I would like to offer my heartfelt thanks to Helena Chauby for being Beta reading this story, and to the Lady Clunn for her diligent work BritPicking this story.
Many thanks also go to my flat mate, sounding board, and own personal Sherlock, Geoff, is also to be thanked for his assistance with plot development.
Many thanks also go to faffounette, SeverusDmitri18, LongLostFaxLover, reflectiveless, Lady Prussia of Awesomeness, xXxBookNerdxXx, Zaryin, JGHB, and zoe the god for your reviews and support. I would also like to thank all those who have favorited and followed this story. It means a lot to me to hear from you and know you are enjoying the story.
I promise, there are some cute couple like scenes too! ^_^
Chapter 5: Moments of Clarity
John stumbled downstairs the morning after the chocolate sauce incident, yawning behind his hand. He hadn't slept well, again. Damn Sherlock, and damn this case. It was messing with his head.
"Morning," Sherlock murmured from behind one of the local papers. It seemed like every local or national paper was spread out on the kitchen table.
John glared resolutely at the paper between Sherlock's fingers. "I'm still cross with you," he muttered.
Sherlock lowered the paper enough to arch an eyebrow at John. "The chocolate sauce still?"
"Sherlock, that was completely childish!" John gave an exasperated sigh. "And you could've stained my clothes."
Sherlock gave a little shrug. "It would have been an improvement on the jumper."
John huffed irritably as he grabbed a seat. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Nope, what he saw on the table was still there. "What kind of experiment is this?" John pointed to a covered plate and cup of tea which sat by his seat.
"I believe it's called eggs and toast, John," Sherlock drawled as he turned a page.
John cautiously lifted the plate that Sherlock had used as a make-shift lid to keep the food warm, and sniffed. It smelled good. Still eyeing Sherlock, John warily asked, "Is this safe to eat?"
Sherlock folded his newspaper down so he could glare at John properly. "I'm not that bad at cooking."
John shrugged and took a bite. It was good; very good. He took a few more bites and a sip of tea before he said, "Your apologising skills need work, but the food and tea are good. Thank you."
Sherlock smirked to himself and started reading again.
"Do you have every paper known to England on this table?" John asked, peering around in-between bites.
"I'm missing twenty or so more localised and lesser publications," Sherlock mused as he turned a page, "but this will do for now."
John chuckled to himself. "Only twenty?"
"Our picture is in most of them," Sherlock added.
"Oh for the love of-" John sputtered, "You actually sent that picture to the papers?! You really think it will make that much of an impact?"
"Well, that one was published too," Sherlock began, folding his paper in half, "but I meant this one." He placed his paper alongside John's plate before picking up another one.
John glanced at the photo, then did a double take. It was him and Sherlock alright, but not the close up of hand and chest which Molly had captured. It was the two of them walking, arm in arm, down the street yesterday morning. They'd caught the brief moment when John had laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder. The headline declared:
FAMOUS DETECTIVE AND "PARTNER"
John scanned the article. It, along with every other bloody person in England apparently, insinuated that Sherlock and he were romantic partners. "This is in most of the papers?" John asked, taken aback.
Sherlock nodded and slid another paper over to John. "This photo is in a few less, but it still appears to be well-circulated."
John glanced down to see a close up, black and white image of Sherlock's hand reaching for his chocolate sauce smeared chest. John, blinked, surprised. Black and white, close in like that, it really looked like that moment the article below was describing; the moment Bryan reached out to Marcus. Except, of course, Marcus and Bryan hadn't been that close.
John looked up at Sherlock who was still rifling through papers and shrugged. Whatever. This was the crazy, upside-down life he had chosen. He had no regrets; mostly.
"So," he began after a sip of tea, "What are we going to do today, Sherlock? So help me, if you say, 'Take over the world,' I will throw my toast at you."
Sherlock looked at him quizzically for a moment. "Are you referencing pop culture again? No, never mind; it's irrelevant. Also, that would be a waste of food. We both know how much you like toast and jam." Sherlock paused to turn another page. "I intend to examine articles for couples gone missing, or any hint of what may have triggered our killer."
"You've been at that all week Sherlock," John protested, "Even before we saw the aftermath of the second murdered couple."
Sherlock just shrugged.
"Fine," John let out a small sigh. "Let me finish eating, change, and I will help you go through articles."
Sherlock's paper rustled slightly and, for just a moment, John thought he heard a quiet, "Thank you."
