CH 4

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

John Watson had chosen to walk part of the way down the main street he'd been directed to. His thoughts were in flux and he wondered where the need to remain close to Sherlock came from. He had his suspicions, but wasn't ready to test any theory on the matter. It was just too soon to declare his Guide to the SC and his Sentinel abilities were not constant either.

'I need to do some more reading on the subject,' he thought. 'Maybe I will take Mike up on his offer of a talk with his wife, as long as she can promise not to report anything to the SC.'

As he walked home a strange phenomena happened with the public telephone system, every time he was close to walking by one, it started ringing, but stopped as soon as he was passed it. He didn't know whether to answer the phones or just let them ring.

Finally his curiosity got the better of him and he answered one that rang in a classic red booth as opposed to one in a local store or café that he'd just passed.

"Hello," he answered in a questioning tone. He didn't like the voice on the phone telling him to look to the manipulated city cameras, but he figured that anyone with that kind of influence should be listened to, especially when they told him to get into the black car that had just pulled up to the curb. He didn't trust the driver or the woman seated next to him whose attention was focussed primarily on her Blackberry device.

John hesitated for a moment and then figured that he should go along with whoever was playing this game. It was, indeed, a game, but he didn't feel threatened until they had arrived at their destination and he had a quick military look around. There was a semi-familiar scent clinging to the man before him and he just did not like what it implied.

"Welcome, Doctor Watson," the tall man said, as John approached him with a pronounced limp, he had been walking quite a bit that day. "You must be tired, do sit down." He pointed to a chair just in front of him with a black umbrella that had been hooked on his arm.

"No," John shook his head in such a way as to scan the area without seeming to again. "You know, I've got a phone. I mean this is clever and all that. But, ah, you could just have called me. You know…on my phone."

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet. Hence this place," he gentleman twirled his umbrella cane for emphasis to the area they were currently in. "Your leg must be hurting, sit down."

"I don't want to sit down," John said in a semi-petulant, defiant tone of voice. He knew that sitting down in this kind of situation was extremely dangerous and monumentally stupid too. It could also be seen as a sign of weakness, so he remained standing, thank you very much.

"You don't seem very afraid," the man observed.

"You don't seem very frightening," John told him.

"Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier," the man seemed to sneer at that. "Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think? What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't have one," John admitted, but in his mind, heart or soul, he didn't know which it was, he was slowly developing a need to change all of that sometime in the very near future. This man before him felt like a threat to that, even as he continued to answer. "I barely know him. I met him…mm...yesterday."

"Hmm…and since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together," the man stated. "Are we to expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

"Who are you," John demanded to know, but suspected that he wasn't going to receive an answer.

"An interested party," the man said. "I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

John snorted and asked, "What's that then?"

"An enemy," the man replied calmly.

"An enemy," John echoed in question.

"In his mind certainly," the man said. His tone was pompous and condescending. "If you were to ask him he'd probably say his archenemy. He does so love to be dramatic."

"Well thank God you're above all that," John said sarcastically with a very minor twitch to his eyes, as he stopped them from rolling at the dramatic tone that the other man wanted to set with this whole twisted environment.

John then received a text message: Baker Street. Come at once, if convenient. SH

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes," the gentleman asked.

"I could be wrong," John began. "But I think that that's none of your business." He could scent the familial connection between the two men and the scent was making him lose some of his irritation at the situation.

"It could be," the man said.

John replied with a shake of his head, "It really couldn't." His phone buzzed again and this time the message was: If inconvenient, come anyway. SH

"You're very loyal, very quickly," the other man observed.

"No... I'm not," John countered. "I'm just not interested."

The man gave a soft chuckle as he pulled out an ominous seeming little note book. "Trust issues, it says here," he seemed to read from a page. "Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes, of all people?"

"Who says I trust him," John said.

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily," the man observed the stubborn stance. "…and yet, you plan to live with this seeming stranger at…" He paused dramatically. "Two-hundred and twenty-one…B Baker Street, and all within a few short hours of becoming acquainted with him?"

"Are we done," John barked his question softly.

