This fanfiction is part 3 of a three part series called 'ESC'. All stories unrelated, but nontheless, part of a whole story.
I have no idea what inspired me to write this.
[this fanfiction is set after A Scandal in Belgravia]
ESC: Not So Broken.
John sighed as loudly as possible as he trudged up the stairs of the flat; again Sherlock had not answered the buzzer even though John texted him mentioning he had forgotten his keys and that he would need to be let in. After ten minutes of trying to call Sherlock's mobile, Mrs. Hudson finally opened the door and greeted John with a gleeful smile among tired eyes.
"Thank you, and sorry - Sherlock's being himself, I did warn him I'd forgotten my keys." John had said when stepping in from the cold.
"Not to worry, now's around the time I'd be having my herbal soother so it's a good thing you did forget your keys," Mrs. Hudson chuckled as she shut the front door, "I haven't heard a peep from Sherlock all afternoon, mind you."
John paused before starting up the stairs, "when was the last time you checked up on him?"
Mrs. Hudson stopped to think for a moment. "well, I went out about eleven to do some shopping, because you know, I sometimes forget to do it and I didn't want to risk not having any sugar for my tea, God forbid! And I came back at about one and went up to do a bit of cleaning and he was laying on the sofa, silent as anything as I babbled on, I just thought he was sleeping but I didn't want to pry-"
"Yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson." John smiled quickly as he started back up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, sighing as loudly as possible. The door to the flat was unlocked and opened slightly, revealing a dimly lit living room. An empty dimly lit living room. For a moment John was beginning to think Sherlock had gone out while Mrs. Hudson was unaware - he'd done it before - until he saw the man's coat and scarf on the back of the door.
"Sherlock?" John called from the middle of the living room, peering into the kitchen. He lingered for a moment before silently walking through the kitchen and standing outside Sherlock's bedroom door, listening for any sign of movement. After hearing nothing for a few minutes, John decided that Sherlock must be asleep, which was extremely strange as soon as John noticed that it was only seven in the evening.
John sank down into his chair and sighed again, but this time more out of relief; he gets the whole evening to himself. He gets to relax and not have to worry about being dragged off to some random night club to catch a serial killer or being caught up in some experiment. He was also glad that Sherlock was actually getting some sleep.
John did love the adventures he endured living with his flatmate, he definitely couldn't deny that, it was just nice to have a day to relax and not have to chase after a stubborn genius.
It hadn't been long since Irene Adler had literally thrown herself into their spiral of events and then 'disappeared completely' - dead - but of course John would never tell Sherlock that; the man may not ever admit it, but John was certain he saw a spark between Irene and Sherlock since day one. After Irene had 'disappeared' and John had broken the news to Sherlock (after shamefully backing out of telling him the actual truth), the other man had just been acting weird.
And John knows that his flatmate is beyond weird, his behaviour is beyond weirder, but John also knows that something was wrong within the head of Sherlock Holmes.
Firstly, he had been acting slightly off with everybody, more than usual. Just the other day, Anderson had insulted Sherlock in an attempt to cause an argument because he had obviously seen that the man was acting weirder than usual and decided to- well John didn't really know what Anderson was thinking when he spouted his insult out in front of everybody, all John knows is that Sherlock's expression suddenly became blank, he turned and looked at everybody in the Yard, stared Anderson in the face and said, 'I couldn't agree more.' And walked out with his usual stride.
John had obviously followed, why wouldn't he? He was more than a little concerned about Sherlock's behaviour towards Anderson, given he'd voiced a little sympathetic sigh as he waited for the paragraphed, uncensored string of amazing deductions about Anderson's current parts of life and his flaws, but when nothing came his way and he saw his flatmate stride out of the double doors, he was allowed to be a little more than concerned.