A few minutes, and a quick change, later found John sitting beside Sherlock at the table, riffling through papers and magazines.
"Look for any mention of homosexuality, the LGBT community, or religion," Sherlock instructed. "The data we need may be mentioned only in passing."
"Will do," John murmured, his eyes scanning a page. "I assume I can skip the articles about our 'relationship'?"
Sherlock glanced at John out of the corner of his eye. It was harder than he thought to just keep 'reading' and to act unaffected. After a moment he murmured, "There may be useful information even there; don't skip it." Another, pregnant, pause and then, "Does that bother you?"
John put his paper down for a moment and thought about it. Hell, it was all he'd been thinking about this past week and a half, even before yesterday's 'Let's be a couple' ruse. "No, honestly it doesn't," he began. "I really can't tell you how I feel about it...but it doesn't bother me."
Sherlock tried not to sulk into his paper. That wasn't exactly a rousing approval. Then again, what had he been hoping for? Focus, stay practical.
"John, it is entirely possible this 'ruse' of being a couple could become more important as this case goes on." Sherlock had made a concentrated effort to examine the facts removed from his feelings for John, and was certain this was the truth. The fact that it was, in some ways, a pleasant truth was besides the point. "But if you are not comfortable with it, we shouldn't go any further."
John closed his eyes, his hands folded and resting against his mouth. Sherlock smirked at the close approximation to his own 'thinking' pose.
John tried to push the confusion aside and focus on just how he felt. Sherlock deserved an honest answer and, by God, he wanted one for himself. He pictured Sherlock's arm around him and remembered the warm butterflies he'd felt at the action. He visualised the moment Sherlock had bought him the crystal, and the smile they had shared. Their hands so comfortably intertwined at a crime scene that he hadn't even noticed... Eating a good meal together at Angelo's...wait. That hadn't been a date. Why was that coming up? Irrelevant-God now he even sounded like Sherlock. Still, he focused on the feeling. Sherlock's warmth next to him, good conversation, and the image of Sherlock's face in the candle light. It felt good. Really good.
John didn't notice the warm smile that had formed on his lips, but Sherlock did. He refused, resolutely refused to read anything into it other than hope for the ruse they were currently discussing. Anything else would have been the height of foolishness, just like the giddy feeling swimming in his chest; foolish.
John opened his eyes and looked into Sherlock's waiting gaze. Hell, maybe the only way for John to get his own answers was to surrender to this ruse, and see where it led him. Once he had those answers...well he could decide what to do then. "I'm in, Sherlock, wherever this leads us."
Sherlock cursed his answering smile to John, but he could no more have stopped it than he could have eliminated his occasional need for food and sleep. "Alright then," he murmured, and both men returned to their search of the papers.
"John, wake up."
Someone was shaking him. John opened his eyes to see Sherlock leaning over the table to nudge his shoulder. John looked blearily up at him for a moment, before removing his face from the newspaper it had been plastered to. He ran a hand over his face, and hoped none of the ink had transferred. "Hey," he murmured, "How long was I out?"
Sherlock shrugged, returning his gaze to his papers. "No more than an hour."
John stretched, the action causing his jumper to ride up and reveal a strip of bare flesh. This fact was not lost on Sherlock. "Did Lestrade call?" John yawned.
Sherlock shook his head.
"What, did you wake me just so you wouldn't be alone?"
Sherlock shrugged. "You said you would help me."
John smiled to himself and looked down at the paper he'd fallen asleep on. The ink wasn't smudged so it likely wasn't on his face. Well, that was something. "Find anything interesting?"
Sherlock hmmed, "I was able to find wedding announcements for the two deceased couples in past papers."
John looked up, his interest piqued. "Show me."
Sherlock slid two separate papers his way. Each one was open to wedding announcements, mostly blokes with birds; a few were just blokes or just birds. Sean and Thomas were easy to spot. They were the only couple on the page looking at each other instead of the camera, like they couldn't be bothered to look away. John smiled. "They're a cute couple."
Sherlock 'hmmed' and continued to read.
John scanned the other paper and saw Marcus and Bryan with their arms around each other and a rainbow flag held in front of them. They also looked very happy.
"What about you?" Sherlock asked.
"Hmm?" John looked up from the papers.
"Find anything interesting?" Sherlock elaborated.
"Oh," John turned back to his own papers, "Just some opinion pieces."
