Runaway Home

Chp 11

Wow, I had to re-watch the blind banker to write these next few chapters because it is the episode I have watched the least! It is my least favorite of all the episodes, so don't be surprised if even more things have been changed than last time.

Boring. That's all he could say at this point. Before he'd try to make some scathing comment masked with the pretense of merely deducing, he'd go into graphic detail of some of her most undesirable traits or activities. It'd work, but not as well as he'd liked. No, Sherlock found himself trapped in a situation he liked to refer to as the 'beehive'. Beehive was the title he'd given his metaphorical explanation as to what his problem was exactly, and it went a little something like this: There was a hive, within that hive was some honey, to most it was considered ordinary and dull, but to the bees keeping it, it was the most succulent and golden of all the honey in the world. The problem was that despite the general consensus of the outside world on this honey being less than special, they insisted on trying to take it away from the bees. Mostly demented, idiotic, matted, disgusting, drooling bears. They would come for the bee's honey, and the bees would strike and sting and the bear would run off. However, there were more bears, there were always more bears. Stinging would only do so much, it would only stop the one bear, but there was no way for the bees to ward off future attacks, the bears were everywhere. Worse is that the honey wanted it. It wanted to be taken by the bears, it didn't know of the bee's affection but it would not return it, it was dead set on being with a bear. In this thinly veiled metaphor 221b was the hive, Sherlock was the bees, John the honey, and those horrible girls were the bears.

So, at first Sherlock had focused all of his efforts on individual attacks, berating the girl until she left. It upset John greatly but did the trick…for a little while. Because Sherlock realized that over the passing months the amount of girls in his company were increasing tenfold. It didn't matter if he made fun of Suzie's eating habits, or Hannah's other boyfriend, or even Ellen's use of recreational drugs; there would always be another. So from then on he would give the simple assessment of 'boring' as each of them truly were. John seemed somewhat grateful that the ferocity of his comments had died down, but the detective wondered if he got the message.

Those girls were plain, dull, boring. John could have so much more! He could have a life of adventure, mystery, romance…he could have Sherlock. The detective just had to show him that. If John knew, if he understood what it was he could be having, then the honey would repel the bears! Well…in a matter of speaking. But pointing our how boring these girls were wasn't enough, he'd have to make John see just how exciting Sherlock was in comparison.

Which is why he jumped at the chance to take up his old university peer Sebastian Wilkes's case. Under normal circumstances it would have never happened, but Sherlock was determined to show John, and this was the perfect thing for that. It was nearing the end of their second summer together so the boy still had free time before his classes started up again, also this would be a private client rather than the police which meant less rules. Sebastian would hardly care if Sherlock brought a strapping young seventeen year old along with him so long as the work got done.

These musings of the detective's are what led him and his young companion to the bank that fateful day. Sherlock took long strides ensuring that John would have to maintain a sort of jog in order to keep up. It was painfully cute, and that's exactly why the older man insisted on doing it. John seemed a bit flustered and confused by the whole idea of this. Of the case; of him working the case with Sherlock. The detective consented that it must have appeared a bit out of the blue to those who were not tuned into his thoughts, but that was hardly important. He knew this was the first actual crime scene John had been taken to since the 'study in pink' (as the boy had so named that dreadful case) but it certainly wasn't the first he'd helped with. Whether it was direct or indirect John always offered some insight on to what Sherlock was working on, and would often times review photos and files with him early into the morning. As they made their way into Sebastian's office he could practically hear the gears turning in the blonde's head, trying to figure out just why his flat mate had taken him.

"Sherlock!"

Sebastian greeted with far too much vigor reaching forward to entangle Sherlock's hand in a firm shake. Next was John and the detective had to hold back a growl as the loathed man came into contact with his beloved flat mate. The three of them fell into the seats in the office almost immediately and Sherlock stared at the banker expectantly.

"So, Sherlock, who's the kid? He your intern or something?"

The man chuckled condescendingly.

"This is my friend, John Watson."

Sherlock declared proudly. John looked between the two men and gave a hesitant nod.

"Yeah, I'm his flat mate."

