Chapter 4

"No, I'm fine. I think it's just—"

SMASH!

"Uh, yeah. That was him again, no no. I said I'm okay." John reassured, "I'm not sure what he's up to but, . . . ." He clutched the phone in his hand, "I'm thinking it's just an experiment as always Harry, there's no need to worry."

His sister persisted on John checking on his flat mate who was occupying the living space down the stairs. Sherlock sounds to be smashing glass and John knew better than to think he couldn't handle whatever he took on. Last time he intervened he ended up with a bruised wrist and seven stitches in his finger.

SMASH!

Sure, where he sat on his bed speaking to his sister, it sounded bad. But, he was trying to convince her to stay out of his affairs. Especially dealing with Sherlock. Ever sense he asked her advice on him, she won't leave him alone until he called her and had to say in his own tone to sod off. So far she wasn't backing off and had only pressed further on him coming out to his friend. Talking out loud about it was giving him a terrible headache and case of the butterflies. "Keep out of it Harry please. I don't need you to-I know I know."

She told him of how he had to tell Sherlock or else he probably won't ever know and it sounded like he needed a push. "I can't just do that Harry, you don't know him like I do, I'm pretty sure he's not, well. . . Into guys." He cringed at himself.

She laughed and reminded him of how no one he asked knew of Sherlock's sexuality and no one said it would ruin their friendship forever. That life is full of risks you should take. "If I try, at least a little. Okay okay! Yes. I'm saying yes-fine. I could-"

SMASH!

"Try. . . I could try." He huffed.

After hanging up he took a short moment to recollect his thoughts before standing. Thinking this through seemed too hard, maybe he should just do it. So, he bounded down the steps with new strides and hoped he could somehow pull this off. Whatever it was.

SMASH! "Whoa! Christ!" His nerves were shot as glass hurtled at his head the moment he stepped into the living space, he ducked and got a small flash from Afghan that he shook off, "Dammit! What the hell Sherlock!" He continued to duck before tentatively entering through the kitchen.

Sherlock sat on the moved couch that was now clear against the window to keep the shot wall bare enough for hurtling bottles of wine at it. Sitting adjacent he held the other few bottles collected at his feet, he glanced over slightly with his cool unreadable eyes, acknowledged John and only stared blankly, his hand curled around his next bottle, laid lazily over his propped up knee. "Misjudged your height John,"

John took a second to stop staring, "What? I'm taller than you thought? You could have taken my head off," he crossed his arms from across the kitchen.

"No. Shorter." He mocked.

John frowned, "Stop with all that racket, whatever are you doing here?" He lightened up when Sherlock smiled back at him dimly, John looked over at the wall that had four bottles shattered and stained on. "Oh what a mess."

"Mrs. Hudson has already made it clear I'm to clean my own mess on this one." Sherlock turned back to examine his handy work on the wall, frowning a little and looking to aim the next bottle at its target. "No need to remind me."

SMASH!

Clear liquid dripped down the happy wall, oozing down to meet plastic wrap Sherlock had laid over the wood. It reeked of grape and strong liqueur, the different brands blending together to be strong enough for burning John's nose. It would smell like this for weeks, no more clients coming inside or else they wouldn't be taken a day seriously.

John made his way over to sit with him on the couch, instinctively choosing the other side of the cousins. He mentally slapped himself for not taking that step and being closer. He hadn't thought of it and now seemed too late. "Happen to come by Andrew's papers on your way out by chance? Shouldn't we read those?"

"I know what our next step is. Allow me to finish this one."

John breathed in and scooted in closer, keeping an eye on Sherlock's expression to see any acknowledgement. There was none as his friend merely kept watch of the wall. So he got closer still, "Andrew was practicing medicine?"

"Clearly." Sherlock picked up another bottle and looked it over before aiming. His nose scrunched and eyes narrowed at the wall, John found it rather . . . Silly. "Well, then you say our next step is what?"

SMASH!

