Chapter 5

Now, Sherlock had almost seemed back to normal, as normal for him at least. John could swear nothing happened between them, but during this run over to the hospital. Things got weird. Like, he wouldn't speak to him unless John started the conversation and he seemed to not want him here. Yet, he predicted he would come. So, he was very confused.

Lestrade noticed and pulled John aside halfway into the first conversation. He let Sherlock into the other room to see the first suspect and used it as an excuse to talk to John alone behind the mirror in the next room. John shifted his feet and watched through the one way glass at the woman they had sitting across Sherlock. His attention was averted as Lestrade spoke up after clearing his throat, "So, you two doing okay?"

"Hm?" John looked over at him, "Yeah why?"

"He normally has you in there with him," he motioned to the room, "Insists actually." John had looked back to see the blond young girl waving her arms around in the interrogation room as she explained something he wasn't listening to. He caught a few snippets, "My husband wasn't right in the head. He was always so damn paranoid and obsessed with his work. He's a surgeon, shouldn't have been acting as such." She had tears swelling in her eyes, "I planned to leave him you know?"

John looked back to the captain, "Can you tell there's something wrong cause I'm not sure to be honest."

Lestrade beside him, sighed, "Yeah but I'm sure whatever it is, you'll work it out. Lord knows you better if we are to continue this," he paused to laugh, "Whatever this is."

"Yeah, suppose so." John muttered softly, adjusting his coat jacket and feeling a tad chilly in the concrete room. The DI mimicked him as if on instinct before saying again. "You know?" He soothed out, seeming confused on something, "Sherlock was in here yesterday, to witness another suspect. Uh, janitor of the hospital Andrew Cole worked at." He turned to John to say, "he didn't get anything out of him. He was only in there for two seconds. I swear he was upset over something. So I wondered if you guys were okay, is all."

John reassured him, "Yeah I think we are fine," he crossed his arms and set back on his heels to pay attention to the interrogation. These thoughts heavy on him about how even Lestrade could tell when Sherlock was upset. Was upset the right word for it? Hopefully Sherlock wasn't secretly mad over something, or uh . . . The incident.

Sherlock had kept a soothing voice, "I'd assume it was his alcoholic problem. He had generous amounts in his living space." He shook his head as if upset about it. That didn't compare to the woman's face, "Alcoholic! God no. He never touched the stuff."

"He didn't have to lie about evidence," Lestrade had commented before Sherlock continued, "Why leave him? Certainly wasn't his slight obsession for flower decor." He whispered the last part thickly with sarcasm.

"No, uh. Look, it told you he was a nut about his work. I hardly ever saw him. You know, I even thought he was cheating on me how often he stayed late at the hospital." She laughed a little too loud.

Sherlock turned to look at the double mirror, knowing John and Lestrade were on the other side, he mouthed, 'Motive,' Then went back to the woman, "Mrs. Cole. Where were you three days ago, around one and two in the evening?"

"Uh, oh. Yes. Out shopping, I had headed to the deli not long after-"

"Pedicure yes yes, what about after the deli? You went home? Alone I guess?"

"Well yes. Andrew had stayed at the apartment I was living with my mother. She wasn't home when I was. She was out with her girlfriends," she laughed again, "We had a fight the night before." Her eyes shifted around, "I know his is a bad explanation! I'm innocent I would never hurt him!"

He put his hands out to calm her, "Raising your voice doesn't help you. Can you take those glasses off you don't need them."

"Excuse me?" She touched at her bright pink rimmed glasses.

Sherlock persisted,"You don't need glasses, the frames are not prescription and honestly they don't compliment your face how you assume they do. You keep adjusting them."

She frowned but took them off, "If your suggesting that I buy fake things to look different on, on purpose! Well I-"

"Do you smoke?" She went to answer him but he cut her off again, "Of course you do, may I see one?"

John hit the glass softly to get his attention now wishing he were in there to hit him instead of it. Sherlock looked back with an innocent face, as if they didn't hear that at all.

"Oh, that's my cue." Lestrade headed for the door with the same intention. Seeing as Sherlock was now trying to haggle a cigarette from the lady. He hit John playfully on the shoulder before leaving, "Hey, he seems better now that your here, huh?" He cracked a smile but turned to quickly shift into the next room.

They then switched spots and Lestrade was asking her minor questions about her career and family.

As for Sherlock, the moment he walked in he was insisting they walk out. Saying he wished that went better and she was clearly hiding something. John followed behind him as they weaved through the office and he was handed a few files from Donavan as he passed her desk saying the boss insisted strongly they have it. He tucked it close and shuffled after his flat mate, who had already made it to the door. Tightening his scarf.