Another sign is that Sherlock hadn't had his usual routine of annoying habits. When John arrived home from yet another unsuccessful date, there wasn't a kitchen table cluttered with petri-dishes and books, there wasn't test tubes of unspecified liquid shoved in the fridge and John hadn't seen any human limbs in the flat for about a month. Sherlock had also been playing the violin more often than usual, claiming that 'it helps him think' when John asked.
John had always assumed he just enjoyed the sound of his own talent.
Lastly, and this is John's favourite one, (in a not-so-happy context) Sherlock had been silent for more than a few weeks.
Literally, he would just lay on the sofa in that annoyingly dramatic dressing gown and be quiet for almost a whole day. At first, John assumed he was thinking, so he let the clogs turn in that crazy head of his, but then when Sherlock didn't have any cases on, he began to get slightly worried. He would stare at the body on the sofa, wondering whether he should interrupt the thoughts to offer food of some sort, seeing as he couldn't remember the last time Sherlock had eaten something, then he would wait for Sherlock to ask him what he wanted seeing as John would make it so painstakingly obvious he was standing in the doorway. But nothing would be said, neither by Sherlock or John, so both flatmates just lived in an apartment of silence for more than two weeks.
This is the end of the two weeks, starting to edge into three weeks now, and John is sitting in his chair wondering what it is he should do. Is Sherlock heartbroken? Is that even possible? He can't exactly stroll up to the man and ask him, 'Hey Sherlock, are you heartbroken because you will never see Irene Adler again?'
Well he could but he would rather not imagine the look on Sherlock's face or the defensive, hateful words that would leave the other man's mouth. Sherlock became almost offended when anybody mentioned 'The Woman'.
It takes a minute or so, but John rises from the chair and quietly maneuvers over to the kettle, switching it on and thinking harder than he usually would like in the evenings, especially on this lovely, quiet evening.
Although with Sherlock's recent behaviour, John's been keeping a closer eye on him, as requested from Mycroft of course. John also asked if Mrs. Hudson could check up on Sherlock on a daily basis when John's not home; God knows what he might get up to with something else going around in his head.
One of the worst challenges for John was that he wasn't quite sure on how to deal with this kind of Sherlock behaviour because he's never had to. It wasn't at all like 'helping somebody out', it was more of a 'watch a genius forget all the basic daily needs' scenario, if anything, looking after a child.
John makes himself a cup of tea as quietly as possible, because unlike Sherlock, he actually has consideration to other people in the flat. His current plan? Drink his tea, watch some crap telly and then retreat to bed for a few hours of sleep until Sherlock rises from his bedroom and begins creating as much noise as possible.
Just another day at 221B Baker Street.
It's about nine hours until John's awakened by the sound of another human presence in the flat.
Groaning lightly, John looks at his clock beside his bed to see that it's actually a reasonable time in the morning, so either he had a heavy night's sleep or Sherlock slept longer than him. He debates getting up just yet or stealing a few more hours, and with no seconds thoughts, he settles for stealing a few more hours.
Only a few minutes after he turns over does the door to his bedroom open and footsteps rush in, "John, get up, we've got a case." Sherlock says as he paces in John's bedroom.
John then groans and opens his eyes to glare at the man pacing in his bedroom.
"Oh don't pretend like you were asleep, I knew you were awake moments before I came in." Sherlock dismisses the glare and stands at the foot of John's bed, "now get up."
It's moments like these when John wishes he had a lock on his door. "Ask nicely and I'll consider it." He mumbles tiredly as he wipes his eyes.
"Don't take too long, Lestrade's expecting us." Sherlock then leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. John stares at the door and then around his room, 'well that wasn't strange at all. Of all the times to be quiet, it's when he's leaving.'
With a louder, more tired groan, John lifts himself from the comfort of his bed and gets himself dressed for this 'new case'. He dreaded what this one involved, it could be anything when it came to Sherlock. Anything.
"All right, what's this 'new case' you're talking about?" John yawns as he steps into the living room, only to be turned around and pushed towards the stairs.
