John hadn't felt quite so involved with anything in months. Niles had told him his findings in the OR, given him the file - breach of patient confidentiality, of course, but no one needed to know about that - let him ask the poor girl a few questions before Lestrade arrived. And when she had described the man…

"That's - one of the victims, isn't it? Or, well, one of the other ones who disappeared. Isn't so much a victim, I suppose," John had said, adding, "I've sort of… been… following along. In the papers…" when Lestrade gave him a look.

The DI had gone away satisfied, even if Niles had cut the interview short for the sake of his patient's peace and quiet. John couldn't help but feel a bit of respect for the younger doctor - he was a truly caring individual, and it showed. He turned to him, catching him smiling at the door. It was an odd smile - one he rarely saw on Niles' face. Not a grin, nothing cheeky, just a sly, subtle upturn of the lips. It was the sort Sherlock had, whenever he'd gotten something devious into his mind. The reminder made John's insides squirm.

"Thinking of anything interesting?" John ventured.

"What? Oh - " Niles let out a quiet laugh. "Yes, and no, really. Mostly I'm glad the bastard's getting caught." He gave Miss Puckett's hand another good pat. "Are you going to be okay, love? I'll come back and check up on you again tomorrow, alright? We'll take good care of you, don't you fret."

The girl protested, but Niles shushed her, tucked her in, stroked her hair. He was like a brother, or a lover, John thought - it was almost inappropriate, but it seemed to work. He'd seen enough of Niles when they occasionally had the same shifts to know he was like that with everyone. Soft, gentle, almost too caring for his own good. It made the doctor smile a little - Niles had a manner about him that brightened a room, a humor that seemed to lift the spirits of any patient he was dealing with. It was… admirable.

When they left the hospital Niles seemed lost in thought, his gaze focused out the window during the taxi ride home.

"Are you always like that with people?"

Niles blinked, turning his attention back to him.

"Always like what?"

"Overly… I don't know, friendly."

"Overly friendly?" Niles' brow furrowed. "What do you - oh! You mean with Miss Puckett, and with you - overly friendly…" the young doctor chuckled. "Yeah, I suppose I am. Sorry - is that bad?"

"Well, I'm sure every place has its rules about doctor-patient… you know. But I don't think you've got malicious intentions in this case, so - no. No, not really." The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile - if only a bit of one. Niles had that smile again, but it was wider this time.

"No?"

He looked Niles over, caught the curious expression on his face, the neat line he cut in his suit. Before he caught himself staring he looked away.

"No."

Niles laughed, drumming his fingers on his knee.

"Well, she's a bit too young for me, anyway. Not my area, besides."

John frowned, blinking at the boy sitting across the seat from him.

"Not your - oh. Oh, so you're into - okay. Well." He licked his lips nervously and Niles caught his apprehension, his cheeks immediately pinking.

"Oh God - I thought you knew! I'm sorry - I - yeah, is that… d'you mind that?"

John open and shut his mouth a few times, at a loss for words. There was nothing wrong with it, of course - John was everything but judgmental - but something about it did make him feel a little uncomfortable.

"No. No, it's fine, but… well, it would have been nice to know. You did… sort of change my clothes - "

"It was just your shirt," Niles said quickly, letting out a little nervous laugh as the cab stopped in front of the Baker Street apartment. "Besides, John… I'm a doctor, remember? I operate on male patients all the time. I know when to be clinical and when to be… sentimental."

He was out before John could reply, and it was all that he could do not to just sit in the cab and let it take him somewhere else. Heaving a sigh, he slipped out after Niles.

"And which one was it, then?"

It was a damn bold question, but Niles didn't answer. He was staring very intently at the door, which was slightly ajar, the black scuff marks around the lock mechanism telling them it had been forced that way. In a way, John was glad at the distraction. He had kind of been assuming, the way Niles acted around him - but again, he was like that with most people. John liked to be certain of these things. There were looks he caught sometimes, when the surgeon didn't think he could see him. John saw something in his eyes, something that ran deeper than the expressions in his face. He wasn't sure how he'd react if Niles answered that way - he'd never had that sort of attention from a man before.

Well, he had. But he couldn't count that. Sherlock's stares had been something else, he was sure. The man was self-stated to be married to his work, after all. The thought of the detectives eyes made him uncomfortable, something stirring in him that he wasn't sure how to respond to. The intensity Niles' eyes held, the similarity in color, in shape - that wasn't helping, either. It was a good thing right now they were focused on the door.

Taking a breath, Niles pushed it open slowly, stepping into the entranceway.

"John! Niles!" There was a rush of hurried footsteps down the hall and a frantic Mrs. Hudson approached them, hands wringing.

"Mrs. Hudson!" John took their landlady into a protective embrace, clasping her hands securely. He looked from the door to the staircase, which Niles was taking two steps at a time. "What's going on?"

"Oh, John, it's terrible! Look at what they've done!"

Following Niles, John climbed to the living room, his heart sinking into an overwhelming mix of alarm and anger. Books, papers, dishes - their things had been thrown about the room, lamps knocked over, tables upturned, drawers opened and their contents spread across the floor. The mess, however, wasn't what most perturbed John about the scene, nor was it the fact that all their valuables were still present. What disturbed John was the writing sprayed onto the wall, just next to the smiley face Sherlock had drawn all that time ago in similar yellow paint.

"Back off… SH," Niles read, but his voice sounded miles away.

SH.

It was difficult to comprehend the effect two letters alone had on him. John was lost in the possibility, his heart racing, mind stretching, trying to find a way that he could be right, that the SH was a signature, and that his best friend was alive. John very quickly found himself on the floor, his back pressed flat against the side of one of their armchairs which had managed not to get turned over.

"John, are you okay?" Niles was asking. Dimly he remembered nodding. He couldn't take his eyes off of the message, off of the wall. He could just imagine Sherlock bursting in, painting the wall on a whim, managing, somehow, to get none of the yellow mist on his clothes. He could see him tossing books around, opening boxes, looking for something… like when he's digging for cigarettes, John mused. But what had he been looking for? And why 'back off?' He felt warm hands grasp him by the shoulders, his view of the message becoming obscured by a field of green.

"John? Can you hear me? Are you alright?"

John looked up at Niles for a brief moment, staring at the concerned face pressed into close proximity with his own. Somehow, he got the feeling the message had been meant for him. But its purpose and its meaning were secondary - the hope it gave him was overriding everything else. It was illogical, wild, and consuming… it was wondrous.

Don't be dead, Sherlock… he repeated to himself. Don't be dead.