Sherlock shrugged. "Dull."
John nodded, a resigned look on his face, before looking back over at Sherlock. "Say, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."
Sherlock huffed and put his paper down. "If it will stop these interruptions, by all means."
John was not deterred by his flat mate's irritable moods. He'd seen them too often to be put off his question.
"Well, I was thinking-"
"Will wonders never cease," Sherlock shot out. John pointedly ignored the comment.
"And I noticed you've been unusually cautious around this case."
"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, you normally don't ask my permission for help with your disguises-"
"I told you we needed to look authentic," Sherlock interrupted.
"Will you let me finish?!" John snapped. Sherlock held up his hands in surrender. When John was fairly certain Sherlock would stay quiet, he continued.
"And you normally barge into people's lives regardless of what they're doing , deducing them and demanding answers."
"I did say discretion was required in this case," Sherlock replied.
John wasn't convinced. "Other cases would've benefited from discretion and that's never stopped you in the past. This is one of the most complex cases you've had in a while."
"So?" Sherlock cut in, unable to contain himself.
"So I wonder if you're being cautious because of what happened before, with Moriarty."
Sherlock froze. Damn John, damn him. No one else but Mycroft would have guessed that. "I'm not scared," Sherlock snapped, glaring at his flat mate.
"I didn't say that," John pressed, leaning towards him, "I just don't want that concern to limit you."
John could see Sherlock closing off from him, but he pressed on, reaching forward to lay his hand over the consulting detective's and squeeze. That got Sherlock to look up and meet John's gaze again. "There can only be so many geniuses in the world, and you've defeated every single one that's come up against you."
Sherlock kept his expression cool, but he did return the squeeze of John's hand. He certainly didn't want to repeat the events leading up to his fall... but he appreciated the support. He cleared his throat before saying, "I will take that into consideration."
John just smiled at him before turning back to his papers.
It was three papers later before John realised they were still holding hands. 'Screw it,' John thought, 'This feels good, and I am not going to defend or define the actions of my relationship with Sherlock anymore.'
With the calming awareness of Sherlock's hand in his, John turned the page.
John worried his bottom lip between his teeth as Sherlock sawed away on his violin. It was torturous, really. When Sherlock was calm, or at least not angry, he played beautifully, and John could listen to him for hours. Now, however, John was simply tolerating.
Sherlock was frustrated. Hell, John was frustrated. They'd spent three days poring over news articles looking for a clue. Well, Sherlock had anyway. John, being the sensible man that he was, stopped for, as Sherlock would say, 'useless' sleep, food, and a shift at the clinic.
John ran his calloused hand over his face and considered going down to the pub... even if it was only 10am. Sherlock was difficult to deal with under normal circumstances. When he was stuck on a case...well. There was certainly no arguing with him about manners, or the pressures an eardrum could take before it started bleeding...
John let out an audible sigh of relief when Sherlock paused in his 'playing' to flop irritably down on the couch.
"We must have missed something John," he complained.
"Clearly," John muttered, glaring at Sherlock over the edge of his laptop.
Sherlock glared back just as fiercely. "You're not helping."
"Well what would help, Sherlock?" John asked, exasperated. "Questioning the friends and family of the latest victims perhaps? Or at least reading the police reports of their statements?"
Sherlock waved his hand dismissively at John and turned his gaze away. "Useless, these men are not connected except for the 'community' they were all a part of. Marcus and Bryan were much more involved in activism and politics than Thomas and Sean. Also, Thomas and Sean were religious, where I saw no indications of Thomas and Sean being particularly religiously inclined. No, it is the killer that is the common link."
John rested his forehead in the flat of his palm. Now he'd got Sherlock started again.
"The killer wet his teeth on the first two; they were a link from where he's been, to where he's going. He started from a place of religion, and we have reasonably deduced he is religious himself. He targeted Thomas and Sean after finding their church. However, I have also deduced that this is personal for him, it's important for him to hurt the GLBT community as a whole in addition to individually. This is why he is seeking out people more involved in the community. His 'message' is starting to get out and he wants better vessels for that 'message.' We won't find him through similarities between the two couples he's murdered; I doubt they even knew each other."
Sherlock paused thoughtfully. "His next victims will likely be very high profile, maybe even political. It has been this killer's story that has fueled the killings. The details of his victim's day to day lives are only relevant in as much as they fit his evolving profile. The more we understand his 'story' the more we will be able to anticipate his movements. That is when the killings will stop, not before."
