ANOTHER CASE
Even though they had managed to work on quite a few cases since Mycroft's wood chipper murder, Sherlock was about to go crazy again. Thankfully, Lestrade called with a new case just in time. Sherlock hadn't been interested in taking it at first, but after John threatened to take away his nicotine patches, he agreed to work on it.
"Well, if it isn't the freak and his puppy dog," Sargent Sally Donovan said by way of greeting. She watched as Sherlock held up the crime scene tape for John before following him into the car park. Lestrade wouldn't accept her argument that that was Sherlock's version of holding the door for the Doctor. If he had, she would have won the office pool a long time ago.
"She spent the night at Anderson's again. She smells like his shampoo," Sherlock whispered.
"How do you do that? Remember what someone's shampoo smells like?"
"I observe, John. It's not hard." The words, 'I can always tell when you're near me by the scent of your shampoo' danced on the tip of his tongue, but he kept them to himself.
"For you, maybe." They walked into the room and Sherlock made a beeline for the corpse while John hung back to talk to Lestrade. "Hey, Greg, what are we looking at?"
"A woman, possibly in her mid-thirties, happily married by all reports, she was stabbed before being shot several times. The popular theory right now is that a woman did it. A scorned lover type thing."
"A woman?" John quickly thought about everything he'd learned from Sherlock over the past year. "I suppose so, but women are less likely to kill from a close distance like a stabbing would require."
"Sherlock's rubbing off on you." Lestrade grimaced. "I'm not sure that's a good thing."
"Bit not good, yes." John cleared his throat, eager to change the subject. "Do you think there was a relationship involved? An affair? What else would cause this?"
"We're still looking into that. So far, Mrs. Williams' life seems spotless. Loving husband, two kids that they could afford to send to a public school, high level executive… never seen anyone less likely to be a victim of this sort of crime." Lestrade paused, looking back at Sherlock, who had started to call for John. "I believe you're being summoned."
John thanked the Detective Inspector for his help and moved to Sherlock's side. "John, I think she was unconscious before she was stabbed and shot. Do you see anything that would indicate that?"
"You didn't notice anything?"
"Of course, I did. I just wanted your opinion."
"Stupid git."
"Idiot." He rested his hand lightly on John's back, enjoying the slight shock that ran through his fingers into the very core of him. "Look hard, John. You can barely see it. Anderson would never notice it."
"I heard that, Sherlock!"
"SHUT UP, ANDERSON. HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU YOU LOWER THE IQ OF THE ENTIRE COUNTRY EVERY TIME YOU OPEN YOUR MOUTH?" Sherlock roared. Realizing what he did, he turned to John. "Not good?"
"No. Not good at all." John moved around the body carefully. "She has an injury to the back of her head, but that's more likely caused by the fall onto the concrete floor."
Sherlock nodded, pleased with John. "I didn't see anything obvious, either. Look a little deeper."
John knelt down so he could get a better look at her hands and arms. Sherlock joined him on the ground. "No defensive wounds." That earned him a literal pat on the back, making a small smile appear on his face. Sherlock's heart leapt with the knowledge that he caused that smile.
John removed the woman's scarf carefully. There were very faint bruises on her neck. Sherlock was right. Anderson probably wouldn't have caught them during his first look at the body. "She was strangled. Look at the bruising, Sherlock. Those are thumbs." He gestured at two of the marks on her neck. "Too big to be a woman's. There was a man involved."
"Very good, John. Fact: we have bruises hinting at strangulation, possibly by a man judging from the size of them. Fact: there is a dead woman who was stabbed before being shot. Fact: she was unconscious before the stabbing because there aren't any defensive wounds."
Sherlock stood up and began pacing, his fingers pulling at his curls. "This doesn't make sense. It's not enough. There has to be more. There's always more."
John walked over to him and pulled at his arm gently. "Stop pacing." He stopped and looked at John. That was a first. "You're absolutely brilliant, Sherlock. You'll find it," he whispered. "The husband was having an affair? He and his mistress decided to kill the wife?"
"Boring! This case is barely a three." He paused for a moment. "LESTRADE! What aren't you telling me?"
The DI walked over to the two men. "What do you mean, what am I not telling you? I've told John everything I know now. You were told what we knew at the time I called you."
Sherlock snapped his fingers and whirled around. "This isn't the first murder. There's been another one. A little different. Just enough to throw Scotland Yard off. Think, Lestrade. Was there another stabbing and shooting recently?"