"We're going to miss all the fun if you waste any more time." Sherlock almost smiles as he shoves John out of the door, grabbing his own coat and scarf in the process. It was now John's turn to smile as he was pushed out of the door and into a taxi.
The crime scene was in an abandoned car park on the third floor and was as it normally was (normally being used lightly), forensics standing around in their blue suits, lamely speaking to each other instead of doing their job, Sally Donovan stood behind the police tape and glared upon seeing Sherlock approaching.
"Lestrade tells me you were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago." Sally crossed her arms and shot a glance at John in the process. Sherlock didn't even acknowledge her as he lifted the police tape for himself and John then continued to walk towards Lestrade, who had noticed the pair and finished his conversation with a police officer before turning towards them. "You're late."
"What happened?" Sherlock asked immediately. Lestrade raised an eyebrow then began walking towards the body, John followed Sherlock and Lestrade after a moments hesitation, Sherlock hadn't spoken the whole way to the crime scene and now it seemed like he was in a hurry to get away from it.
"Young lad, Billy Regent, was found here early this morning after being reported as missing three days ago."
"Yes, and?" Sherlock looked over the male body curled up on the cold ground, as if he was sleeping except pale and unresponsive. John couldn't see much of his face, but he looked almost sad rather than peaceful.
"And, now here's the funny part," John grimaced at the word 'funny', "the police have records of the same man being reported as missing two months ago, but by a different source - his mum. Apparently, he stopped contacting her completely one day and he had moved away."
"So then...who reported him missing this time?" John asked.
"All we know is that it was a woman. No specific accent, speech impediment or anything, she called up, gave us a name, age and description of identity and then hung up. Call was within a minute so we didn't have time to trace it." Lestrade finished as Sherlock knelt beside the body and started his work, shuffling around the dead man in complete silence as John and Lestrade had a small conversation about the crime.
"John," Sherlock stood and frowned slightly, "how long would you say the body has been here for?"
John was surprised at the sudden question but nethertheless got down on the ground and examined the body, testing the temperature, visiblity of the veins and smell - it was the smell of a dead body for sure - "I'd say about...thirty hours."
"Expert opinion?" Sherlock pressed on, to John's surpirse.
"Er, Cause of death, looks like strangulation - there are small bruises on the neck which indicates that...well, he was possibly strangled." John looked up at the two men and Sherlock nodded lightly before looking at Lestrade.
"So, the call was made three days ago by an unknown source that this man had been reported missing, but he was still alive fourty two hours before he was reported. Obviously he had trusted his killer to have been reported two months before that, perhaps his killer was his lover - judging by the colour co-ordernation of his shirt and socks - a controlling one at that."
"Wait, lover? What, where did you get that?" Lestrade asked suddenly, shaking his head.
"Typical romance scenario, mother is jealous of her son's lover, her son's lover isn't too fond of the mother also so a family crisis breaks out between them. The son, being more of the 'daddy's boy', refuses to listen to his mother's angry words about his lover so he decides to leave the family home and start his new life with his new fiancé, Amy."
John stares at Sherlock from his position on the ground in awe as Lestade sets a questioning look on his face. Sherlock rolls his eyes and approaches the body again, "two tattoos on his body, one on his wrist, the other on the back of his neck. The one on his wrist reads the name 'Amy', the fact that it's on his wrist facing upwards means she must have been fairly close to him for him to print her name on his body. The small coloured hearts around the name proves that it was a lover, not a past lover, a recent one because the skin around the wrist has been mosturised daily and is softer than the other wrist - obviously the tattoo had been scabbing over and causing an itching irritation, perhaps infected and rarely treated.
"The one on the back of his neck reads 'Paul Regent' followed by two sets of dates, one of them dated to last year - that gives the assumption that this man, Paul Regent, his father, is dead, so the tattoo is sentimental - both tattoos are sentimental, Billy was a very sentimental person and allowed his lover to take control of his life, forcing him away from his jealous mother and choosing his clothing style. He also has the faint mark of a ring on his left hand, the killer - his fiancé - has removed it...Hmm."