John cringed when it made contact, swearing under his breath from the loud noise. Sherlock rested his chin on his propped knee, replacing his elbow, he let out a puff of air, his lower lip pouting out, "Lestrade will call. He must of noticed the mud by now."

"Mud on the door? From where it was kicked in?" John scooted oh so slightly closer before Sherlock answered dryly with, "You saw the state of our feet after walking through that street John. Our feet were covered in mud." He flicked his eyes down to loosely grab the last bottle, "the foot print on the door had dried flakey mud, already dry from being in the house. From being invited in prior. Andrew knew our killer." He read the label and twiddled it between his nimble fingers.

John watched entranced, "Ah, brilliant. Yes. That seems obvious now-oh, uh, now."

At brilliant Sherlock had glued his grey eyes on his with a smile hidden in them causing John to get flustered. However the brown curly headed genius sighed out, "Easy deduction. Hardly anything close to—"

"Oh I mean it, every time I say it," John was now closer than a foot to his friend, his stomach creating flutters as he continued coquettishly, "You're fantastic, no doubt, past brilliant."

Right then Sherlock's whole frame stiffened and his eyes grew a tad wide. The change was subtle to a point; however, you would have to know Sherlock's normal expression to see the difference. His lip curved in and John had a heat flash. Sherlock looked at the distance between them and quickly looked back, now seeming very uncomfortable, "Uhh—"

They both jumped a mile high at the noise the last bottle made as it had hit the floor. Slipped out of Sherlock's grasp strangely and John didn't have time to recollect the situation before his flat mate had doubled over to grasp it and with wide eyes set it up on the coffee table. He didn't look in John's direction in the next second he took to abruptly standing and making his way to the window in a sort of fluster. His hands straightening his jacket over and over for a few moments.

As always, changing the subject, "Got texted the details, uh," he cleared his throat getting John out of his daze, "on the victim." He kept looking past the window to the streets, before a sudden turn of his heel. He straightened his jacket and looked ahead.

John stood slowly with his hand scraping his knee, "Erm," he found a little lost for words, trying to study Sherlock's blank look, "Good, uh, good then. Real good. What is the next move—Hey where are you off to?"

Sherlock was seen fluttering out past the door, not another look, hardly even a glance in John's direction. He whizzed past him so fast John stood in the alcohol fumed room with his mouth gaped open. It stayed open until the door was heard shutting a moment later.

He slumped back to the sofa a few minutes later of only silence, practically glued to it now. Looking down at the last wine bottle. Was that the reaction he was supposed to get? Was it good or bad? He did look flattered at first, if not surprised by his sudden change in mood. Then looked immensely uncomfortable with it all and John was feeling doubt sure. But.

There was also this sort of high feeling, a sort of lifting of spirits that accompanied fluttery stomachs and clammy palms. That was nerve wracking and scary as hell! John found he sort of loved the thrill.

Oh but he hated this reaction. Of all that crossed his mind, he didn't think Sherlock would just, . . . Run away.

Maybe he shouldn't do this?

/X\\

Now, after that. John laid off for a few days. Which John found less and less of Sherlock in the means. Which made his new intentions easier. He hardly saw his flat mate these past three days. However Lestrade would text him now and again saying they kept having different leads to Andrew's murder.

John even tried to get up earlier than his normal hour to try and catch Sherlock before he left, but he had to give him credit for always giving him the slip at all hours. The only times they saw each other were random times and very briefly not to mention immensely awkward. They consisted of eye contact lasting longer than ten seconds, and then Sherlock would downcast his gaze and practically sprint out of the room. Now, he wasn't sure if they were fighting? What had even happened between them was unclear. It's not like John came on to him that strong, it was just one bloody compliment.

John had the clinic to go to, so things weren't as boring as sitting around all day; however Sherlock always found a way into his mind to distract him. He also spend some days alone in his room avoiding his sisters calls and writing his blog, mostly for no reason, and he'd merely delete more than he posted. It got a little tedious. So, three days after the awkward encounter, John finally found his voice when he bounded downstairs for a drink.