"Yes. A woman. Looked very… similar to Mrs. Williams."
"Is the body at Bart's?" John asked while Sherlock went back to his pacing.
"Yes. I don't believe they've done the autopsy yet."
"Then, I guess I know where we're headed next." He turned back to Sherlock and grabbed his hand. "We need to go to Bart's."
Sherlock looked down at their hands, intertwining his fingers with John's while he did so. "Then let's get out of here." As they walked past Lestrade, John couldn't help but smile. Sherlock winked at him. "Congratulations, Detective Inspector. Try not to spend it all at the pub."
#
They had spent hours at the morgue, more than John would have thought possible, pouring over every inch of the body. The only thing the two women had in common was the fact that they looked very similar. Sherlock had made a beeline to the couch as soon as they arrived back at Baker Street. Stretched out, lying on his back, his fingers steepled under his chin: his thinking position. John knew better than to bother him.
Even though he knew Sherlock wouldn't drink it, he still made an extra cup of tea and placed it on the coffee table near the couch. He even made dinner for the detective, but wrapped it up and put it in the fridge. Sherlock could always heat it up later, or John could bring it to the surgery for lunch.
After he ate his dinner, he crept upstairs to his room. He couldn't watch the telly while Sherlock was thinking, but he could read his book. Eventually, Sherlock would yell at him for reading too loudly, but in the meantime, he'd read. He'd turned the ringer off on his mobile, in case anyone tried to contact him. He didn't want the noise to distract Sherlock. When the display lit up a few hours later, he grabbed it hoping it was Lestrade with more information.
I NEED YOU - SH
John sighed. He couldn't just say it like a normal person. He marked his place in the book, set it on his bedside table and walked downstairs to the sitting room. "Sherlock?"
"Shut up. I'm thinking." Really, John thought. He put his book down for this?
"You're the one who texted me."
"I said, shut up. I'm thinking." John walked over to the couch and sat on the floor in front of it. He was positive if he sat in his chair, Sherlock would get upset. The chair would creak too loudly or something. He was used to this behavior, cherished it in some way, but it pissed him off all the same.
They sat in silence for a while before Sherlock dropped his arm onto John. He curled it around the older man the best that he could and John held his hand, effectively locking his arm in place. "Mmmmm," Sherlock purred. "The first stabbing and shooting is related. I know it, John. Hair found on both bodies seem to confirm that."
"You stole evidence again?"
"No. I borrowed it." John could just see the smug smile on his face. "Anderson didn't see the hair or it wouldn't have been there. SOMEONE needs to do his job."
"Is there a reason you hate Anderson so much?"
"Don't distract me, John." Sherlock pulled his arm back.
"You're the one who called me down here. If I'm such a distraction, why did you do that?"
"Because you talk and my skull doesn't. Don't be an idiot."
"I love you, too, Sherlock." His words were dripping with sarcasm but he had a brief moment of panic when he realized that he had actually said them out loud.
"I know you do." The words hung heavy in the air. Both men sat there, lost in their thoughts, wondering what - if anything - this meant for their friendship, for their future. John figured Sherlock had deduced what he meant to the Doctor a long time ago, but it shocked him to realize that when Sherlock called HIM an idiot, it was in a softer, warmer, tone than he used when calling other people idiots. John knew that was probably as close to a declaration of love as he was ever going to get from the younger man.
After almost an hour of sitting in silence, Sherlock sat up suddenly. "THAT'S IT!"
"What?" John twisted so he could look at Sherlock. "What did you think of?"
"I think the husband, maybe the girlfriend, hired a hit man. He didn't know who he was going after the first time, so the first woman was an accident. When he did find the right woman… but why strangle, stab and shoot? That seems unnecessary."
"I don't know." John yawned and then looked at his watch. "I've got an early shift at the surgery tomorrow. If you need to play your violin, please just do it softly." He stood up. "There's a plate in the fridge if you want it. Try to eat or sleep, or both, OK?" He gently ruffled the detective's hair, giving in to the urge to lean down and kiss the top of his head. After he did it, he began to worry. It felt right, but would he be pushing the boundaries of their relationship?
He was almost out of the room when Sherlock called him back. He turned around to find the detective back in his thinking position. "John?" He opened his eyes and twisted his head. "Thank you."
"For?"
"For being my John." Sherlock closed his eyes again and returned to his mind palace.
It wasn't until John crawled into his bed that he realized Sherlock had called him 'my John' as opposed to his usual 'my blogger.'