"You tell me," the gentleman said with a direct and unblinking stare.

"We're done," John said, as he turned around and marched away as best he could.

"I imagine that people have already warned you to stay away from him," the man said in order to halt John's escape from the area. "But I can see from your left hand that that's not going to happen."

"My what," John whirled around to ask.

"Show me," the man demanded.

He reached out to touch John, but the Doctor wanted nothing to touch him. "Don't…" he pulled his hand back and the gentleman nodded his head.

John put his hand out again. This time assured that it wouldn't be touched by this interfering and infuriating stranger. "Remarkable," the man said.

"What is," John asked, after checking another text from his new and suspiciously inconsiderate flatmate.

Could be dangerous. SH

The gentleman continued his train of thought and revelation to Doctor Watson, "You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." John quickly pulled his hand away and nodded. "Your therapist thinks its posttraumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service and the by the fact that you are still only a GNA Sentinel…"

"Who the hell are you," John demanded again, as he tucked his hand in his pocket, wrapping it around his phone like a security blanket in the face of this odd interrogation. "How do you know all that?"

"Fire her," the gentleman said adamantly. "She's got it all wrong. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady." John blinked and felt surprised by that statement. "You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson…You miss it." He paused and then said, "Welcome back."

The man turned to the left and started to walk away, twirling his umbrella. He couldn't leave without a parting shot, "Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson."

The pretty woman that had been in the vehicle stepped out of it and said, without looking up from her computer tablet, "I'm to take you home."

John thought about that as he limped up to the black vehicle. "No," he said. "You'll take me to the address I tell you to and you'll drop me off there."

The woman looked up at his sharp tone and nodded once, before getting back into the vehicle.

John had chosen to get dropped off at the corner of a street a few blocks away from his half-way house, lodging. He was still registered as living there until he notified his Government and the Sentinel Council about the change of his residential address. His decision was partially made, but he needed to know just what Sherlock's plans were regarding their living arrangements and the younger man being difficult about being pinned down on the subject. He had his suspicions that it was because of an active police case rather than some other subject.

The vehicle drove away, but he thought he could distinctly hear the whirring buzz of the closest city camera turning to tune in on him. He ignored it in favour of retrieving something that he believed he'd need based on Sherlock's last text message. It wouldn't do for the camera to catch onto the fact that John was no longer GNA, for the suited interrogator.

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

An hour later, John hobbled up the stairs of 221B Baker Street and walked in to find his potential new flatmate, lying on his back with his hands folded in a prayer, except for the index fingers that lay on the man's expressive mouth.

John was confused. He did a cursory check of the apartment. Then he double checked the location of the city cameras from the window next to Sherlock. "Well," John asked. "Here I am. I assume it's important."

"It is," Sherlock said. "Your phone," he said and held out his hand to receive it.

"What about your phone," John asked, even as he handed over the little electronic device. He watched the younger man sandwich it between his two hands and listened for what he was going to learn would be a typical Sherlock thing to do and say.

"It's over there," Sherlock pointed in some direction. "I was too busy thinking. I even called out to Mrs. Hudson, but I don't think she heard me."

John sighed and then he asked, "What are you doing and why does the place smell like nicotine without the cigarette smoke and ash?"

"Nicotine patch," Sherlock answered. He was secretly pleased that John had scented it, but he had a niggling itch in the back of his mind about something else in his flat that was securely hidden away. He hoped that his new flatmate wouldn't seek it out. "Helps me think," he explained. "It's impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days...bad news for brain work."

"Good news for breathing," the Doctor replied.

"Ah, breathing," Sherlock said. "Breathing's boring." He shifted his position and the Doctor noticed that there were a number of patches on the younger man's arm.

"Is that three patches," John asked. He was astonished that the younger man would endanger his health in such a way.

"It's a three patch problem," Sherlock stated simply.

John looked out of the window again, this time trying to note the dangers in their environment or from the people on the street.

"What is it," Sherlock asked. He was curious about his flatmate's odd, security like behaviour. There was no doubt in his mind that John would become his flatmate.

