Author's note: And we've reached A Study in Pink. Not only this, but apparently people follow this story! I feel so honoured... moving on: Still don't own anything, and I'd be very thankful for some reviews – I'm curious if I've managed to make this in any way interesting/different from other similar stories.
John didn't expect Sherlock Holmes to offer him a place to live immediately, but it's certainly not inconvenient that it happens. He still has to be confused and maybe a little disturbed, he is normal as far as the detective is concerned and has to act like it, but seeing someone clever fall for his tricks for once is exhilarating.
Stamford must be a bit of a sadist, he muses while Sherlock tells him his fabricated life story (he must admit, he is positively surprised that he noticed the little scratches and the alcoholism of dear departed Harry, and nobody, not even John, could realize that the nickname stood for Harriet). The only reason he notices is because he can see Mike's reflection in a piece of lab equipment and his old friend looks far too happy about something that could be traumatizing if the story was true. And because all he says after Sherlock has told him about 221B Baker Street and winked at him (interesting... could it be that Mr. Holmes is attracted to men? This would open a whole new world of possibilities) is "Yeah, he is always like that."
He certainly must remember Stamford's little... preference. Could be useful someday.
Of course he stays in character; goes "home" and looks Sherlock up on the new, clean laptop he bought for the occasion (from what he can gather, Sherlock has no respect for private property, and he doesn't want him to stumble upon some of the more... interesting information he has on his other laptop once they start living together).
He writes about the meeting in the blog Ella told him to write (God bless her, little useless woman; she makes this much easier and much more fun for him) and decides to keep writing; after all, wouldn't it be lovely if Sherlock Holmes came to have a fanbase because of John Watson's blog entries? Oh the wonderful, wonderful irony.
Then he decides he's going to have even more fun and creates accounts so that Harry and an invented army buddy named Bill Murray – who shows up five minutes later in the records of John's tour, he is always careful with the details – can post comments on his blog.
Then he calls up several associates and arranges a bank robbery he's already been paid for by the director of the bank (why do people have to keep using other people's money to pay their debts?); you simply can't run a criminal empire just by having fun.
It gets even better on the next day. Mrs. Hudson is even more motherly than John imagined her to be (seriously, a little more and she'd start feeding them, and considering Sherlock's weight, that's maybe not so a bad idea), the flat looks very comfortable, and his new flatmate is every bit as chaotic and loud and weird as John wants him to be.
John does what he is expected to do and stares at the chaos and the skull and doubts Sherlock's abilities (when he actually desperately hopes that the detective is as good as he seems to be, he doesn't want this game to be over soon, he is enjoying himself way too much).
And then Lestrade shows up and asks Sherlock to assist in the case of the strange suicides – wait a moment.
Right, he'd almost forgotten about good old Jefferson Hope, the man with the aneurism who he'd convinced that money would go to his kids for every murder he commits (he has put money in a fond for every murder that has been confirmed, thought, he usually keeps his word, if the other party does the same, and that seems to be the case here). He'd done it more out of boredom than anything else – he still enjoys a good murder – but he'd been impressed by Jeff's game of chess, it was a very elegant method. And, if he remembers correctly, he even warned Jeff about Sherlock.
So the very first case Sherlock is going to solve under John's supervision is one John arranged. This couldn't be more perfect if he'd planned it himself.
But apparently things are about to get even better (he thanks whatever supernatural being is sitting in the bottom of the earth and helping his evil plans). Sherlock asks him to accompany him, even though John thought he'd have to earn his trust slowly at first, and maybe in one or two months...
But no. He accompanies him from the start. And he gets to annoy Lestrade and tell Sherlock the cause of death (something he knows very well, as he also gives Jeff the pills) and he can start gushing about the man so that he will be flattered (not that that's hard – "modest" doesn't seem to be a word Mr Holmes is very familiar with).
But that's not the best part. Oh no, the best part is that after Sherlock storms off and John acts like he's feeling really really sorry for himself, Sgt. Donovan (she'll never be a risk, he's known this ever since his first glance at her file) warns him. Actually warns him. Because Sherlock Holmes is a psychopath and will one day kill somebody. If only he could laugh. This is delicious. This is wonderful. He wants to cherish this moment forever.
But the whole "Sherlock is a murderer"-thing has a nice ring to it. Maybe he can use that one day, at the end of the game. Donovan would certainly love to believe that.