Lestrade was quiet for a moment, letting the information sink in. "Why would his lover-"
"Finacé." Sherlock corrected typing away on his phone.
"Fiancé, then." Lestrade took a glance at John before continuing, "why would his fiancé murder him? And why would his mum report him missing two months before?"
"Get me the files on missing people in the past six months." Sherlock threw over his shoulder as he began leaving the crime scene, "And text me the address of Billy's mother, I'd like to ask her some questions."
Lestrade didn't get to reply as Sherlock had already walked away, so he stood there staring at the retreating back of the tall man in his flashy coat. John sent him an apologetic smile before clearing off as well, jogging to catch up to Sherlock's long strides. Again, he ignored Sally as she sent an insult his way, which was not like Sherlock at all, and as John began to observe these little details a bit too much than he should, he was beginning to realize that his theory on something being wrong inside the head of Sherlock Holmes wasn't a theory - it was actually true.
"So about this man, Billy Regent, what's your thoughts?" John asked after a moment of silent walking.
"Weren't you listening? His fiancé murdered him." Sherlock snapped.
"But why?"
"I'm not certain, things don't quite...add up." He looked around, they had just reached the main road, and Sherlock hailed a cab which pulled up beside the pavement in a swift motion that John began to wonder if Sherlock had some sort of magnetic feild that just drew taxis towards him.
"Maybe she just wanted his money." John started up the conversation again after they had settled in the cab.
"She wouldn't have disappeared if she did." Was Sherlock's only answer before they fell into a silence which lasted the entire journey back to the flat.
Once they were indoors, John had walked into the kitchen to avoid worrying himself about Sherlock any longer. The man had been acting far too strange, as he reflected last night. He debated trying to talk to Sherlock about it, but he knew he would just get the silent treatment, so instead he was going to casually have another conversation and see where it would get him. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen and looked over Sherlock's body laying on the sofa, nicotine patch on his forearm already.
"Early night last night?"
Sherlock mutters something and closes his eyes, placing his hand over the nicotine patch and squeezing his forearm slightly.
"What was that?" John came into view now and stood in front of the coffee table where he could see the pale face of his flatmate; the pale, almost ill face.
"I said I had a headache." Sherlock said louder with a hint of irritation in his tone. No, John was not going to back down now.
"So that's why you weren't answering your phone - or the buzzer for that matter. We have paracetamol in the cupboard, you could have taken a few, then I wouldn-"
"John as much as I love indulging in pointless conversation with you, I am rather busy right now so this will have to wait." Sherlock interrupted, looking up at John with a splitting glare that could kill. John shuddered under the glare; all the more reason to try and understand why his flatmate was acting like this.
"Sherlock," John sighs.
"What do you want, John?" Sherlock was now fully sitting up, looking at John with those...gorgeous eyes-
"You've just been acting...well, not yourself since the whole Adler-since Adler...You know..." John quietened towards the end, he wasn't so sure if he had planned that sentence so well or if it had just sounded better in his head.
Sherlock shoots him a glare at the name, "'Since Alder' what?"
Abort! Abort! "No, nothing, nevermind, just-tea?" John steps back slightly, hoping that he could break the eye contact with Sherlock, but that stare...that extremely unnerving stare that John couldn't break away from. It was terrifying how trapped he felt by just standing two feet from the man. "Since she...left."
"I know she's dead."
John almost chokes where he stands, his mind collapsing in on itself. Sherlock knew, how did he know? Mycroft couldn't-wouldn't have said anything, they both agreed. "What, who told you?"
Sherlock was silent for a moment before laying back against the sofa and closing his eyes, his whole body relaxing as he squeezed the nicotine patch against his forearm again, "I'm surprised you would ask me that."
Why did John ask that? This is Sherlock, he probably knew that Irene was dead before Mycroft even knew. Well, he doubted that but it was a possible thought. "I'm sorry." Was all John could say.