There Sherlock was already in the damn kitchen and now, he felt the atmosphere shift dramatically as he entered. Sherlock's back to him, almost looking as if he didn't hear him come in. He was hustled over he stove, a pan on top, and what smelled of eggs. It was the middle of the day and Sherlock was cooking? This was strange. Of course his flat mate knew he had entered, yet still avoided looking his direction, so John grabbed his mug from the door and while filling it with water, he tried to peek a look.

"Eggs then?" His voice was almost drowned out by the running water.

"Hm," Sherlock spoke to him for the first time in the three days, his voice sounding as enticing as ever and John pried, "Oh, good that you're eating. Uh, you need a holder?"

Sherlock's stiff posture seemed to sooth a tad, but he still didn't look his way while he pushed the cooking eggs around the pan slowly. His answer sounded like a chore, "I said I don't eat on cases, I meant it."

"Uh?" John tightened his grip on the mug he held, "Whatever are the eggs for then-oh, uh, here." He got out a small red pot holder from the drawer nearest him and forked it over, "Use this before you hurt yourself."

"I can manage." Sherlock avoided the first question, however after his short answer he added a little less harshly, "Thank you John."

He set it on the counter, for surely Sherlock would need it. He smiled a little, feeling better about their current situation, "So, you have any ideas on Andrew's case?" He took a sip of his water and leaned on the sink's edge, "Solve it yet?" He dared tease.

This finally, after the entire encounter, caused Sherlock to flick his eyes in his direction; however he didn't move his posture. He seemed to cringe at the question, "No, I have not."

John took a moment to look into his eyes, trying an innocent smile to lighten the situation further. He was surprised when Sherlock had flashed one back for a moment, and then turned his gaze back to his cooking.

John felt better than he had ever felt in those few days, knowing maybe he didn't screw up like he thought he did, "Those look about scrambled, you want some orange juice, I could possibly run to the store for some things."

His friend shrugged, "Would you want orange juice?"

"Uh, for breakfast foods, yes. I suppose I do." He answered, taking a sip of his water, he contemplated taking a seat at the table. He watched him examine his cooking work, leaning over it before poking his fork through. He picked a piece and straightened, looking as if to taste it, however John was taken back as the fork was shoved in front of him instead.

"Taste." Sherlock commanded.

John's stomach did the flips and he really didn't feel comfortable just eating off his outstretched utensil. So, he took the fork for himself and Sherlock watched him eat the tiny piece.

It tasted fine and all, but the way he was looking at him made him feel like spitting it out, "Good, uhm. You didn't do anything weird to it?" He tried to sound like he was joking, but everyone could have told he was dead serious. He handed him the fork back instinctively.

Sherlock took it, his eyebrows rose in question, "If you count an over amount of pepper than you usually prefer, than, yes."

"You know I prefer extra pepper on my eggs?" He turned his head sideways in surprise, then he smiled as Sherlock mimicked him.

"Of course, hard to miss whenever you make them; the pepper stinks up the kitchen."

"I don't put that much on," he laughed, his elbow came down to rest on the counter and he set his mug down. Now thinking of that orange juice. He saw Sherlock turn back to the eggs, he set the fork down and then reached for a small white plate they kept stacked near the stove. He proceeded to turn the heat off and his hand came down on the-!"Sherlock! The holder, use the holder, stop." John came up beside him and shoved the red fabric square at him, "What's the matter with you?" He laughed.

Sherlock just took the thing and used it as if for the first time, before gracefully scrapping the eggs onto the pate, "Take a seat John, you should eat at the table."

"Me?"

The plate of food was served over to him, Sherlock's expression held right at a slight grin. His eyes closed for a mere second to scrunch up. John felt a little lost, but took it nonetheless. "Thanks, uh. What's this for?"