Then, as if he hasn't had more fun today than in the last five years, he gets kidnapped.
By Mycroft Holmes. The Ice Man himself. He looks bigger in real life than on a screen; John has never met him in person before.
Posh, polite and cold as always, with all the false information John has had put in the system for the last twenty years. And John can make him trust the dear army doctor simply by refusing money. He must really care about his brother. Another very useful information.
Sherlock texts and he comes immediately, of course. Both brothers have to trust him after all, so that he can play his game.
Sherlock wants him to send a text to Jeff (idiotic, really, he had thought Mr. Hope would notice somebody slipping a phone in his pocket). However, John soon realizes what this is really about. Sherlock wants to cure his non-existent psychosomatic limp. So be it. The man is a walking cliché, really; heart of gold beneath the ice.
At least the dinner at the Italian restaurant is very good, and it's something new to John to be treated to a meal not because Moriarty made a phone call, but because someone feels he owes John's "date".
He tries to flirt; Sherlock rejects him, so he switches his tactic. Mr. Holmes is apparently a virgin, possibly asexual. A pity, in a way. John has slept with men before and enjoyed it, and Sherlock isn't that bad looking. Plus, it would have added a whole new level to the game. But he's happy to be the best friend too, so it's all fine.
They jog after Jeff's cab; John recognizes him immediately, though Jeff has (naturally) no idea who he is. Sherlock gets it wrong because he focuses on the passenger, but it's a natural mistake to make, so he's not disappointed. Oh, and apparently he pickpockets Lestrade now and then and John is allowed to keep one id. Nice. That will be useful one day.
"Nothing, just... Welcome to London." And he makes Sherlock smile. Yes, the game has begun. And John Watson is playing well.
They arrive home only to laugh some more, he gets his now-even-more-useless-than-before-cane back and then they discover the drug's bust that is going on.
Sherlock storming up the stairs gives him enough time to send a quick text to Jeff – "Sherlock Holmes. Tonight. Twice the usual amount.", which of course means, kill him tonight and your kids get twice as much money as they normally get – from the burn phone he keeps hidden in his jumper (he has instructed Jeff to throw his own burn phone away after every text and phone call, so they won't find it on him). He expects him to show up in the next ten minutes.
In the meantime, John is having the time of his life. Not only has he to be shocked, know, he has to remember his invented near-death experience too and Sherlock turns to him in order to understand human behaviour.
"Not good?" "A bit not good, yeah."
On the contrary. So very, very, very good. The search for the phone tells him that Mr. Hope is going to show up any moment now.
Then Jeff shows up, Sherlock goes with him, of course, and Lestrade asks him about Sherlock. He could tell him everything about the consulting detective, but why should he? Maybe one day, if he's very very lucky, Lestrade will find out the truth: Sherlock Holmes is a good man. And John Watson is a bad one.
Not tonight, though, tonight he runs after Sherlock and shoots Jeff, who apparently tells Sherlock about Moriarty with his dying breath (this is excellent; now he doesn't have to think of a way of making the detective curious. This is wonderful. He decides to give Jeff's kids another payment, just for this wonderful parting gift.
Oh, and Mycroft shows up again and upgrades their surveillance status (of course he hears, he is not yet out of earshot, this is fabulous, now he has to be extra careful, for the first time in years; it's wonderful to have something at stake again).
John Watson thinks that this may be the best day he's ever had in his entire life.
After they've eaten, and he's sitting in his new room (upstairs) and has just completed his first blog entry about the case, he decides to have even more fun and sends Sherlock an e-mail from one of his many fake accounts: "Dearest Sherlock, a Roman Emperor will help you work out what this means:
DSPCWZNV T LX HLENSTYR JZF xx". It means "Sherlock, I am watching you" and with the Roman Emperor he means Caesar, not even worth mentioning, but he figures why not keep it simple at first?
This day has been wonderfully complicated an exhilarating and funny enough.
He enjoys his game. And it has only just begun.
Author's note: Yes, the murderer in A Study in Pink is actually called "Jeff" (it says so in the credits), and I decided to call him "Jefferson Hope" because that's the name of the murderer in A Study in Scarlett.
And I actually love Mike Stamford's expression when Sherlock deduces John... somebody is having a little too much fun there, and I mean somebody other than me, of course.