"Why are you sorry, she was a criminal and would have been killed regardless of her decisions."
"You liked her though, didn't you?" It wasn't much of a question and probably not a good idea to voice it, but what was the worst that could happen now?
There was a silence that covered the room and after a few minutes, John began to think that maybe Sherlock had fallen asleep so he decided to retreat to the kitchen and make them both tea. Sherlock would be up and pacing later, muttering to himself, maybe just pacing quietly, John never knew, the man was so unpredictable.
He was halfway through stirring his own tea when he heard the buzzer to the door. He peered around into the living room to see that Sherlock hadn't moved an inch, so he guessed he was the one who was going to be getting the door.
John opened the front door to see Lestrade standing there with various files in his arms and not looking too happy, "I've got the files that Sherlock wanted, inside one of them is the address to Billy's mum." Lestrade shoved them into John's arms, "sorry but I'm running late, let Sherlock know that we need this case covered soon."
John nodded and they exchanged goodbyes before he shut the front door with his foot and carefully made his way up the stairs with his hands full of files, there had to be at least fifteen. He dumped them on the kitchen table, careful not to disturb Sherlock anymore than he had that afternoon.
"John?" Too late. "Who was at the door?"
John turned to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. "Lestrade was dropping off the files you wanted, and the address to Billy's mum's house is somewhere in them."
"Ah, brilliant." Sherlock looked over the files with a small smile quickly before sitting down in a chair at the table and starting to carefully look through each one. John watched him for a moment before remembering the tea and held out the mug to Sherlock, who accepted with a quiet thank you and a quick sip before getting back to work.
John sat down in his chair and switched on the television quietly, careful not to distrub Sherlock's thinking. He absent-mindedly switched through various channels before finding a decent programme to stare at as his mind wandered off. He began debating on whether or not he should get up and go to bed when he started to doze off to an old film that he wasn't quite sure of.
"John." The voice had startled him awake. "John I've got it."
John looked over at Sherlock sitting at the table, two pictures of dead bodies in his hands. "Got what?" John droned out, still half asleep. Sherlock rose from his chair suddenly, dropping the pictures on to the messy pile of papers on the table and looked down at them. John stood from his seat and approached Sherlock's side, examining the pictures.
There were six pictures of different men, one of them being Billy Regent, all laid out in different positions on a pavement. John didn't feel the need to grimace because there wasn't any gore involved, it was just a bit disturbing to see. They all looked completely different and John remembered why Sherlock had perked up in the first place. "Right, so what have you got exactly?" John asked rubbing his eyes.
"She's clever; she's very, very clever." Sherlock almost smirked as he held up one of the six pictures, looking over every detail as John could imagine. He watched his eyes dart to different parts of the picture, his jaw clentch as he suddenly blinked heavily and his eyes widened. "Yes...yes!" He exclaimed as he darted towards his coat in the living room.
John stood by the table, watching Sherlock quickly put on his scarf. "Erm, Sherlock." He caught the man's attention, "care to explain to me what's going on?"
"We have to speak to Billy's mother." Sherlock said quickly, slipping one arm into his coat.
"You do realize it's nine in the evening, I don't think she'd appreciate us turning up at this time of night."
"I need to know why she reported him as missing." Sherlock strode towards the door before John stood in the way,
"Listen," he looked over Sherlock's distressed features. "It's best if we leave it until tomorrow morning."
"Why?"
"Well if some random stranger in a posh coat turned up at your front door late in the evening wanting to interrogate you, wouldn't you be surprised enough to slam the door in their face?" John set an amused look on his face as Sherlock sighed heavily, showing a sign of defeat.
"I need to know now."
"No, you need to eat now, and then sleep." Feeling like a parent, John stood his ground, standing in the doorway of the flat. Sherlock stared him down for, what felt like, a good five minutes before sighing again and removing his coat and scarf. John didn't move until he was convinced that Sherlock wasn't going to make a run for the door when he wasn't looking.
