Hey guys, I'm back! Hope you didn't miss me too much!
John and Sherlock had taken a cab straight back to the flat and both fell onto the sofa with a sigh of relief. Now they were still on the sofa, Sherlock with his head on John's chest, both breathing contently. John felt overwhelmed with happiness, he was analysing everything in his head, going through Sherlock's and his conversation just a few hours ago, thinking about how lightheaded he felt from the kiss and how great Sherlock's lips felt against his own.
Yeah, John Watson was a very happy man.
"Sherlock, now that we're together, can I ask you for one thing?"
"What is it?" Sherlock sat up on his elbows to look at John.
"No more experiments in the fridge."
Sherlock made a groan in the back of his throat and threw his head back down onto John's chest, "fine."
John chuckled and slid his fingers through Sherlock's hair, "Lestrade said he wants us in at five."
"I don't want to move." Sherlock admitted.
"Neither do I, but we're going to have to."
"I don't want to move." Sherlock repeated and grabbed John's arm, holding it close to him. John smiled up at the ceiling and just thought of Sherlock as being a child in a grown man's body. The thought made him chuckle and Sherlock lifted his head to look up at him,
"What's so amusing?"
"Nothing," John smirked and patted Sherlock on the back with his free hand, "come on, we're going to be late."
Sherlock groaned in annoyance and lifted himself from the sofa. John sat up but couldn't stop staring at the way that shirt fit so accurately on Sherlock and how those trousers really outlined his arse, "you...you should dress like that more often."
Sherlock looked down at himself and frowned, "I look ridiculous."
"Then change." John rose from the sofa with an amused sigh and walked into the kitchen to boil the kettle. He heard Sherlock follow him and then the man was beside him, leaning on the counter as John took two mugs out of the cupboard.
"John," He said shortly,
"Yes Sherlock?" John popped a tea bag into each mug.
"You are special to me and you make me feel happier than anyone ever could."
John paused and turned his head towards Sherlock and immediately he could see how unsure the detective was about confessing his emotions to John. "That's...I'm glad," John smiled, "I could say the same."
"So when would be the appropriate time for intercourse in the relationship?"
John felt heat rise to his face, God he wanted to hit the bloke for being so blunt, "go and change you tit."
Sherlock turned away and went to his bedroom but John could see the cocky grin on his face. Indelicate bastard, John chuckled quietly to himself.
Sherlock had, finally, gotten changed into clothes which suited his style and John was safe to say that they were happy enough to get this police
interview over and done with, so they can just go home and watch crap telly with a take away.
"I said five," Lestrade's voice called from down the hallway, "it's twenty-to-six."
"Mister Frock Queen over here didn't know what to wear." John pointed towards Sherlock and practically heard the eye roll from the detective. Lestrade eyed the both of them up, soon gesturing for him to follow them.
"Jessica Barlott, although she's denying that identity, is crying her eyes out in that room, poor girl's been waiting almost an hour just to be questioned."
Sherlock stopped Lestrade by his forearm and looked him dead in the eye, "that 'poor girl' has just murdered six men and attempted to murder a seventh. I am late because I have zero respect for such a woman as herself."
Lestrade stared at Sherlock for a moment before nodding slowly in understanding. Sherlock let his arm go and they began walking again in silence. John was confused as to why Sherlock seemed so rattled by this woman, but then he realized the unsaid bond between Henry and Sherlock. It was more than obvious that Sherlock had some sort of grudge against Jessica for almost killing an old friend – John couldn't blame him. He felt Sherlock slip his hand into John and a small smile spread across John's face, feeling the detective's fingers wrap around his.
He wasn't too fond of Jessica, especially when she attacked Sherlock's mouth with her; he wanted to rip her apart.
When they entered the interview room, Jessica had an entire box of tissues in front of her as she cried loudly into one of them. She looked up when the door closed and sniffed loudly, "Adam, thank God, I-"
"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective." Sherlock acquainted himself with a quick, forced smile.
Jessica's mouth would have fallen off if she opened it any wider; the shock on her face was astounding, as if this had been the biggest plot twist of the century.
"Why did you kill all of those men?" Sherlock began, narrowing his eyes at Jessica.
She was silent until she started crying loudly again, Sherlock just rolled his eyes and held his hands behind his back patiently,
"I didn't kill them, I swear!" She sobbed,
Lestrade placed a file in front of her, "Billy Regent, recognise him?"
Jessica wiped her eyes and inhaled deeply, "I never killed him," she said quietly, keeping her voice under control, "he used to beat me with his belt, so I ran."
John paused and could feel Lestrade become frozen. That was a serious allegation. John felt doubt nibbling away at him and was beginning to feel quite sorry for Jessica, then Sherlock chuckled and all heads turned to him, Jessica's eyes were watering again from her confession.
"Care to explain what's so funny." Lestrade asked, his voice loud and sharp.
"You're lying through your teeth." Sherlock nodded towards Jessica, whose eyes widened as she gawped at the accusation.