"Are you still hung up on that glass of water?" He asked after he peeked in the file and found Sherlock's picture printed out, the one of the glass.

He had paused at the glass door, looking out into the street, "It's all wrong. I don't understand why this case is being so difficult." He turned to him with a waving finger, "You don't know the half of what I went through to make sure that photo stayed in the case files."

"No, no I don't," John almost laughed at how serious he was being, "uh, you're stressing a lot about this-" a shout down the office's room stopped him short, he turned to it. Lestrade had poke his head out of the interrogation room, "Oi! You two leavin already?"

Sherlock had done something silently behind his back as an answer, for, the DI gave a confused look, "Well we still have that, uh, Mr. Sander, here. Wana give another go? He refuses to chat with us."

"Who?" John squeaked out before Sherlock had walked up beside him bellowing down the hall, "Keep him in the fire, we don't have much time."

Fire? John watched his flat mate yank his scarf off and fling it over the coat rack, then seeing it now being only a scarf rack he continued back the way they came with practically everyone staring at them from the loud conversation. He shuffled close behind as they doubled back.

"Next room over," Lestrade pointed, "Give me a second before you do anything. Sherlock?" He got his attention as Sherlock wasn't seeming to care. He continued down the hall to the pointed room, Lestrade didn't get his attention at the least. Sherlock just hesitated once before storming inside to say, "Your jointing me this time John."

"Ugh," Lestrade sighed, "Look, keep him away from the Janitor, please. Until I wrap things up." He patted John over to rush him, "Now John go, seriously," he laughed and shoved him harder. John's feet shuffled clumsily before he bounded for the next door. How is it everyone expected him to control Sherlock? Why him? He hardly felt he knew him these days. Half in love with his flat mate was screwing with his head. And, his social life and patients with his sister. He felt like he was on a roller coaster.

He stepped into the room and his eyes landed on Sherlock first, who sat in the iron chair looking poise and intimidating to the other frailer looking man who sat adjacent. The older man gave him a glare as he entered, a dark bruise could be seen on his upper arm as his body turned to the door. His green eyes darting around once John let a tight smile back at him, "Uh, hello."

"I won't be ridiculed by this one again!" He scuffed out, leaning in closer and practically spitting on Sherlock's placid face. Who in turn practically became inert with expressionless judgment.

"I don't believe we've met, I'm Doctor Watson, that's a nasty bruise you have," he held out a firm hand to change the subject. Keeping Lestrade's words in mind about control.

Mr. Sander looked up with his eyes looking slightly less threatening, however he turned thickly sarcastic and harsh on a dime, "Hurts like a bitch too I'd imagine the bastard who put it there deserves penance." The way he turned his attention back to Sherlock spoke as to who this, 'bastard' was. "Oh jeez Sherlock did that?" He breathed reproachfully.

"Sherlock!" The man laughed, "Oh I should have known you was that cocky bastard one floating in he papers," he leaned back violently, "He grabbed me here! Right here, I didn't do nothing to deserve it!"

John still refused to believe Sherlock was just sitting there staring at the man who could at any moment punch him, "Well, I uh. Okay. Look I'm very sorry for that," he tried to lighten the mood, "do you need a water or something? Coffee?" He motioned for the door.

Mr. Sander looked up in surprise, "Gee lookit that. Some decency. Yes, I would love a coffee. They dragged me in here again and I missed my breakfast." He growled.

"Great. Sherlock would love to get that for you." John finally sat down and got himself comfortable, adjusting his coat and unzipping it. His attention on himself until he let out a smile and directed his eyes to a glaring Sherlock beside him. "Go on the man's thirsty."

They kept eye contact for a little longer than necessary, John smirking knowing what he did, knowing what would follow. Sherlock's multi colored eyes looked back with shock, disgust, than acceptance. The moods changed so clearly John was proud of himself for even paying that close of attention.

Sherlock stood then, clearing his throat, "Would you like me to get you something too then, John?" He looked down on him and when he said his name it sounded a bit ugly, John shook his head so Sherlock turned to their suspect, "Take sugar?" He quipped out.

"Oh piss off," he growled before Sherlock gracefully left the room. Once he left there seemed a huge tension went with him, Mr. Sander relaxed and sighed with his elbows on the metal table. His eyes looking down as he talked," Watson huh?"

"Yes, John."

"You in the papers too. You hang with that guy?" He motioned to the door.

"He's not so bad." He smiled back, "Mostly." He laughed.