Although his head remained firmly in his hands, John smiled. He doubted Sherlock even noticed how his voice had softened when he talked about stopping the killings. He was thinking of the victims with empathy. That was just one of the hundreds of bits of evidence that showed Sherlock cared more than he let on. It warmed John's heart. Plus, it was good blackmail material for those days when Sherlock was truly insufferable.
"It will come together, Sherlock," John tried to sooth him, "It always does."
Sherlock huffed irritably and ripped a piece of paper off the table.
John shrugged and tried to go back to making notes for his blog. Irritable paper-reading was a lot easier to endure than irritable violin playing. He had got all of three sentences before Sherlock leapt off the couch with an excited, "Yes!"
"Sherlock?" John looked up cautiously at one, suddenly very energetic, consulting detective.
"Get ready John!" Sherlock declared, sweeping through their living room to grab his coat and scarf, "We're going on a date!"
"A-a date? Why?" John took a measured breath to calm his suddenly racing heart.
"Data!" Sherlock cried triumphantly looping his scarf around his neck. "There's no useful data in the police reports, the gay community is more skittish than ever, so we're going to let the data come to us."
"You lost me," John admitted as he stood up, confusion etched on his features.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and impatiently helped John into his coat. "I have never recived as much information on a case as when people thought I was not listening. People feel far more protected in a crowd than they should; their chins start to wag."
"So we're going to go on a 'date' so people will think we're too focused on each other to hear what they have to say? All on the hopes we'll stumble across some useful information?"
Sherlock beamed, "Exactly! And I know just the place to increase the odds of that."
John was being headed by his flat mate out the door and into a cab. "Where's that?" John asked hesitantly.
"There's some sort of LGBT community event/festival today; saw it in the paper."
John sighed and began to re-evaluate whether irritable paper reading was truly more tolerable than irritable violin playing, given the results.
It was, John discovered, a bustling little street fair. It stretched on along the river for ten streets or so, and, while it was cloudy, the skies were mercifully dry.
John nestled closer to Sherlock both to avoid being jostled by the crowds too much, and for the added heat. Summer may have been 'just around the corner' but it bloody didn't feel like it.
Sherlock and John were walking arm in arm again, just like they had earlier in the week. Sherlock adjusted his hold to slip his arm around John's waist. John smiled up at him. The git had probably felt him shivering. If they were trapped in this 'ruse' for the day, at least this was a warmer way to go about it.
They were just meandering through the booths, sometimes stopping to 'window shop' or enjoy a performance, depending on what the booth offered.
Couples of all sorts (men, women, and mixed) flowed around them as they went. Surprisingly, John began to notice flowing bits of conversation.
"He did what?!"
"Honey...I'm just not ready to tell my parents about us. They just started talking to me again!"
"Oh my GOD you look fabulous!"
"I'll take two please."
"Are you sure the security is tight here?" "It's safe, love, I've got you..."
"Of course I'm not out at work, why do you think I've got all this face paint on?"
"Oh wow... this is a lot of people."
"I told you we weren't alone."
"I've been looking everywhere for this!"
In general, it sounded like normal public conversations. Although John did note undercurrents of fear along with the excitement of the fair. Excitement, boredom, bickering, all these themes were here in the amounts he'd expect them to be. But the fear...there was a bit more than one might pick up in your average crowd. For the first time it occurred to John how little of that fear may be related to their case. While the current serial killer was extreme, this population, and too many other marginalised groups, faced a certain amount of fear on a daily basis, whether it played a small, or a large role in their lives.
John felt Sherlock give him a squeeze, "You're thinking about it too hard," the consulting detective murmured in his ear, "You almost look like you're eavesdropping."
"I am eavesdropping," John whispered back.
Sherlock changed the subject suddenly probably to keep them looking inconspicuous. "Are you hungry, love? Let's grab something from one of those food carts."
John let out a small sigh, and tried to relax. "Fine," he said, "It's probably close to lunch time."
The line was mercifully short and they were soon strolling amongst the booths again. Sherlock was holding an enormous sausage on a stick. John had tried to order something for himself but Sherlock had insisted it would be enough for the both of them. He was probably right, given how much Sherlock normally ate, or, rather, didn't eat.
"You're pouting again, dear," Sherlock murmured.