Sebastian straightened up at that and began looking between the detective and his boy with a growing sense of amusement.

"My, my, we knew he was odd but this takes the cake doesn't it?"

The banker laughed. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he examined the man, just what did he mean by that? What was so odd about sharing a flat with John? The boy seemed equally curious about the comment, but for a different reason it seemed.

"We?"

He questioned looking perplexed by this entire situation. Sebastian cleared his throat and gave a conniving smiled.

"Yes, Sherlock and I went to uni together. We knew he was a freak but…ya know he'd see you at breakfast and know if you'd been shagging the night before…we all hated him."

The man gave another hateful smile pointed towards the detective and John gaffed. Sherlock merely looked down to the floor. It was true, he'd known he wasn't well liked by his peers, but somehow it was worse for it to be confirmed so bluntly. That, and with John right there, what would he think? He might laugh, agree that the detective is indeed hateful. Not normally something John would do, but given Sherlock's attitude towards his girlfriends in past few months it might seem fitting.

"He is bloody brilliant like that, isn't he? No wonder you guys hated him, I might be jealous too if I was constantly in competition with him."

Sherlock's head snapped up to look at the boy. John looked confident in his answer and was casting his unassuming smile at the banker, which appeared to be aggravating the man immensely. Once again Sherlock felt the warmth radiating from his chest, a feeling he was now very well aware of to be one of the many physical symptoms of love.

"Yes well…onto business then, eh?"

Sebastian said dryly pulling something up on his computer. As the banker clicked away the detective dared take a peek at John from the corner of his eye, who of course noticed, he always seems to notice what others ignored. The blonde smiled warmly before turning his attention back to the man behind the desk. Sherlock felt his cheeks heating up and internally cursed himself for being so predictable.

"Here we are."

The banker announced turning the screen so the detective could see. On it he could see a drab office wall with a painting of an old man. Then, right before his eyes, a streak of yellow paint appears across the painting's eyes. It happened within a matter of a minute, nearly impossible.

"All entrances were locked I presume?"
Sherlock questioned bringing his hands beneath his chin in a prayer like manner.

"Yes, every door, even the ones in the john."

The detective nodded thoughtfully letting the room fall silent for a moment.

"I'm going to have to take a look around."

"Sherlock!"

John called out from over the call box for possibly the eighth time. Sherlock paid him little attention though, he wanted John to have to thrill of the chase, but he also needed to ensure all of his deductions were spot on to solve the case. He needed to concentrate; John was not conducive for concentration. John was distracting before, he had always been distracting, but after his experiment on the differences in alarm clock snooze times and the effectiveness of the first ring compared to the second and etc…John became an overpowering presence in his mind.

It wasn't that Sherlock had never seen a naked man before, he had, he'd seen naked cadavers and corpses at crime scenes and even a man who'd streaked across his university campus. None of those compared to this though, none of those were John. The boy who'd already haunted his dreams and made something coil in his stomach that he hadn't felt since his early pubescent years. Then this; this fleeting moment where he'd seen him, seen what had been hiding beneath those boxers all this time. At the time John had been wearing a shirt, but Sherlock had committed the image of John's naked torso to memory and therefore had a perfect image of what the boy would look like entirely nude.

He even had the proper imagination to place a perfectly reconstructed nude John and place him in the detective's bed. He'd gone hard instantly and was reminded just how painful the experience could be. John left and Sherlock spent the time he was away consumed by a new myriad of images. He could now properly imagine himself being the one to wrap his lips around John's thick cock, sucking him off behind those bleachers instead of the despicable Janette woman who started all this mess.

So it was important he get some time alone to observe before John was around him once more filling his mind with thoughts of laughter, late nights with take out, and fantasies involving bleachers. He crept about the apartment in search of this Eddie Vancoon and any possible clues to his involvement with the break in at the bank. It was clear the painting was a message for him, but why? Finally he came across a door way that had been locked, without a moment's hesitation he stepped back and kicked the doors open with one forceful blow. Beyond the doors he found one Eddie Vancoon lying on his bed with a bullet through his brain.