock, grabbing his arm. "Sherlock Holmes!"
"You have your killer. You have no further need of me."
"Do you really think that's what I see you as? Some paid consultant I just get in to do my dirty work for me?"
"That's what everyone sees me as."
"No they don't, Sherlock! Why can't you just see that?! For /once/ in your life won't you just open your eyes and see things as they are?! I'm your friend! How do you know I would've just dismissed you! I actually wanted to ask if you'd like to – "
"I would not." He went to the curb to hail a cab.

John followed the two of them outside, joining Sherlock's side. He looked up at the friend he loved so dearly, who thought so little of himself.

And now he knew there was something wrong here. Sherlock was not behaving like his cheery self. They needed to talk. More accurately, Sherlock needed to talk. He opened the door for Sherlock and looked at him. "Home," he simply said.

When they arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock unlocked the door, letting John in ahead of him.

John turned back as soon as the both of them were inside. John finally let his worry show. "Why, Sherlock?" He asked. "Why would you say something like that?"

Sherlock groaned in frustration, too tired for this. "Because it's true! And don't you dare say it's not, because no one thinks differently apart from you! I didn't get so excited about you coming home because I thought you were going to spend the fortnight with your girlfriend and the remainder of the time counselling me!"

John stared at Sherlock and shook his head, stepping closer. "Is that it?" he asked, "Is that why you are so…down? Because I want to spend time with someone who might be able love me?"

"No, it's not, and I am fine. Absolutely fine, so why can't you and Greg just shove off and stop probing and prodding like I'm some sort of puzzle you're trying to piece together?!" They were interrupted by the doorbell ringing, and Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh before he went down the stairs to wrench the door open. "What is it?!" On the other side stood a dark-haired man, pale and a bit shorter than Sherlock. He wore a grey t-shirt and tight black skinny jeans, and his hair was slightly mussed up. "Hey," he smiled winningly, "I'm here about that gas leak…"
"Gas leak? We have no gas leak here. Trust me. I'd be the first to know, I'm the only one who lives here."

"Really? Oh what a shame. The place could do with some filling up." He grinned, walking past him. "I believe it was your landlady who called. My name's Jim." He took Sherlock's hand and shook it. Sherlock smirked in amusement. "How…common. Sherlock Holmes."
"Oh, the name might be common – but I'd hope that I'm certainly not." He looked to John and simply nodded, walking by him with disinterest to the kitchen. Sherlock followed, hands behind his back, while he wondered what the man really wanted.

John stared at the man, not having a very good feeling about this. "Sherlock, can we please...talk?" He asked, walking after him.

"In a moment, John. I'm sure it can wait."
"Aww, boyfriend troubles?" Jim chuckled fondly, "I don't mind waiting, if you two – "
"He's not my boyfriend!" Sherlock snapped.
The other shut up for a bit, before muttering, "Calm your farm, I was just kidding. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. But between us, you didn't sleep last night, did you? What's worrying you?"
Sherlock gazed at him with an icy stare that soon changed to slight intrigue. "You…observed that?"

"Most certainly," Jim smiled smugly as he fiddled aimlessly with the pipes. "Now do answer my question. I love a spot of gossip and I never get clients as gorgeous as you."
The detective grinned slightly. "Turning to flattery, are we?"
"When all else fails, as they say." He pulled back from the pipes with a sigh. "Nup. You're right. No leaks there. Must've been 221/A/ I was called to – how in the world did I mix it up?" he over-dramatically slapped his forehead, before pulling a card out of the pocket of his jeans. "It's so disappointing that I couldn't…be of service to you. But if you ever /do/ need my assistance, just call," he winked, "I see you have /chemicals/ around…never know when you might need to get a leak fixed…"

John scowled at Jim. Jim was flirting with his friend. No one flirted with Sherlock Holmes. But Sherlock seemed quite…happy with the attention. John huffed and disappeared upstairs.

Sherlock thanked Jim for his number and saw him to the door, watching him walk out. The shorter man smiled and waved coyly, and Sherlock simply nodded in acknowledgement before closing the door. Definitely amusing, that man. But he could consider him later. Making two cups of tea in the kitchen, the brunette carried the mugs upstairs and knocked on John's bedroom door.

Author's Note: SherlockedSherlockian

ANGST. Sorry to do this to you! But it probably won't turn out the way you think... ;)

Shout-outs:

CowMow cyria Starlight05 CompassionAndCaring Edge of the elahe (guest) MouraMoura SpencerReidFan89 FantasyDreamer23 Moonlitorion FearTheTrumpets lizalou262 Noxlupis Lamiamedicus johnsarmylady shonny girl briddle.2012 Serenityofthematrix Lindariddle

Yours,

SherlockedSherlockian xxx