"You haven't eaten today." Was the only answer he got before his friend made his way over to the two seat table and took one, his elbows rested down and he stippled his fingers over his chin. His eyes heavy on John.

Who now felt obligated to sit. Now feeling his stomach grumble and eggs sounded fantastic he had to admit. He took a seat after clasping his mug. As he sat down the chair squeaked and he poked through the eggs before taking an eager bite.

"Did you want that juice?" Sherlock spoke up. "I'll be out anyhow."

"You? Go to the store?" John swallowed harder than he meant and coughed, "No, no don't it's fine. Uh, where you off to?"

"Over see some interrogations," he finally looked disinterested and fiddled with the loose papers on the table surface.

The room fell into silence again. Now John was preoccupied with his thoughts on how surprised he felt on Sherlock's sudden gesture. He never really made him food unless testing a close to harmless drug or he made too much for himself and offered so it wouldn't turn wasteful. John was really unsure about the drug thing, usually by now Sherlock said something or he could tell from his close analyzing. Looking over the table at him now, Sherlock looked anything but interested. He had his phone out and seemed completely invested into it. So, John went about finishing his eggs, keeping that small thought that it could very well be drugged in the back of his mind. He didn't feel any different. Counteracting most assumptions, his flat mate wasn't keen on having John being test subject due to the lack of cooperation on John's part. If he's going to drug anyone, if for any reason, he drugged himself. He usually had better results that way.

Now, John finished and stood to set his plate in the sink, finishing his drink he was now at a loss of what to say. So he blurted, "Can I join?"

Sherlock looked up from his phone with an odd look, "Join me?" He asked slowly as if sensing John's distress at a conversation "Thought you were going to the store."

"I don't really plan to, no." He turned to the sink again and turned to add the pan on the stove. "If you don't need me to, I don't, uh, have to."

"No. Come." The chair scraped on the floor and from John's peripherals he was seen standing and heading into the living space.

"Right now?" John turned the running water off and grabbed a towel to whip his hands, "You're leaving now?" He watched Sherlock stuff his phone in his pocket and tuck his silk purple shirt further in his belt. His stride quickened as he fluttered into his room and he emerged buttoning his black blazer. Smart considering it would still be a tad cold outside layers were a good idea. John may need his other jumper.

"Hey, whoa. Hold it, why are you rushing around?" He threw the towel back into the kitchen as he cut Sherlock off just before the stairs. His arm came out and had come into contact with his chest in the process.

Sherlock looked down at the contact with his eyebrows furrowed and his gaze followed John's arm as it retracted quickly, "No time like the present John." He answered.

"Hold up a second, can I ask you, uh." He stepped back a bit, "that cooking thing you did there," his eyes went to the kitchen on his left, "are we okay? I mean, over all, this." He waved his arms around between them.

"What's this?" He mimicked him.

He gave him a long look before slumping his shoulders and pinching the bridge of his nose, "Uh, look. Whatever happened a few days ago, are we over it?" He looked back up to see Sherlock looking back.

"Are we?" He asked back, "Over what exactly?"

John huffed, "I will take this as a yes. Right?" He squinted his eyes at him to see a change that said otherwise.

Sherlock moved past him, "Don't look too far into it John, you needed something to eat now or we would have to stop somewhere along the way." He straightened his jacket and John followed, he wasn't done talking as he slipped his long coat on, "As for this?" He moved his arms again, "I assure you I have no idea what that is," Sherlock almost laughed as if it were an inside joke.

John was now thoroughly confused as he put his own jacket on, "So you made me eggs because you knew I would want to go with you to—"

"Scotland Yard, yes. We have suspects to oversee. You need to get out of the flat John, your starting to hermit." He opened the door and stepped into the chill as he tightened his scarf.

"Oh, right." John muttered, working through what he could as he followed shortly. Where did they stand exactly?

Hi-

Thank you for the review Lily Hatch, It really encouraged me :3 thanks~

Don't forget about this case~

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