"You act as if I'm incapable of looking after myself." Sherlock let his body fall on to the sofa in the most graceful manner John's ever seen.
"You are incapable of looking after yourself." John laughed as he moved away from the door and shut it quietly, then moving to the kitchen to hunt around for a take away menu. "Take out sound all right to you?" He called from the kitchen.
Sherlock hummed in response from his space on the sofa, the sound of the television drowning out any silence that entered the room between the two of them. John finally found a menu and stood in the kitchen doorway, "the usual?" He voice idly, typing the number on the phone. There was another hum from the sofa and John looked up from the phone, he let a small smile cross his features as he admired the other man relaxed on the sofa. "You'd better not fall asleep." He chuckled and Sherlock opened his eyes to, as John assumed, look over John's features. He turned away at that moment and called up the chinese restaurant.
Once he had made the call and ordered, he strolled back into the living room and sat in his chair, looking over at Sherlock who looked back at him. They stared at each other for a moment before Sherlock broke the eye contact, looking up at the ceiling instead and letting his head rest back again the sofa again.
John sat forward slightly, resting his elbows on his thighs. "Sherlock, you've been pretty...distance recently. Is there something you want to talk to me about, or...just share with me?"
"Please don't feel the need to fill the silence, John, the television does that for us." Sherlock didn't move an inch as he spoke and something inside John's chest ached at the words.
"For God's sake, I wasn't trying to 'fill the silence', I'm making conversation about something I'm concerned about." This was going to be harder than expected.
Sherlock leaned forward suddenly, looking John up and down before he spoke. "Why would you be concerned about me? Is this about The Woman again, because I thought I made it perfectly clear that-"
"All right, all right!" John snapped more harsher than he intended. He sighed quietly and got himself caught in that stare again. "Okay, forget the whole Irene thing, just...chuck it away or delete it or whatever it is you do with, okay? I just feel like something's been bothering you, that's all. That's it, nothing else."
"What makes you feel like that?" John thought he saw a flicker of something in Sherlock's eyes, but it disappeared too quickly for John to observe it.
John shrugged at Sherlock's question finally, "I don't know, I'm just...it's-" John let out a long and heavy sigh. "The way you've been acting for the past couple of weeks, quiet, more hidden than usual - I mean don't get me wrong, I love the quiet evenings and the peaceful night's sleep knowing you're sleeping too," John chuckled lightly, "but it's not you. Is there something wrong?"
Sherlock was staring into John now, not at him, into him - through him, and it was really uncomfortable with the silence that followed. The expression on Sherlock's face wasn't anger or sadness; it wasn't really anything. John was beginning to think if he should repeat himself, which is when the buzzer sounded and John visibly jumped.
In an instant, Sherlock was down the stairs to the front door. John blinked a few times before cursing to himself under his breath, so close.
Sherlock came back up the stairs with the take away and put it on the kitchen counter without even glancing at John, who was still in his chair. He eventually stood up and stood in the doorway to the kitchen, looking among the mess on the counter top which consisted of various petri dishes full of purple, green and red liquid. Sherlock turned and looked at John expectantly.
"What?"
"Where are the plates?"
"This is our kitchen, how can you not know where the plates are?"
Sherlock sighed and picked up three of the petri dishes, moving them over to the sink. "Get the plates." He began moving the other ones as John moved forward and opened one of the cupboards. Their bodies brushed together slightly and John tensed. Sherlock didn't seem to notice as he moved to the kitchen table and John was thinking - hoping - he'd have a chance to make him notice.
"For future reference, the plates are on the first shelf in the top cupboard, bowls on the second." John let a smile play on his lips as he set two plates on the table.
"Could I get that in writing?" Sherlock turned towards John with a small smile as he tipped an even amount of fried rice on to his plate. John looked up from setting out his own food and smiled back.
They sat down and began eating quietly. "So what have you got on Billy's death then?" John asked.