This made the man smile a little, "Look, I'll tell you something here. Come here," he leaned in close to whisper, "Hah, I can say this. So long as your partner don't know. Look, Andrew was on to something. Dr. Watson, something big. I advise you to stay out of it. He wasn't smart like that."

"Andrew Cole?" John asked, leaning in to meet him.

"He was murdered to keep secret on it."

"On what exactly?" John felt the situation shift to danger. Whatever this man was saying sounded real deep, something maybe they weren't expecting. He blinked and scratched his arm, "What did he find out?"

Sander sank back in his chair, his eyes looking to the two sided mirror, "No one behind there huh?"

He followed his gaze, "Uh, I'm unsure. Don't think so." He muttered hoping that this would be enough to tell him what he needed. Apparently not, as the man became tight lipped and didn't say anything else. "Mr. Sander?"

He sighed as about then Lestrade came in with another chair to sit on, "Oh, yes, good afternoon here gentlemen." He gave a bigger smile to John and he got the silent thank you for getting Sherlock under control.

"Oh now you're here again?" Sander grumbled, "Look, I'd like to go home now." His arms crossed, "I've been here all morning."

Lestrade gave John a look, one of those looks where he was proving this man was difficult. So, he nodded back a tad understanding, however wished with all his medical training that he would leave them alone again and maybe Mr. Sander would open up. Whatever he spoke of sounded grave and life threatening. The way he warned John gave him goose bumps and a horrible feeling deep in his gut. Oh it wasn't something he wanted to let go. "Tell him what you told me Mr. Sander."

"Hmm?" Lestrade pushed.

Sander snorted gunk back up his nose, "That Sherlock mate of yours is a real bastard. What a bastard."

"No, not that, the warning."

"Warning?" Lestrade was put at attention as the man spoke again, almost seeming to lightly not remember the previous conversation, "Can't say any warning other than get your flu shot, or else I may pass it to ya," he growled with sarcasm. Snarking a laugh under his breath. John practically hit his palm to his forehead.

So John tried to motion Lestrade out again as if he may only talk in the certain privacy, "Uh, did you run into Sherlock out there? Lestrade?" He hoped his voice was suggestive enough.

Sander cursed at his name from across the room. Tightening his arms across his chest as the DI nodded shortly, "Suppose I did pass him at the coffee dispenser down by my office." He gave another suggestive smile, thanking him for getting Sherlock controlled until he had been present.

"Good," he gritted his teeth, "I forgot to ask for a cup, do me the favor," he raised his eyebrows and when he crossed his arms he pointed to the double mirror, suggesting Lestrade take the other means of observation.

Who, in turn gave a look now of confusion similar to someone getting bad news at a hospital spoke in medical terms. He seemed to get the picture he was drawing, as he stood with another wide forced smile in Mr. Sander's direction. Sander wasn't paying attention to the main man, merely looking at John with weary eyes as if he wished to speak more.

"I'll just get that coffee for you, hang tight." He opened the door to step out and sure enough, Sherlock stepped in. Cardboard cup full of steaming caffeine clutched in his right hand he bypassed Lestrade without a glance, setting the cup down as he spoke to him, "Ah Sherlock, I was just informed of something, I'd like to talk to you out here a sec."

Grey eyes looked at him in question as he had stayed in his position when letting the cup go, his eyebrow raised. "Wife admit to the affair?"

He got a glare now, "No. In fact . . ."he paused, "in fact it was a triple murder down by Hanz's place." There was that smile on his lips.

"Ice cream and a murder, hello." He jerked upright at the mention of Hanz's ice-cream shop, eyes moving to John with delight, "Man the fort, I shall return with a merrier form of entertainment!" He whisked out of the room practically pushing Lestrade to get to the door.

Of course the DI had been lying and Sherlock would find out and not let it go. Probably demand ice-cream as a penance. John had glanced at his face when the door shut behind them and felt horrible for Lestrade's lie and how he were to wiggle out of it without Sherlock's wrath. Or, who knew, Sherlock could pick up on these things quicker than anyone, but when it's too obvious things in his mind look over it and label it stupid. Stupid things don't normally get recognized or even remembered.

"Here you are, Mr. Sander," he scooted his chair closer to the table and crossed his legs while pushing the coffee near him. Maybe he would just spill it all. Tell him everything.

"They certainly are idiotic twits." He laughed, "Oh, oh yes. Mhmm." He took it between his fingers. Fiddling with the paper rim in one hand and his loosely kept nails on the other keyboarding the table. His eyes skimming over John with the same grave look before darting to the two way mirror. "Watson, you and your mate go on adventures all the time yeah?"

"Yes I suppose you could call them adventures."