"How could you possibly-" John began, suddenly irritated with Sherlock's insensitivity. The detective turned to him,
"You saw Billy's fashion sense – how it matched, how everything fit him perfectly; it was tailored, he wouldn't need a belt." Sherlock turned towards Jessica, "you made him wear tailored clothes."
Of course, John felt like an idiot.
All went silent for about forty seconds until Jessica spoke up, her voice clipped. "I'd like to speak to Sherlock Holmes alone please."
Lestrade looked towards Sherlock, who nodded in agreement, "ten minutes." Lestrade said.
John felt heat rise in his stomach, how could they know what was going on in that room unless they were in there? Nether-the-less, John followed Lestrade out of the room with a quick glance at Sherlock. The detective gave John a small smile as the door closed. God he hoped he'd be all right.
"So, I've got you here all alone." Jessica began, "what could I do to the great Sherlock Holmes?"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, he went to speak but she cut in, "oh? Surprised? You underestimate me, Sir. Don't think I don't know Sherlock Holmes when I see him."
"Oh, you're clever." Sherlock commented with an amused tone.
"I am, indeed I am." She smiled and examined her nails, "you're not though, are you? You don't understand me, not one little bit."
"You've murdered six men, what do I have to gain from understanding you?"
"It's eating away at you, isn't it. Because you don't know," Jessica smirked, "do you want to know?"
"It would delight me." Sherlock muttered sarcastically. Jessica kicked the chair opposite out with her foot,
"Sit," She offered and when Sherlock did, she leaned back casually in her chair, "so, I killed six of my fiancés. Not for money, not for fun, but for what?"
"I thought you were going to tell me." Sherlock inspected her closely,
"This is more fun." She leaned forward and rested her head on her hands. Sherlock stared at her long and hard for minutes, trying to see something – anything – but it seemed completely impossible. Then he saw it, the small bald patch missing from the right side of her head as she tucked her hair behind her ear. From the size and shape, it would have had to have been pulled out. There was slight scarring around the area, meaning it hadn't been treated.
Perhaps she was domestically abused, but by a past lover, Sherlock thought, impressively, she can change her attitude and stance within seconds and is, evidently, very good at manipulating – commonly that is indicated that she was manipulated in the past. Same lover? Most likely.
Two names, one of which belongs to this woman, another which said woman was known to continuously mention: Eli Chard.
"He wasn't a nice man, then, this Eli."
Jessica's eyes widened and she sat up straight, blinking in surprised.
"Bald patch, side of your head, not noticeable but still quite obvious, well for someone like me, the form of it shows that the hair had been ripped from skin, along with the scarring that makes it even more obvious, then there's the manipulating, which of course you know all about from Eli Chard, your ex husband who abused you for, let's say, four years before he left you for another woman, you being a demented mess decide to get your own back on him by killing off innocent men who remind you of him – their blue eyes, but not before marking them as your own, as Eli did with you; it was his sick obsession and now it's yours."
There was a heavy silence as the two stared each other down, Jessica's shocked expression facing Sherlock's unmoved own. Suddenly, Jessica leapt forward, over the table and Sherlock felt a prick in his neck before he moved back quickly, rising from the chair to feel his legs weaken underneath him.
Jessica watched him fall against the wall with a dark look in her eyes, "you're clever, but not as clever as me." She said as she approached him, dropping the syringe onto the table and pushing Sherlock to the ground.
Her hands were around his neck in an instant and he tried to kick her off but his limbs felt heavy, he wasn't strong enough to stop her from squeezing the life out of him. "Your eyes are beautiful," She whispered.
It had been longer than ten minutes and Lestrade hadn't checked in - and that man yelled at him for being late.
Sherlock's vision was beginning to dim, he tried to breathe calmly but his mind was betraying him, he began to panic as Jessica squeezed tighter and he could no longer inhale. The last thing that crossed his mind was John before everything faded.
"It's been ten minutes, is he all right in there?" John was pacing in the hallway,
"He's Sherlock, he'll be fine."
"Everyone always says that, but when something goes wrong, it never changes." John said then paused, "did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"That bang, it was like someone dropped something."
"Probably the idiots upstairs messing about." Lestrade pointed to the ceiling. John shook his head,
"No, no fuck this; I'm going in to check on him." He bolted towards the door, avoiding Lestrade as he tried to stop him.
When John stepped in, his breath caught in his throat. Jessica was on top of Sherlock, hands around his throat. His body rushed into action before his mind could even comprehend what was happening, he pushed Jessica off of Sherlock's body and called Lestrade in, kneeling down to check Sherlock's pulse. His face was deathly pale and John couldn't see his chest moving.
Jessica had been restrained and was shouting things at Sherlock, telling him how 'delicate' his eyes were and how she wanted to keep them when he's on a slab. John panicked and couldn't feel a pulse, he called out to Sherlock, shaking him, "come on, do don't this to me!" He shouted. No, you're not dying on me.
Please, please! John almost cried as he tried resuscitating Sherlock.
Cliffhangers, cliffhangers everywhere.