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Sherlock opened his eyes and blinked a few times. What had happened last night? He remembers being distant and that unnerved him, he was always alert; always aware. His throat felt like sandpaper and his brain was trying to comprehend what was going on, everything was suddenly moving so slowly.
He began to sit up, lifting a hand to his head he let out a groan - Headache, dry throat, blurred vision – What was going on? He thought back to yesterday...Yesterday? He looked over at the clock on his wall. 8:49am, so he'd been asleep for more than twelve hours. How?
Thinking deeply, he remembered John. Ah yes, John, after they spoke to Henry, he and John had come back to Baker Street. Sherlock remembers being confused, frustrated and irritated – blue eyes, something about blue eyes - He remembers feeling achy, like a machine needing to be oiled. His bones felt as if they were creaking as he moved and now that he thought about it, that's exactly how he felt now.
Sherlock stood up and stumbled to the door, sighing in aggravation he opened his door and carefully walked out into the kitchen where John was sitting at the table. He admired John's bed hair and almost smiled to himself.
"Oh, morning Sherlock." John smiled as he looked up from the newspaper.
"What happened last night?" Sherlock asked, his eyes were still adjusting to the light in the kitchen.
John was unusually quiet before he spoke, "you were tired so you went to bed."
"Me? Going to bed?" Sherlock scoffed.
"As unbelievable as it sounds, it's true." John said shortly. He then took a sip of his tea and went back to reading the news.
Sherlock could tell there was something unsaid; he could see it in John's features. Failure to make eye contact, avoiding subject – strange.
Sherlock tried to think back but his brain was somewhat buffering at the thought. The last thing he remembered was John telling him to drink his tea. Wait...No, John wouldn't.
It's the only logical explanation. But John...
"What did you put in my tea?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, watching for a reaction to determine whether he was going to lie or not.
John paused his reading and looked up at Sherlock. He sighed deeply, put the paper down and spoke, "You were driving yourself mad, I had to do something."
Sherlock was, in the most accurate way to put it, shocked. "You drugged my tea?"
"I, uh, I put in Clorazepate." John was obviously avoiding looking at Sherlock, "Two, to be precise. It was only to help you."
"You...you-" Sherlock blinked a few times, finding it hard to think through this. John – his John – drugged him. "You drugged me."
"Only to help you, Sherlock." John sounded reassuring, but Sherlock felt anger starting to boil in his veins.
Sherlock had nothing to say, what could he say? He was angry and he felt slightly betrayed. He trusted John... John was literally the only person Sherlock trusted and he had just trampled over that trust.
When John had looked at Sherlock over the newspaper for the first time that morning, he could see that the other man looked ten times better than he did yesterday. However, when the conversation turned and Sherlock found out about John putting sleeping tablets in his tea...well, it could have gone better.
John did feel bad, he knew it was a stupid thing to do but it was probably the only thing he could think of that would help Sherlock, and no way would Sherlock have voluntarily taken the sleeping tablets. When Sherlock didn't speak for a few moments, he looked as if he was trying to weigh down everything, trying to understand the situation. God, now John felt awful.
"I'm sorry." John stood up, "I didn't know what else to do, I hate seeing you so riled up and not being able to help."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, "why would you feel the need to help me?"
John stammered, "Are you seriously asking that? You're my friend, Sherlock."
Nodding, Sherlock rubbed his temple; he'd been doing that a lot lately. "Right. Yes, right. Well, thank you."
John was taken aback, 'thank you'? He was expecting an object lobbed at his head or a full blown argument, but instead he got a thank you. "It's, uh, it's fine."
"I mean thank you overall, for helping me through..." Sherlock trailed off.
"You don't need to thank me, we're friends and that's what friends do."
"I want to." The smallest hint of a smile was on Sherlock's face and John automatically smiled back.
Their eyes met for a few moments and John didn't want to look away. The way Sherlock was looking at him made him shiver; maybe he should tell Sherlock how he felt?
After you've just drugged him?
Ah. John's instinct was right, it was a stupid idea. So was he just supposed to live with never telling Sherlock he had feelings for him? He had to tell him, just not now. Or maybe it was best to never say anything.
Sherlock was the one to look away, "I need to, uhm," he swallowed hard, "I need to look at those police files again. I've got a theory but I need to make sure it's correct."
John nodded, "Ok, right, well I'll get them while you get dressed."
They then both nodded and went their separate ways.
John and Sherlock had been staring at the documents pinned to the wall for half an hour. Three times John had ran his fingers through his hair and said 'I don't know. I'm lost.' But then returned to his original spot staring at the police files.
