A/N: Well, since people are enjoying this I'll carry right on. Off work today which is why there is an extra update but, to be honest, I'll normally only be able to update once a week – maybe a bit less on busy weeks.

Thanks to everyone who has added this story to their alerts and favourites, and thank you in particular to kissedangelzxxx, XxRazorgirlxX, Fan, PhrasesForTheYoung, Reynardetta, dreykar and NebulousBlender for taking the time to review. And yes, NebulousBlender, there will be much more sexual tension. One more chapter of it after this one… AT LEAST!

This chapter has covered more ground than I expected it to but it just seemed right to carry it on to what felt like a logical conclusion. Don't worry though, there's still more to come!

As ever, rated M for Sherlock/John smut, sexual tension (yay!) and language. Don't like, don't read – although this chapter is predominantly case-based with only a little bit of smuttiness!

Back From The Dead Because Of You

Chapter Three

John was going mad. Or, at least, that's how it felt. It had been a week since he had seen Sherlock spread-eagled on the bed in a post-wank delirium and he hadn't been able to get the image from his head.

He spent as somewhat disproportionate amount of time wondering what had been running though Sherlock's mind as he got himself off (The Woman perhaps? Or maybe a short yet well-built ex-army doctor?), and further time spend imagining it was his come that had splattered the detective's body. He had wanked himself off to this last thought in his bedroom (bathroom, surgery and gym showers) more times than he cared to remember in the last seven days. It was distracting and it was awkward, but not as awkward as the realisation that Sherlock knew John had seen him.

You see, John had meant to throw the tea down the sink but, in his flustered state he had simply set it down on the counter top and picked up his own. When Sherlock had enquired about it, John had lied without thinking, not wanting the detective to work out that he'd seen him, but also quite distracted that the man was clearly naked under that slim-fitting robe. As soon as John saw Sherlock take a sip and pull a face he realised his error – that the tea would be too cold to have possibly been made within the last ten minutes. He had seen the colour rush to Sherlock's face from over the top of his paper and he knew that Sherlock knew that he had seen him.

Yes, it was awkward. And without a case to distract them from their clear embarrassment, it seemed to be never-ending. They were being ridiculously formal around each other when they had to speak, but taking every possible opportunity not to since neither could gauge the other's reaction.

"Oh, God, please give him a case soon," the detective groaned as he climbed out of the shower late on Saturday morning.

It would seem John's luck was in, but it was Lestrade, not God, who stood in the living room of 221B Baker Street showing case files to Sherlock when the doctor walked in not five minutes later, dressed but flushed from the warm shower. Sherlock looked up as he entered and John could swear he saw a momentary blush on the sharp cheekbones of his friend as they made eye contact. But then it was gone and Sherlock seemed back to his usual self.

"Scotland Yard have finally decided to consult with me over this serial killer, John." Sherlock snarled derisively.

"Don't say it like that, Sherlock," interjected Lestrade. "I wanted to consult with you from the word 'go' but others on the Force weren't so keen. Some of them are still a bit… nervous… of you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued reading the case file while John went to make a pot of tea for the three of them, thinking over what he knew from the news about the serial killer who currently had London terrorised. He (presuming it was a "he") had killed five women so far: Lorraine Smythe, Helena Vaughn, Jeanette Thompson, Frankie Roberts and Tessa Brownlow. There was no known firm link between the women other than that they were all aged between fifty-seven and sixty-two, all either widowed or divorced and all had lived in London or the Greater London area their whole lives. Police were baffled as there was nothing to connect the women beyond that. They hadn't belonged to any dating agencies, they didn't have any mutual friends, they didn't even share a hairdresser. The police were well and truly stumped and John had figured it would only be a matter of time before Sherlock got the case.

"So, what don't I already know from the news?" John asked, carrying the tea tray through and pouring three cups.

"Thinking," murmured Sherlock impatiently.

"I wasn't asking you," John muttered as he put a tea cup down next to the detective and turned his gaze to Lestrade.

"Well, the things we've kept from the press are that all of the women were stabbed with a generic kitchen knife except for Lorraine Smythe," Lestrade informed him.

"The first victim?" John remembered her face from the news. She was an attractive lady, clearly took care of herself.

"Yeah. She was strangled by someone wearing gloves. We think it means he wasn't planning on killing her, but then he got a taste for it so next time he came prepared with the knife."

Behind them, Sherlock muttered something that sounded like, "So the police get it right for a change…"

Lestrade continued, "We've also not told the press that all of the women were found with a copy of Jane Austen's Persuasion."

"Persuasion?" John had read it while he was in hospital after he was shot. "A calling card from the killer?"

"We thought that at first. But all of the copies are different editions and the third victim, Jeanette Thompson, had checked hers out from her local library. So it would seem the women brought them with them. We're sure it's a clue of some kind but without any further context we don't have anything to go on." Lestrade looked dejected and John knew what was running through his mind. He was worried that they were going to have to wait for more bodies to stack up to get more clues.