"I just met a friend of yours," John replied in a distracted tone.

Sherlock was surprised at that and echoed, "A friend?"

"An enemy," John corrected.

"Oh," Sherlock replied in an unsurprised tone and asked, "Which one?"

"Your archenemy," John told him. "According to him...do people even have archenemies anymore?"

"Did he offer you money to spy on me," Sherlock asked with a frown.

John grimaced, thinking back on that part of the conversation he had with the man, he didn't like the insinuation that he could be bought for any price to spy on someone. He answered truthfully, though, "Yes."

"Did you take it," Sherlock asked, curious about what his new flatmate was going to say. He didn't know what the answer would be, but he had his own hope about the situation.

"No," John replied.

"Pity," Sherlock commented. "We could have split the fee, think it through next time." He was secretly pleased that his new flatmate had turned the seeming stranger down, though. He knew of others that had taken the money and he never trusted their motives for being in his proximity after that.

John huffed and then asked, "Who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now," Sherlock said. He then instructed John to type out a text on behalf of the victim that had been dressed in, quite frankly, a lot of pink, whose name was Jennifer Wilson. After which, the young Guide nearly leapt up from the couch. He pulled out a small pink suitcase, crouched in front of it with both his feet on the chair and stared at it.

"Wait a minute," John said, after having sat down in the chair opposite of Sherlock. "That's her case...the pink lady's case."

"Yes obviously," Sherlock said. He folded himself into, what looked like a crowded position on the chair, but he said, "Oh perhaps I should mention that I didn't kill her."

"Of course you didn't, she didn't smell like you and no Guide in recorded history has ever murdered anyone," John stated in a huffed tone of voice. "Wait, how did you…" He paused and then said, "Pink." He looked at it again and said, "You found it because you knew it would be pink?"

"Well, of course, it had to be pink," Sherlock's eyes rolled, as he sneered.

John's mouth was opened in surprised. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"It's because you're an idiot," Sherlock said. "Oh don't be like that," he said to the Doctor, when he received a hurt expression. "No, no, no, don't be like that. Practically everyone is an idiot."

John paused to think about it and realized that the young man's quickness of mind may be a marvel, but he barely had anyone to keep up with him when he made deductions of this nature. He sighed and then asked, "Have you talked to the police about it?"

"Four people are dead, there isn't time to talk to the police," Sherlock said. He got up and started getting dressed to go out again. "You hungry?"

"Why are you talking to me then," John said, as he remained seated from his exhausted walk back to the Baker Street flat. He'd taken a cab and requested to be dropped off a few blocks away. His leg didn't feel quite so troublesome at the moment, but he wondered just where Sherlock wanted to go now. It looked like the young man had boundless energy.

Sherlock looked up from where he'd been buttoning his jacket and searching for his scarf. He glanced at the mantelpiece with a surprised expression and said, "Mrs. Hudson took my skull."

John huffed, looked to the surprisingly empty mantelpiece and grinned slightly, "So basically I'm filling in for your skull."

"Relax," Sherlock smiled and continued. "You're doing fine." He noticed that the other man still hadn't moved from the chair. "Well?"

"Well what," Watson asked in a semi-frustrated tone. He was trying to shut down one of his senses that had flared.

"Well you could just sit there and watch crap telly," the younger man suggested.

"What," John asked, surprised. "You want me to come with you? Now?"

"I like the company," Sherlock confessed. "I think better when I talk aloud," he grinned cheekily. "The skull just attracts attention."

John shook his head and since he hadn't removed his jacket yet, he chose to follow the man, 'Again,' he thought. 'Just where are we going, now?'

However, he listened to Sherlock talk about his feelings…well not quite feelings, but his clear deductions about the current, baffling police case. He looked around and was grateful that the man was taking his time, as they walked down the side-walk. He had to ask, "Where are we going?"

"Northumberland Street's about a five minute walk from here," Sherlock told him.

John rolled his eyes and thought, 'Of course it is. No wonder we're going there, considering the text I just sent. He's probably trying to find the killer through some kind of text trap.'

However he just asked, "You think he's stupid enough to go there?"