John glared at the ground for a moment. Great. Sherlock was putting out pet names now. He looked up at his consulting detective, and whatever reply he'd had in mind died instantly on his lips to be replaced with only slightly controlled laugher.
"You know, Sherlock, it's really hard for me to take you seriously when you're stuffing your face with that giant sausage."
"Ha, bloody, ha," Sherlock muttered around his mouthful. "Your lack of commitment to disguise is appalling."
John shrugged, trying to get his breath back. "Boyfriend or not, you make quite a sight right now."
Sherlock retaliated by taking another large bite out of the sausage.
"Hey!" John protested, "You said half of that was mine!" He was getting hungry now.
Sherlock, his bite of meat still clenched between his teeth, looked down at John with a dangerous gleam of amusement in his eyes.
John's eyes widened as he understood and he tried to back away, bracing his hand flat on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock was having none of it. He pulled John closer, and leaned his head down suggestively.
'The quickest way out of this embarrassment,' John thought, 'Is to play along.' For surely it was embarrassment causing his cheeks to flush this way. Leaning forward, pushing onto his tip toes to reach, John grasped the offered bit of sausage in his teeth, and pulled back. Or at least he tried to. Sherlock wasn't letting go. Narrowing his eyes, John bit down, breaking off something more bite-sized from the larger chunk. His fingers clenched reflexively in Sherlock's shirt as he felt the juices of the meat run down his chin, all the while never breaking away from Sherlock's heated gaze.
Setting both feet firmly on the ground once more, John wiped his mouth and chewed, trying to figure out why Sherlock looked so smug.
"Excuse me!" Someone was calling out to them.
Sherlock on John turned as one to see a pale, thin woman with a mop of curly red hair making her way to them. Following her in tow was an average sized blonde male with warm brown eyes and eyelashes so long they would make a supermodel jealous.
"Are you Sherlock Holmes?" The red-headed woman asked as she got close to them.
"I am," Sherlock replied, "To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
A pale hand almost as long and thin as Sherlock's was stretched out in greeting. "My name is Lisa," the women introduced herself. "Stephan and I," she gestured to the man behind her, "work for The Rainbow Times. We're going to be writing an article on this festival. Would you mind if we interviewed you?"
Sherlock raised a skeptical eyebrow. "About what?"
"We saw your picture in the Strand," Lisa began.
Oh. That.
Lisa pressed on, "We just wanted to ask you if the rumours are true? Are you and Dr. Watson a couple?"
Sherlock took a moment to carefully word his answer. "John and I make a point of keeping our personal lives, personal." Lisa deflated slightly. "However," Sherlock continued, pulling John closer, "You can see the truth for yourselves."
Lisa brightened. Even John had to appreciate that bit of clever wording. Sherlock admitted nothing but left the door wide open for Lisa to interpret things to her liking.
"How long have you been together?" Lisa asked.
"More or less, six years."
John smiled at that, despite himself. Sherlock was including the time he had been 'dead'. Even then, separated by God knows how many miles and criminal masterminds, they were still partners. Working partners, of course.
"Six years is a long time," Lisa arched a curious eyebrow, "Will there be wedding bells in your future?"
"That," Sherlock replied, "is a very personal question."
Lisa nodded, a bit put out. "Fair enough. I suppose it's too much to hope for a comment on the murders of gay couples you're working on professionally?"
John felt Sherlock stiffen and looked up at him worriedly. They both still remembered that nosy reporter from the days just before Sherlock fell.
"If that will be all," Sherlock said briskly and moved to turn away.
"Wait!" Lisa called out, extending a hand in their direction, "Could I at least get a photo of you two together? It would look so good for our article."
Sherlock paused for a moment, torn. He despised reporters. However, making a scene wouldn't help the case they were working on any. He considered prospects of their 'we're a couple' ruse. This was turning out to be one of his longer cases. "Then you will let us go." It wasn't a question.
"Absolutely," Lisa agreed, and gestured for Stephan to ready the small camera he was holding.
Sherlock looked down at John, who was looking up at him with adorable confusion. Sherlock was glad he didn't believe in God. Any sane and benevolent deity would punish him for enjoying this ruse so much.
John nervously ran his tongue over his lips when Sherlock began to lean down. He had just enough time to wonder if he was going to go along with this before Sherlock's lips were pressed gently to his. John closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss instinctively. It was a chaste kiss; just the soft press of lips against lips. Still, John felt the impact of it right down to his toes.