"There must be something. Something we're not seeing, something else. But what?" Sherlock hissed to himself.
John glanced at him and looked at the papers covering a majority of the wall. Then he noticed something and stepped back to get a better view, "Sherlock, look at this."
Sherlock turned to give John a questionable gaze before stepping back and standing next to John. He stood for a few moments before asking, "What am I looking at?"
"Look at the names of the serial killer." John walked forward and pointed at each picture of a dead man, "Emily, Laura, Bella – sorry, Isabella, Carol, Hazel, Amy, Rachel."
Sherlock stared at him for a moment before John saw something light up in his eyes, "You've done it John - you've found the link!" He exclaimed and darted forward towards the papers.
John felt rather proud of himself, he relaxed his shoulders finally satisfied that they'd gotten somewhere with this case.
"The first letters in each name are an abbreviation of the name Eli Char." Sherlock said quickly as he scribbled on a piece of paper. "Eli Chard was a name Henry mentioned, meaning..." He trailed off and looked at John.
"Meaning there's one more victim." John breathed.
There was a silence for a few moments when only the ticking of the clock could be heard. Sherlock pinned the piece of paper to the wall, "John, call Lestrade and tell him to get here as soon as possible."
John did exactly as Sherlock said quickly and within ten minutes, Lestrade was trotting up the stairs to the flat. He looked exhausted and rough now that John noticed, "This better be important, Sherlock." He huffed.
"Did you research the names I gave you yesterday?" Sherlock asked.
Lestrade thought for a moment, "yes, I did, and nothing came up. No criminal records, immigration reports – nothing."
Sherlock sighed to himself and Lestrade looked over to John, "what's going on?"
"All of the serial killer's names are an abbreviation of Eli Chard." John began, feeling very professional. "But it turns out, there's one last victim-to-be."
Nodding slowly, Lestrade turned back to Sherlock. "So what are our options, how are we going to find her?"
"There must be place where she waits. A predator always waits for its prey to come to them." He mumbled.
"Well where do serial killers usually sit back and relax?" Lestrade asked.
"A place with a crowd, with clueless men – easy prey." Sherlock said absentmindedly as he got out his phone and began typing. John wondered if he was asking the homeless network for help, they always seemed to know everything.
" A pub?" Lestrade suggested.
John shook his head, "No, too subtle, a nightclub possibly."
He saw Sherlock glance up at him from typing on his phone. "Very good analysis, John." He smiled, "there's a nightclub just twenty minutes from Oxford Circus called 'Wet Piranha'."
Lestrade snickered at the name and John couldn't help but smile, he tried hiding it by looking down but he knew he failed.
"It's a nightclub; do you really think it's going to have a child-friendly name?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, "anyway, she's known to be seen there more than a few times."
"So, what, we're supposed to just barge into the place and asked for her?" Lestrade asked disbelievingly. Sherlock regarded him with an irritated expression,
"No." Then he smirked more to himself than anyone else, "we'll lure her into a trap."
"How?"
John saw the smirk grow wider and he immediately shook his head, "no, no you're not."
"No he's not what?" Lestrade looked between the two men.
If Sherlock was suggesting what John thought he was, then it was definitely not going to happen.
"Oh come on John, it will be far easier than chasing after her."
"I said no, do you realize how dangerous this is?"
"Sorry, what are you two going on about?" Lestrade stood in between them both and John looked Sherlock dead in the eye as he spoke.
"This idiot wants to lure that maniac into the trap."
Lestrade paused, "well, why not?"
John gave a look of astonishment, "'why not'!? It's bloody dangerous, that's 'why not'!"
"John, I will be fine." Sherlock stepped forward and patted John on the shoulder. John looked at the hand on his shoulder and sighed in defeat.
"If you get hurt, I will kill you myself." John muttered.
Lestrade cleared his throat, "I'll get the boys in their gear then."
"Good, meet us a few streets down at eleven tonight. I suppose it is a rather timid shot in the dark, but it's worth a try."
"Either way, we need to be sure." Lestrade reassured, he then said his goodbyes and left.
John looked over to Sherlock, "I really don't like this."
Sherlock smiled and grasped John lightly by the shoulders, "John, I'll be perfectly fine." He said looking into John's eyes.
John swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. "There's something you should know." He blurted when Sherlock moved away.
"What is it?" He regarded John for a moment before picking up his violin.
It's now or never. "Sherlock, I...I, uh, recently I've noticed that I, um, well, I have very strong feelings for you."
Cliffhangers, cliffhangers everywhere.