"Right," Sherlock stood up abruptly, "Lestrade, I will have this case closed as soon as possible and preferably before anyone else dies." Lestrade took that as his cue to leave, swigged back his tea, bid goodbye to John and headed out of the door.

John glanced at Sherlock, relieved and yet disappointed to see that any trace of the former awkwardness had vanished. This was the Sherlock of old. "So, what have you spotted that they haven't?"

"Nothing yet."

John looked up sharply in shock. "Nothing? But you just told Lestrade you'd have this case sorted ASAP."

"And I will do. Once I know what Jane Austen's Persuasion is about."

"You've never read Persuasion?"

"I've never read Jane Austen, John. I never thought I'd have a need to understand… romance novels." The derision dripping from the word "romance" was not lost on John.

"They're not just romances. They're… Oh, to hell with it. You don't care. Persuasion's about second chances. It's about a woman who is engaged to be married, but allows her friends to talk her into calling it off because they think her fiancé's not good enough for her. She dumps him and he joins the navy and she regrets it as soon as he leaves. Years later he returns a wealthy hero and all the women are throwing themselves at him except for his ex-financé, who still loves him but is ashamed. After many misunderstandings he eventually tells her that he never stopped loving her and they marry. So it's about love and regret and second chances."

Sherlock nodded once and then went back to his "thinking" pose, sitting in his chair, hands together as if in prayer. John continued rambling his own thoughts out loud. "It sounds to me like blind dates. I mean, if you go on a blind date you ask the other person do carry or wear something you'll recognise them by. It sounds to me like they've all been asked to bring a copy of Persuasion to help someone recognise them."

"Or to make them think they're meeting someone who won't recognise them!" Sherlock chimed in, jumping up. "The women all thought they were meeting a blind date, but the blind date already knew them. Hence Persuasion – a book about second chances. Someone they already knew who wanted a second chance with them. But how…?" Sherlock trailed off and began booting up John's laptop.

"Feel free to use my computer, Sherlock." John's voice was dripping with sarcasm but the world's only consulting detective either didn't hear him or was ignoring him.

Really, though, John was glad. This was normal Sherlock – or as normal as Sherlock got. He was thinking about a case and treating John like an idiot again, rather than looking embarrassed every time he saw him. As for John, he was thinking about the case. He hadn't thought about Sherlock, laid out on the bed, naked and debauched for at least half an hour. That had to be a good thing… Right?

Just then, John remembered his promise to himself that he would tell Sherlock his feelings for him the next time they had a case. He looked at the detective who was tapping away furiously at the laptop, his dark curls falling over his face. I'll tell him when he solves it, John told himself. He'll be elated then. It'll be the best time.

And with that decision made, John plonked himself in a chair and poured another cup of tea.

ooo

Sherlock had never been so happy to see Lestrade in his life. He had been desperate for something to take his mind off John and now he had it. A case. An actual case!

He had seen the reports of the murders on the news, of course, and had already formulated some ideas, but then that had all changed when he had found out about the book the women were all carrying. Why a book? And why this particular book? His aversion to anything romantic bit him once again and he was forced to ask John for knowledge he was not already in possession of – something he absolutely hated doing, partially due to pride and partially because he didn't know why John would want him or to be around him if he didn't think Sherlock was brilliant all of the time.

And as John had begun to wax lyrical about a story of two people meant to be together, about getting a second chance with the one you love, Sherlock had felt something stir in his chest and he realised he was thinking about his own second chance to be with John and how he was currently blowing it by not saying anything. I'll tell him when I've solved the case, Sherlock decided. He'll be thinking how amazing I am and that's sure to go in my favour.

With that decided, Sherlock got back to the case at hand while, on the periphery of his hearing, John wittered on about blind dates. But something he was saying was making sense and combine that with the themes of the book and… Sherlock was on to something. The victims all thought they were going to meet a stranger and so they brought copies of the book in order to be recognised. But the book was symbolic, it was about a second chance at love. If the killer had asked them to bring it then he must already know the victims. So how? He just had to find the link.

He got to work on John's laptop. The book was about a second chance at love so the killer was likely a former boyfriend of all five women. All of the women had Facebook pages so, using the details in the case file Sherlock logged in as each of them in turn. No mutual friends at all – although that meant nothing. Many people deleted exes from their Facebook friends. Just as he was about to log out of Tessa Brownlow's account he noticed an advert – one of those personalised ones that appears on your Facebook home page. It was for a Jane Austen fansite and discussion forum. He clicked on the link and a new tab opened with a fairly amateurish-looking site that housed information on the books and their various film and television adaptations, a biography of the author herself and a discussion forum. He clicked on the discussion forum and found he was logged in as a guest. He quickly scoured the usernames of people who'd posted. There! Fluffy1254 – that was Tessa Brownlow. She had a cat called Fluffy and her birthday was 1 February 1954. He quickly logged back into Facebook as the other four victims. The advert appeared on all of their pages. He went back through the members list for the Jane Austen forum.

JeanetteT – easy. Jeanette Thompson.

