John and Sherlock slowly climb the small rise to the road to meet the cars. Lestrade arrives first, driving Sally's car. Sally is in the passenger seat, looking disgruntled and uncomfortable at not being allowed to drive her own vehicle. An ambulance follows behind, no flashing lights or sirens. A couple of medics climb out of the back, carrying a stretcher. Before breaking away from Sherlock to guide the medics to the body, he touches Sherlock's elbow, asking if he needs to check anything else around the scene before it is cleared. Sherlock, already speaking quietly and urgently to Lestrade, waves his hands in the generally accepted "go ahead" gesture. John approaches the two - very young, he notices - ambulance crew members, introduces himself, and leads them to the corpse. They all lean slightly on each other while clambering down the small but fairly steep hill while juggling the stretcher and other equipment. John watches carefully as they transfer the body, strap it down, and is relieved to see the kids seem to know what they're doing. He lends a hand getting everything back up to the road and into the back of the ambulance. He can feel Sherlock watching him, charting his every movement, always deducing, always thinking. Studiously he ignores Sherlock, concentrating on getting the ambulance ready to get on the road back to Bart's. They'll have plenty of time to talk in the car, if Sherlock wants to talk about what happened. It's only after the vehicle speeds out of sight that John remembers they're on a time limit, and makes his way back to Sherlock's side.
Sherlock knows the moment John returns to his side. An electric shock runs through him, at once calming and invigorating him. His mind moves faster, makes connections easier - all because one man stands next to him. John stands quietly, hands clasped behind his back, gazing around the clearing, but Sherlock knows he's scanning for anything unusual.
"Can you show me where the body was?" Lestrade asks, pocketing the pen and small notebook in which he's been jotting down notes. Sherlock nods ones, then sweeps away, leaving Lestrade to scamper after him.
Insects drone quietly in the trees behind them, keeping things from being suffocatingly quiet.
"You'd do well to stay away from him, you know." Sally's voice cuts through the dark, scathing and sneering.
John purses his lips. "Why's that, then?"
"He's a freak. You've seen him. Knows things he shouldn't know. And isn't exactly a joy to be around either." She doesn't catch his eyes while she speaks. John stays silent, waiting to see if she'll say more. The return of Sherlock and Lestrade breaks the tense silence. Sherlock goes immediately to Lestrade's car without indicating John should follow. John looks to Lestrade. who jerks his head toward his car. Waving, John jogs to the car before Sherlock can drive away without him.
It's not long before Sherlock speaks.
"What did she say to you?" His voice is casual, but a current of tension crackles underneath the bored veneer. John hears the squeak of leather as Sherlock's knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, waiting for what he thinks is the inevitable conversation about John leaving. He wonders how many of these talks he's had over the years, and feels a pang of sorrow, quickly followed by a rush of possessive joy that he will be the one to stay, to prove Sherlock wrong for once.
"That I should stay away from you." John says simply. "That you're a freak. That you know things you shouldn't know." He toys with the seatbelt for a moment before he continues. "Ashamed, I imagine, of something you said about her."
"I brought to light her ongoing affair with Anderson."
"Who, I gather, is married?"
"Oh, yes."
"And you brought this to light rather publicly, I take it."
"At a crime scene. They were wearing the same deodorant."
John waits for him to elaborate, a smile growing on his face. "And?"
Sherlock sighs, irritated at John's need for details. "I mentioned to Anderson that his deodorant is for men. When he said yes of course it is I'm wearing it, I said so is Sergeant Donovan." This time he gives details before John can ask for them. "As I was going into the crime scene I said I was sure that Sally just stopped by for a quick word, and also scrubbed the floors of his apartment, going by the state of her knees."
There is a brief moment of shocked silence before John howls with laughter. It bubbles up out of him without any hesitation, pure and joyful, and it even makes Sherlock smile.
"Now about the case, John, I'll need to be at Bart's for much of the rest of the night." He hesitates while John wipes his eyes of tears. A question he's never asked anyone hovers about his lips. "Would you prefer to join me or shall I deliver you to the flat?"
John considers this. While his first inclination is to not be away from Sherlock's side for even a moment, he doesn't want to seem... clingy. He grimaces at the word. Certainly Sherlock doesn't need him there to do his experiments and tests, and he doesn't seem the type to want company. From what he's gathered from all the unsolicited comments and advice, Sherlock is a man unto himself and what other people want or think doesn't particularly bother him.
He realizes that his silence is beginning to stretch into the uncomfortable, and makes his decision. "I'll join you, if it's not too much trouble."
Sherlock's remark is prompt and certainly planned. "I wouldn't have asked if it was too much trouble."
John chuckles, then bites his lip. "What happened back there - "
"I don't - "
"I know you don't. But we're going to." John waits for another protest, but Sherlock just tightens his jaw, keeping his eyes resolutely on the road. "You looked - "
"Like I was going to kiss you, yes. It is not often I wish to do that. I understand doing so involves emotions. As we are cohabitating for the foreseeable future, I would prefer to understand what precisely I am feeling before disclosing my findings to you." Sherlock speaks quickly and with great urgency. John wonders how often he's had to make a speech like that one, and how often time to figure out what's going on in his own head has been denied him.
"You can have as much time as you need, Sherlock." John says quietly. He hears a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the car, as if Sherlock was expecting John to force him to tell him everything - and perhaps he was. "Emotions aren't a crime scene. You can't deduce them quite so easily. I understand and accept that. Tell me when you're ready." Without thinking about it, he places a hand on Sherlock's thigh, giving it a light, reassuring squeeze. He's surprised when Sherlock takes one of his own aristocratic hands and places it over John's, threading their fingers together. Eyes glued to the road, Sherlock speaks a little haltingly.
"I know that I am attracted to you, not just physically. You may not be the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light, you are unbeatable." On the last three words, he catches John's eyes.
It takes a moment for John to understand. When he does, his face softens, and Sherlock actually smiles - a real, proper smile. They spend the remainder of the trip chatting aimlessly, keeping the real world, and the deadly game they're tied up in, at bay for just a little longer.