Chapter 3
John's .
Still I lay in the back seat of the car, hours had passed and the sun was low in the sky. Golden beams shining through the window onto my face, their innocent unassuming light a mocking contrast to my dark thoughts. Slowly I was building up my plan, I knew what to do, I just had to figure out how to do it.
Sherlock's P.O.V.
I was pondering the facts of the case, a young woman had gone missing from her yoga class. She only ever travelled through well populated areas and (the reason for Mycroft's concern) she was a highly trained, well informed MI5 agent. Still, no one had noticed anything unusual, someone apparently had managed to snatch her, without her making a sound or putting up any kind of resistance. There was absolutely no evidence according to the local police department (not that that meant much), so, off we were to Aberdeen to solve this case for my brother. No scratch that, neither of us was doing this for my brother, we were doing this for our country.
As there was no body John wouldn't have all that much to do, still, he didn't realise just how useful he was even without his medical knowledge. John has a talent for all the things which are lacking in me. He seems to have trigger thoughts, as I have started calling them, thoughts and ideas that, although wrong, trigger something in my mind that bring me on the right track. John is also very good with people, he gets them to open up to him like my manipulation never does, there is just something in his voice, in his face, that makes people want to open up to him. This is why I asked him to come along.
That, and I miss him when he was out of my sight. And I worry about him, constantly.
We were approaching a particularly windy section of the road, the car made a sharp turn causing John's head loll to one side, his body threatening to slide out of his seat. I stuck my arm out and gently held him in place. The action was an unconscious one. Not a reflex, like sticking your arms out to lessen the impact of a cab hitting you, but more of an instinctual action, like a parent waking seconds before their baby starts crying for food.
I smiled at this, although I rarely told John how much I cared for him, I let it shine through in my actions.
Over time, he had made me discover not only that the earth revolves around the sun and not the other way around. I had discovered that I was the earth, that he was my sun and that I revolved around him.
I hope he realised that...
John's P.O.V.
I knew now what I was going to do . My plan was simple, with minimal variables, the way I liked them.
Basically there were 3 possible outcomes.
Option 1. If my plan succeeded completely, the world would be down one criminal and I would get Sherlock, and the knowledge that he was mine now and forever, that he truly cared. This, was a wonderfully good outcome.
Option 2. Something went wrong, I finished without Sherlock noticing -or caring-. In this case I would re-enlist to go back to Afghanistan to get shot at again. Perhaps I wouldn't survive this time, either way this was the bit not good option.
Option 3. Something went very wrong, I would try to take as much darkness with me out of this world as possible, but this option (by far the most likely it seemed) would most certainly end in my death. This was the more than a bit not good option.
Then again, if this happened it meant Sherlock hadn't cared about what I'd done. Didn't care about me; and if that was the case, there didn't seem to be much point in living anyway.
My thoughts took on a dreary monotone quality and I slowly drifted off to sleep, finally sliding into a dreamless void of sleep just ahead of a particularly windy section of the road...