"Have fun running around solving riddles?" He leaned in again.

This was it, this was what John needed to hear, "I wouldn't call it fun per-say."

"Get out of this adventure. This isn't one you need to know about. He'll get you John." He sent goose bumps his way, "Get out and leave Sherlock behind if you sensible John." His voice thick with warning and foreshadow. Like he knew what would happen, as if his warning were to be taken seriously when he looked like some un-honest bloke. Some piece of trash floated up ashore. No. John felt fear strike him harshly for a brief moment, looking back into this man's eyes. It was indeed a warning, "Who? Dammit, who is going to get me?"

"I think you'll find him relatable Doctor Watson." He jumped to his feet with a rushed mannerism, taking a stride to the door with his coffee in hand, "This was all the talking I'll get in on such a long damn day. I'm done with this department before someone gets ideas I'm spillin beans as Andrew did," he opened the door bellowing out, "take me home! I've said enough as is!"

Now, that had been a very short chaotic interrogation.

Leaving John feeling a little wobbly as he walked out to find a Mr. Sander being hauled out as he set off strings of cuss words. Sherlock spotted in an office chair scribbling on notepads and then Lestrade came from his office in a hurry, only to stop short when laying eyes on John. "Oi, I was coming to join you in the-the uh," his head turned at the sounds of swearing down the hall, "Hey! What is he doing being let go, I have at least another hour with this man!" He stormed down the hall, turning to call out to John, "You better tell me this guy's statements when I get-no, get him in here!" He was cut short when Mr. Sander had walked out past the door. John laughed despite the later remarks thrown at him; Lestrade sure did go to certain lengths to track down suspects.

Sherlock looked over at John as he stood from the chair with his notepad in his grasp, his face was stern and his eyes looked past things in sight, as if they weren't there. He was in deep thought about something. He continued to wave John to move along, scribbling on the paper again as he walked down the hall.

"Sherlock, look that man back there-" he stopped seeing the hand that was waving him to follow now waved for him to stop talking. He shuffled behind him, pointing to the room they just left, glancing at it feeling nervous again. "Look, he was-"

"John that man wasn't in his right mind, give me a moment here of silence before I leave." His back was to him, looking rushed, "No more time to be wasted on Mr. Sander. However," he paused a moment as they came to the door and just as he did Lestrade and two other officers brought the devil they spoke of inside, demanding more time to talk to him. Sherlock gave the DI a strong glare, "Greg here lied about my late Christmas gift."

"You can stop calling me that Sherlock, really." He got as a response, "Needed you out of the room for a sec, John I—"

Sherlock interrupted with a short, "Could have just asked." Before he was out the door with his scarf around his neck.

Lestrade bypassed him and let Mr. Sander be guided back to the interrogation room, "John what did he tell you?"

"Maybe you can ask him, I'm sorry he was just warning me about something I can't say I really don't know. Ask him what I find relatable with him? Ask that." he talked quick and hoped this conversation were to go faster so he could get back to telling Sherlock. Surely his genius friend could figure it out. He grabbed the door and stepped out as Lestrade was nodding with confused determination to get the same information extracted from the guy. Sherlock was well ahead of him, he had to jog a little down the paved sidewalk, "Sherlock he was warning me!"

"I need to go to the hospital John."

"Why?" he came up beside him, "what for?"

He gave a side glance down at him, "To St. Jord, the hospital Andrew Cole worked at, I'll go alone."

"Really?" John stopped walking and grabbed his elbow to get his attention, "Why? Was I just dragged along to one interrogation for nothing?"

"Don't act hurt, it's nothing too personal," he muttered while his eyes lay upon the slight contact they had, "We need space."

John was taken back, letting his elbow go, "We had space, Sherlock! It was a whole three full days of space. What's going on with you?" Sherlock was hailing a cab now and John was getting irritated at his weird behavior. Had this to do with what happened earlier? "What's going on?"

"I could ask you the same," he scrunched his nose, looking down at him briefly before the car pulled up and he ignored all of John's questions and had jumped inside.

Leaving John alone on the curb and he was really doubting he could continue this conversation if he met him at the hospital. Posh but he wanted to. He wanted to demand answers. Sherlock was being weird and now John was guessing it really did have to do with him. What he did before, getting close like that? Leaning in. . . Like that. Complimenting him with that tone, dammit!

He headed back to the flat practically steaming with embarrassment and confused anger.

/X\\

It was around five in the afternoon, an hour or so after he got back from Scotland Yard, he sat down with a warm cup of tea and the newspaper to calm him. He waited patiently for something to come up about the case that maybe Lestrade would text him with, along with the idea Sherlock could come back any moment. His intent was completely innocent, but with his life, nothing seemed to want to be simple.