Sherlock finished chewing slowly before replying, "His killer has murdered men before him." He said simply.
"How do you know that?" John frowned in confusion. He didn't know why was confused, this was Sherlock, he knew almost everything.
"Five other men have been reported missing and then found dead, all reported by a female, same notes of a brief description each time." Sherlock began, pushing his plate away slightly. "All men had a tattoo of a female name on their wrists."
"So if you know this, why do you need to speak to Billy's mum?" John looked at the almost untouched plate of food Sherlock had pushed away, "Aren't you going to eat any more?"
"All of the men were murdered within a time space of two months, however Billy's was three months." Sherlock replied and completely ignoring John's second question, "His mother reported him missing two months before he died, meaning..." He looked at John expectantly again.
John thought for a moment. "Meaning...?"
"Meaning Billy's mother must have known something. His mother reported him missing two months into the relationship, this could have disrupted the murder plans for the killer, resulting in an extra month of playing the innocent lover."
"Wait, so how did you know this murder was linked to the other ones?"
Sherlock let a smile play on his lips. "I didn't."
John looked puzzled and watched Sherlock stand up and place his plate on the counter before heading over to the living room. He sat in silence for a few moments before eating quietly again, thinking what Sherlock meant. How didn't he know? He never guesses, so he couldn't have guessed.
It was around 11pm when John decided to call it a night. He'd looked over at Sherlock's body laying on the sofa and thought deeply before asking, "why would she murder all these men?"
Sherlock seemed to jump slightly at the sudden voice in the room. He looked over to John who wasn't standing so far from him. "I'm not sure." He admitted and turned back to looking up at the ceiling, "these men had no records of criminal convictions, no past relationships which involved abuse of any kind, and even so, it's extremely unlikely that she experienced a violent situation in every relationship."
"Not very unlikely, maybe she killed them in self defence?" John suggested with a small shrug.
"John, it's too obvious that these were murders, not in any way an accident or from self defence. They were reported missing and found dead, it took planning, skill, intelligence."
John nodded slowly and took a quick inhale of breath, "well I'm off to bed, do you want anything before I go up?"
"No." Sherlock didn't even think before answering. John paused for a moment,
"Nothing at all, are you sure? Not hungry or-"
"No." Sherlock's reply was more heavy this time, so John just shrugged again and said goodnight before walking up to his bedroom. Being worried about his flatmate was an understatement now.
If Sherlock wasn't affected by the whole Adler scenario, then what was affecting him? What was making him act so different, so disconnected? John felt like he needed to know more than wanted to; this was his flatmate, his best friend. It was unbearable not being able to just slip his arms around Sherlock's body and just hold him there, telling him everything he thought of the brilliant man, how distracting his eyes were and how John wanted to just stare into them all day long, read every little secret and note down every emotion they held.
How much he wanted Sherlock to speak to him about himself, he wanted to know everything, childhood to future plans, teenage years, one night stands (John doubted he had any, but you never know.), even to the past drug use; everything.
John sighed and fell onto his bed, his pyjamas loose on his body. He didn't realize how exhausted he was from thinking until everything went black.
Helloooo everybody, I am not dead!
This part took so long to plan out and write, that's why this part is going to be in chapters, YES, CHAPTERS! because it's going to be extremely long, and intense, and it's the last part of the series and I decided 'hey, why not do a serious Johnlock fanfiction which you're not experienced in doing?' and now I'm regretting it because I've read Johnlock before and everyone else's is ten times the fanfiction mine will ever be ;A; so apologies in advance if my Johnlock is so terrible and stupid, but it will get better and more noticeable during later chapters. Maybe some kissin'
anyway, hope you enjoyed this little chapter, the next one will be out sooooooon and by god I've spent so long planning this murder case, I really hope it makes sense and is worth reading.
p.s. I apologise for any spelling mistakes or grammar mistakes, this wasn't beta'd and after a while, you get tired of reading through your own fanfictions over and over again. You find any, let me know!