"No, I think he's brilliant enough," Sherlock replied with enthusiasm. "I love the brilliant ones they're always so desperate to get caught."

"Why," John asked, as he hobbled along.

"Appreciation…applause…at long last, the spotlight," Sherlock said. "That's the frailty of genius, John. It needs an audience."

John smirked at the man beside him, who didn't notice the expression because he was too busy appreciating the deviousness of the criminal that they were hunting. He shook his head and thought, 'That's the real reason I'm here then. You need me to be your audience.' He paused to look in a shop window and came to a startling conclusion. 'I'm willing to be his audience...bloody Sentinel DNA! Some compulsions include the need to please the Guide, that's what the basic pamphlet said.'

Sherlock held the door open to a quaint little Italian Restaurant for his companion.

John walked in and immediately thought that the place really was quaint. There was a small bar to the right of him, near the cash register, small tables with red and white checked table cloths. Some tables had no tablecloths, but were of high-polished wood, which made them easier to maintain and yet the mixed atmosphere only told him that the place was a cozy one.

A robust looking man walked up to them with a grin and said, "Sherlock, my favourite customer, welcome!"

"Angelo," Sherlock said, with a quick sweep of his eyes. He found a small both by the door and sat down. He perched there to look out of the window.

"Have a seat there then," Angelo said. "I'll be with you in a minute. Let me find a candle for you and your date then."

"I'm not his date," John said to the man, who seemed to vanish and with a look like he refused to listen to that kind of talk. He sighed and then sat down in the banquette chair with his back to the window. It was not a position he liked, but somehow he trusted that Sherlock would notice danger far more quickly than any normal person. He noticed that the younger man still hadn't removed his coat, but was seated in such a way as to view the road.

"There you are," Angelo said, as he came back with a cheap table candle. He set it down with a comment about how it was more romantic with the candle and then he told his story about how Sherlock had saved him from prison time, which the Consulting Detective countered with the fact that the man had gone to jail, but it wasn't on a charge of the double-murder he'd initially been accused of.

"You did go to jail," Sherlock said and then explained it to John. "I was able to convince the police that Angelo couldn't have been the murderer because he'd been in the opposite end of town committing a burglary."

John chuckled at that and smiled at the jovial man, who seemed pleased by those turn of events. He told them, "Sherlock anything, on house for you and your date. Your waiter will be with you in a moment. Enjoy!"

"I'm not his..." John watched the Italian walk away. He shook his head and thought, 'Forget it. It's not up to me to burst his happy bubble.' He looked at the menu and ordered something that would fill him nicely, but not overly much. He had a gut feeling that his companion was about to make him follow again and this time he'd hopefully be ready for it, if his leg would let him.

He ate his meal with a renewed appreciation for the subtlety of flavours. His sense of taste noted the texture of the fresh made pasta against the thick creamy sauce that contained hints of spices. He monitored his senses to prevent being overwhelmed by his sense of taste and smell. He looked to his younger flatmate and grounded himself in the sight and scent of him. He enjoyed his meal, while his companion searched for something out of the window.

John knew he wasn't going to find out anything about his flatmate unless he asked, so figured the best place to start was to ask about any current relationships. He needed to know this before he got further involved with the younger man. "So, have you got a girlfriend, then?"

"Girlfriend," Sherlock's brow furrowed at the thought of some female coming between him and his cases. His college experiences with them had been just enough to let him know he didn't need them or their like in his life. "No," he answered. "Not really my area."

"Oh, right then," John paused to think and then asked. "Do you have a boyfriend, which is fine by the way..."

"I know it's fine," Sherlock's head whipped to look at his flatmate.

"So," John asked again. "Have you got a boyfriend?" He took another bite of his meal.

"No," Sherlock replied to the question in a neutral tone. He turned his attention back to look out at the street and the people that walked on it.

"Right...okay then," John said. "You're unattached, just like me." He took another bite of his meal and muttered, "That's fine...good..."