221B chimed shortly twice, begging John to let the person in. He really didn't want clients in here still and seeing someone without Sherlock's consent felt like cheating on a spouse.

Why did he have to use that reverence?

He dragged a hand down his face before setting his paper down to get the door. Bend it, Mycroft stood elegant as ever at the doorway, a reproached frown upon his lips. He let out a, "Dr. Watson, keeping quiet these past few days hm?" He let himself in. Taking his brown scarf off and hanging it, before taking his gloves off.

"Sherlock isn't here, you know?"

"Of course I know." Mycroft sneered.

John looked around suspiciously, "Right. Well could you come back another day when he is, I'm sure he will-"

"Noooo," he drawled out, interrupting, "You're the man I need to see. Have a seat upstairs, have you started the fire?" His cane came with him. John shrugged, "Uh, shouldn't you know?" He half joked back. Mycroft turned to look over his black blazer shoulder, and now John felt very exposed.

Mycroft instantly took John's seat and hold of his untouched tea. John inwardly groaned but shoved his hands in his pockets and swallowed his complaints, "So, uh, what do you need me for?"

"Hmm. My brother came to see me a few days ago. I'm afraid I cannot help you, or him.."

"Help what, what did you talk about?" John leaned on the other chairs arm rest, feeling woozy.

"He discussed something you could consider private, I couldn't care less." His eyes came to the tea as he took a sip, "However it's affecting my work and you know how I cannot have this."

"Uh . . .?"

He drank his tea some more, sighing, "The only reason for my visit is to insist you get over it."

"It?" John's hands became sweaty and clammy and he felt the temperature of the room drop then rise, now his voice squeaked. This couldn't be what he spoke of? Mycroft continued, "You're little crush on Sherlock has to stop. He's been coming to me, to," he paused before drawling out dryly, "He wants me to fix it."

"Fix it?" John squeaked and sank into the chair feeling completely defeated. Mycroft sipped his tea and shifted in the chair, looking as if to stand, "He wants you fixed. In his eyes you're broken." Then he stood as predicted, "I hope you can understand that you've affected both our lines of work Dr. Watson. You can see this is for everyone's well-being." He then finished the tea in record time and walked to the door.

"Short visit I know, John, let's not let it last as long next time. Ta."

And now Mycroft was gone. Taking his accusations and assumptions with him. John watched him go and cringed as the door shut. Sherlock knew! Sherlock definitely knew.

Oh, he felt like being sick. All over the floor that threatened to smack him in the face if he wasn't sitting. His heart jumped around in his chest and his palms were so sweaty he feared his pants wouldn't hold it all. John breathed a sigh and rubbed his head, it ached with how much he now had to think about. There was now his sister to deal with and say, told you so, he doesn't care about me. Then there's Sherlock himself who he had to confront somehow about this.

Should he?

He had no idea if he should even bring it up or just act like it didn't happen. None of it did. But, Sherlock would know Mycroft was over. He would ask him to explain why. He would know eventually.

He grumbled to himself for even thinking of listening to his sister. For even considering this.

But, didn't he want it? Weren't these feelings real? The stirrings turned into feelings, ugh, yes suppose they did. Suppose he did feel it. The way Sherlock looked at him in the interrogation room, when he told him to get the janitor a drink. Their eye contact had created some strange feelings in him; he had really felt the urge to find out what they meant.

Now he would never know.

Oh dear. Oh dear.

John was thinking in circles and it got worse when he heard another bell ring from the door downstairs. If this was somehow Sherlock he didn't think he could be in the same room. He needed a break from him. Oh he needed a long break.

John squeezed his eyes before standing and taking a long breath. His legs carrying him down back to the door. He really really hoped it wasn't Mycroft either, this was horrible.

A complete nightmare he feared would ruin their friendship.

He opened the door and kept his face as stern and unreadable as possible. A small wonder as to why Mrs. Hudson hadn't been around yet when he returned earlier, before he saw who was behind the door.

"Oh, uh, hello-What the-Ah!"

Wow, what a long chapter huh? -Well it seemed to be for me. haha

Wonder what's happened to John...?

-Thankyou to Tusk of Thyme :] Really enjoyed reading your comment! Thanks!

Love you guys, hope to hear more from you~ Don't forget to comment and all that jazz.

Oh and I'm sorry for mistakes here and there in this chapter, I'm afraid I write on my Ipad and when it uploads things get screwy. I'll go through and try to change these things, but i can't until some time tomorrow. -New chapter coming soon, fingers crossed!