CHAPTER 8.
Sherlock doesn't sleep during cases. So he doesn't fall asleep this night. He lies on the couch, with his hands laced on his chest, lost deep in his Mind Palace.
This case is peculiar. It's something wrong about it, and he can't quite get hold of it, not yet. Murderer is clever this time, but obviously, no one's as clever as Sherlock Holmes. He will solve it, of course he will.
He finds himself oddly distracted though.
Obviously the common point to all murders is Julie Cook's tattoo studio, "The Ninth Circle". Ridiculous name, he thinks. But again, he never was the one to have tattoos, too recognisable, too hard to hide, entirely useless. The ones on second victim's body were nice, though. Exquisite, even. Pleasurable to look at, though he would never decide to willingly put them on his body.
Did John liked them?, he wonders, and then stops the train of his thoughts abruptly. Why was he even thinking that?
Everything started after John went for a date with Mrs. Cook, Sherlock realizes. It was ridiculous, really, one would think he will stop dating at this point, he has rather enjoyable life after all, with Sherlock and his cases and his remarkably smart child. He really should stop and focus on what was important now. But no, he insists on this moronic habit of dating dull and uninteresting women.
And why Sherlock even bothers? It's not like he's jealous, the very thought completely preposterous.
And there is something wrong with Mrs. Cook, Sherlock is so glad John decided not to continue on this acquaintance. She wasn't the woman for him.
Sherlock realizes he cares about John, of course he does, he also realizes he might be a tiny bit in love with his flatmate, he had all too much time to think about his feelings after all, through all these years. And it hurt when John choose Mary, of course it did. But they were friends after all, indeed Sherlock was John's best friend, and he has enough common sense – and, no matter what might other people think, enough empathy – to know he should support John in his decision about marriage. John loved Mary, and Mary loved John, and that was what good friend would do, wasn't it?
And, as John constantly emphasises, he's not gay.
So, who cares what Sherlock is or isn't, what he feels or doesn't feel. He decided to focus on cases, and not to pay attention to his broken heart.
Until now, until, as it seemed, this very moment.
Sherlock found himself unable to concentrate on the case and thinking about John constantly.
And he tried to overcome it, he really tried. But he failed.
And then John started dating again and it all became too much and to his dismay Sherlock realized he doesn't even care if he solves the case, all wrapped up in his heart affairs.
And he despises himself for it.
It is 2pm, middle of the night, when Sherlock's phone rings, the tune set especially for Lestrade.
There was another body found, 5th one, near Thames, this time of a teenage boy. The pattern yet again the same.
"Oh, Mrs. Hudson is gonna kill us." Grunts John, running hands through his hair, after Sherlock woke him up. Detective finds himself mesmerized about these hands movements. He tries not to stare, so fixes his eyes on the floor instead. "It's 2nd time this week when we wake her at an unholy hour. We really should do something to thank her properly."
"I can ask Mycroft to set a nice trip for her." Sherlock murmurs, eyes still fixed on the rug. "But obviously then we had to take a break from cases, since there will be no one to take care of Hamish. And I'm not sure if my dear brother won't be too much engaged in his new relationship to have time to help us with it." He can't help himself and last sentence is said a little bit sourly.
"Aww, don't be like that." John smiles fondly. "Relationships are not always like that. Not that time-consuming as you think."
"I highly doubt it." Sherlock frowns. "Now, hurry up, we have a case to solve!"
When they arrive at the crime scene, they find DI Lestrade and Sally Donovan leaning over police car and sipping coffee. The forensic team ended their job over the body, and Sherlock and John go to examine it.
Fair-haired boy can't be older than 18. He is tall, and very thin, skinny almost, his tattoos all black-and-white, now ruined with angry red cuts.
Sherlock knows instantly that young boy was in fact cocaine addict, raised by wealthy parents determined to hide his addiction from the world and buying him drugs only to make sure he will take them in safety of their own house. Obviously they also paid for his tattoos.
Sherlock has a brief flashback of his own youth, his years on the streets, but no more than second and it's gone, thrill of the case taking place of bitter memories.
He examines the body, looking for yet another clues, but there's nothing more there – except that these tattoos were made in Julie's studio, by the same artist once again. There's definitely something what Sherlock can't see right now and it irritates him, thought like a sight caught in the corner of an eye, impossible to grasp.
And to add to it all, John, his plain yet so extraordinary John seems to take all over his mind, and his presence so near is all brilliant detective can think about.
"Still no idea who can it be?" Lestrade asks, his voice tired.
"Young woman, probably in her thirties, all victims were blackmailed by her and..." His thoughts trail away for a moment and he stares at the halo over John's blonde head, caused by dawning sun. Sherlock tries to focus, but is unable to. Damn. He tries again. "And...later killed by her, presumably so they didn't tell anyone about the blackmail."
"But you don't know who this woman is, do you?" Points out Sally.
Sherlock furrows his brow. "No." He admits reluctantly.
"Not much help you are this time, freak." Sally laughs sourly.
And then there's John, who appears by his side, takes his arm and tells "Come on, Sherlock, let's go home." and there they go, not giving sergeant second look, John visibly pissed off and Sherlock once again surprised by good doctor's protectiveness.
They go home in silence, which is almost comfortable, yet a bit too strained; Sherlock wrapped up in this thoughts. He should be able to solve this preposterous case earlier, he thinks. It all looks so easy, yet he can't find the answer. It makes him almost nauseous, knowing that matters of his heart made it to overcome his mind. His mind waswho he was, and if he couldn't rely on it, then where it left him?
For a moment he feels like a child again, lost in the world all too big for him to understand. That happens always when he's left alone with his emotions, which he couldn't understand or control. He is so used to ignoring them, that now, when he can't, it scares him to death.
"She isn't right, you know." Says John suddenly. "It's not like your enormous ego needs extra boost, but you really are a great help for them."
Sherlock smiles, his crooked smile, but inside all he thinks is don't let him know.
"Don't worry, John, I am perfectly aware that they would not manage without my brilliance there." He says, his voice rich, deep baritone, and John's pupils dilate a bit and his heart starts beating faster, but those things Sherlock doesn't see. He looks straight ahead, not meeting doctor's eyes.
They walk Baker Street silently, both lost deep in thoughts.