It took a few seconds for Sherlock to register the comment and then he looked to the man seated with him. He had barely registered Angelo's insinuations, but he could see how John's previous question could lead him to consider... 'That'll have to be nipped in the bud,' he thought. 'I can't let him think that I'd ever, but then again he is aesthetically pleasing in that strange sort of way that a short man fascinates taller women, but still...'

"John, um...," he paused to quickly process the words he wanted to say. Then he said, "I think you should know that consider myself married to my work and that I am an active Guide, so while I am flattered by your interest..."

"No," John interrupted him with a choked cough from the sudden sharp, burn of garlic that he'd just tasted, as his emotions jumped in surprise at Sherlock's interpretation of the conversation. "No," he repeated.

"I'm not really looking for anyone," Sherlock continued on.

"No," John repeated sharply. "I'm not asking...no. I was just saying that it's fine. It's all fine." He noticed the other man's confused expression and then he stated. "Just standard questions to get to know someone and it wasn't information that you've offered about yourself when we met. Not just anyone can deduce things like you and in our case, it needed to be asked, since I still don't know much about you, other than you play the violin and can be quiet for days on end."

"Oh," Sherlock replied with a slight flush of something that could have been mistaken for embarrassment in a normal person, but in his case it was from the fact that he hated when he over-deduced a situation.

"Sentinel," John asked, after he taken and swallowed a cautious bite of his pasta. His taste buds had regulated once again.

"What," Sherlock turned to look at him.

"Do you have a Sentinel in the background somewhere," John asked. "I wouldn't want to intrude on his or her territory, if you know what I mean? That's a much more different situation, then if you were in a relationship with someone or what your sexual orientation was. I have to ask because I'm not looking for a temporary flatshare for a few months, only to be kicked out because some lost Sentinel comes seeking to claim you as their Guide. I'm not really made for the transient lifestyle."

"No, Sentinel," Sherlock replied in a bitter tone. "Like a said before, I'm not in tune with the mysticism and all that entails to being an active Guide. I barely have any type of empathic ability and that's caused me no end of troubles with the GC, because apparently all Guides register some type of ability of that nature, but nothing truly registers with me." He refused to look at John's face when he said that, as he'd been certain that he'd see some kind of pity the man's face and he didn't want to see that. "Emotions of others confuse me and I don't really register what my own are, either, since they've been irrelevant to me and are unnecessary for me to work my cases."

"So what if you don't register an empathic ability," John said in a heated tone. He'd been through something similar because he'd barely registered on the Sentinel Scale system that the Council had; even listed as GNA. "It doesn't take away the fact that you are an activated Guide and are eligible to have a Sentinel recognize you as such. The Council can't determine who your Sentinel will be either, not based on some kind of invasive medical test."

"You know about those," Sherlock asked and then shook his head and continued. "Of course you do, you're a doctor and you activated in a war zone. You had to have been tested and must have seen things."

"Like I told you," John said, as he pushed his plate away, leaving behind a quarter of it, since he no longer had an appetite for it despite the pleasure he'd initially had at the beginning of his meal. "I've seen many things, far too much to ignore the documented fact that nature makes the right Guide for the right Sentinel and vice versa." He didn't mention that he'd only recently activated and it was because of younger man's presence, not the war.

Sherlock smiled shyly at him and received one in return, until something up Northumberland Street caught his eye and he took off.

John's internal determination to never be left behind again, made him follow the tall fellow. They ran down streets, through alleys, up fire escapes and even over rooftops to get ahead of the yellow London Cab. When they finally caught up, Sherlock babbled various informative bits about client seated in the back. He flashed an inspector badge and waved the American away.

"Where did you get this," John asked as he took the badge from the younger man. "GNA Sentinel Detective Inspector Lestade?"

"Yeah," Sherlock grinned. "I pickpocket him when he's annoying." He looked back at the cabbie's client who pointed in their direction, as the man talked to a real uniform wearing cop. "Ready to go?"

John grinned and said, "Ready when you are."

They took off, running away from the scene. They managed to evade any awkward questions that may have arisen from their unorthodox car chase, since the young copper in blue couldn't determine where they had been going or had gone.

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

TBC...