MrsDarcy12779 – Lorraine Smythe. Not as easy but Lorraine Smythe's daughter's birthday was 12 July 1979.

HelenaDarcy19 – Helena Vaughn lived at 19 Kensington Gardens. What was the obsession with Darcy though, Sherlock mused?

Franbert – easy. Frankie Roberts. Bored now.

So all of the women were registered on the site. It didn't take Sherlock long to hack into their accounts. Nearly all of their passwords were a variation on "Mr Darcy". The forum had a private messaging service for registered members. He accessed Lorraine Smythe's inbox. There were lots of messages back and forth between her and a FredWentworth1948. The last one asked her to meet him in a coffee shop near her house. She should bring a copy of Persuasion so he would recognise her. The date of the meeting was the date of her murder. All of the women had messages from the same account. All were asked to meet FredWentworth1948 at a café near each of their homes. All were asked to bring a copy of Persuasion for recognition. All were asked to meet him on the day they were murdered.

"John!" Sherlock called, "We have him!"

John jumped up to join him, leaning over the detective's shoulder to see the computer screen. Sherlock could feel John's breath on his cheek and he briefly wondered what John would do if he turned his head slightly and kissed him, but he banished the thought as quickly as it arose.

"He's lured them to him using this Jane Austen forum. He's set up ads on Facebook specifically targeting the accounts of old flames. Once on the site he seemingly gets to know them and impresses them by appearing to know so much about them intuitively. See the messages? They're flattered, think they've found a soul mate or some such nonsense, but it's all a trick because he already knows them. He arranges to meet them and I'll bet anything that when he shows up he's expecting a joyous reunion but they reject him. The always reject him, John. And so he has to kill them."

Sherlock glanced up at John who had a look of bewilderment combined with dawning realisation as he caught up with Sherlock's train of thought. Turning away, Sherlock began typing characters and words into the computer until eventually he cried, "We're in!"

"In where?"

"In FredWentwork1948's account. We can –"

"We can see if he's contacted anyone else since Tessa Brownlow." John interrupted.

Sherlock didn't know whether to be impressed or perturbed but he ignored it and opened the private messaging page. "Yes, he's contacted one more since Tessa Brownlow and he's meeting her… He's meeting her in ten minutes, John. Just down the road from here. LLMarie221."

"Say that again, Sherlock." Something in John's voice made Sherlock turn round. John had frozen to the spot and had gone completely pale.

"LLMarie221."

"That's the username Mrs Hudson uses to log in to my blog."

Sherlock and John had grabbed their coats (John also grabbed his gun) and raced out into the street faster than anyone would have thought possible.

ooo

John had felt himself die a little when he saw Mrs Hudson's username appear. If this sick bastard did anything to hurt her, John would kill him stone dead. It was now late afternoon and, as it was winter, it was starting to go dark already. John and Sherlock raced through the streets to the Café Nero mentioned in the messages as the street lights began to flicker on. Sherlock shouted down the phone to Lestrade as they went.

They were going to save Mrs Hudson, catch the killer and then John was going to tell Sherlock that he loved him. That was how this day was going to end. Exactly like that, thought John.

They reached the coffee shop a good ten minutes after the proposed meeting time but there was no Mrs Hudson to be seen. The barista could only tell them that she had seen the lady with the book leave with an older gentleman about five minutes ago. She hadn't seemed too happy to see him, apparently, but he'd offered to walk her home through the park.

John and Sherlock were off like a shot again, racing into the nearby park that offered an alternative route to Baker Street.

"Let's split up," John heard Sherlock shout. "We'll cover more ground that way."

John didn't need telling twice and raced off into the dimly lit park, one hand constantly on the gun in his coat pocket. He heard a noise like a muffled scream, as if someone had tried to scream while someone else put a hand over their mouth. "Mrs Hudson!" John breathed, as he ran in the direction of the noise.

And there, suddenly ahead of him was Mrs Hudson, being gripped by a tall, strong looking man in his early sixties, as his other hand clutched a knife. John fired a bullet into the man, hitting him high in the back. He dropped Mrs Hudson who let out a whimper as she hit the floor. John crouched by her, checking she was OK, whispering comforting things to her, hugging the woman who he looked to as a surrogate mother.

And then suddenly a yell, Sherlock's voice – where had he come from? "John! Behind you!"

John tried to turn but it was too late. He felt a sharp pain as the knife sunk into his back and he cried out and fell to the floor. He was vaguely aware of Sherlock kicking FredWentworth1948 in the head repeatedly until he blacked out. Or died. Whatever.

And then he was aware of Sherlock's arms around him and Sherlock muttering over and over, "You can't die. I won't let you die. You can't die. You're not allowed, John. Stop it." And then Mrs Hudson was calling an ambulance and he heard Lestrade somewhere in the distance and a vague, dreamlike thought that he'd never got to tell Sherlock that he loved him. And then he slipped into the blackness, even as Sherlock told him not to.

A.N: Hope you like! Sorry for the incredibly downbeat ending but there are more chapters so I'm sure you know where I'm going with this. All reviews appreciated!