Chapter 9

Sherlock was pacing the lab. There really wasn't much he could do before John brought the samples. He had needed the time and space to think, but now he found he couldn't really concentrate.

He was fuming. Donovan and Anderson obviously thought they knew something about John and him, and although, this time, there actually was something to know, it was none of their damn business.

Sherlock loved John and he was very happy with how things were between them at the moment, but he was not going to let it, or especially other people's absurd interest in it, distract him from a case.
It would be best to let it rest for now. They would have plenty of time to explore this thing (and each other, a small smug voice at the back of his mind supplied, making him smile) when the case was solved. Yes. That would be the logical thing to do. Back when they had just started hugging and touching they had formed the pattern of keeping it between cases. No need to change that now.

When John entered the lab with the samples, he was still annoyed with the two Yarders. "What can I do?" His voice sounded more clipped than usual.

Without looking up, Sherlock held out his hand for the samples. He was adjusting the microscope, already anticipating what he would need to examine. "Nothing," he replied, as he prepared the slide.

John sighed and sat down next to Sherlock, knowing that the detective would give an order anytime when an idea would strike him. It had never made John feel as a lesser being or a pet, it was just the most efficient way to work with Sherlock, time had taught him. Of course Anderson and Donovan didn't see it that way. "I'm beginning to understand why you think the world is filled with idiots," he muttered.

Sherlock fiddled for a while, then muttered: "This doesn't make sense." He looked up as the door opened. Seeing Molly he flashed the exaggerated smile he reserved for her and people who could open doors. "Hiiii," he crooned. "So good to see you, Molly."

John gave him an annoyed look. "Hello, Molly. Don't mind him, full case mode and all that."

Sherlock got up, still smiling. He cocked his head and studied Molly. "Is that a new necklace? Don't remember ever seeing it before." As Molly giggled and put a hand to the pendant, he moved closer, looking her straight in the eyes. "Molly," he said looking earnest. "I really hate to ask this of you, but I need a body, to test something for a case." Then he looked down at the necklace. He raised his hand and ran a fingertip over the pendant, accidentally brushing the hand she still held there. "It's beautiful," he commented as he looked up again.

John stood looking angrily at the two of them. "Sherlock, a word," he demanded.

Sherlock turned to John with a, not completely convincing, look of surprised innocence. "In a moment John. I really need to talk to Molly."

"No. Now." He grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him along so they were standing further away from Molly.

"What?" Sherlock hissed.

"You really should stop doing that. You're hurting Molly's feelings, just using her with that little trick," John said, and then added: "And I don't like it either."

Sherlock looked puzzled. "I'm not hurting her feelings. Look at her. She's happy to get the attention, and I may just get what I need. What's the problem?"

"We're... together. Sort of. Anyway, we love each other, whatever you want to call our relationship. When she finds out, she'll know that you don't really like her, not like that. And I don't like to see you flirting with anyone who isn't me." John blushed, but there was still anger in his eyes.

Sherlock's face fell. "Oh," he muttered. "Didn't quite think of it like that." He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"It's nothing. Just try to think of it?" He gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and nodded to indicate that Sherlock could go back to Molly.

Sherlock leaned closer and whispered: "If I can't flirt with her, then how am I going to get her to give me access to the dead body of a 6 or 7 year old child?"

"Just ask her," John shrugged. "She'd do anything for you anyway."

Sherlock looked at him doubtfully and then shrugged before returning to Molly. Keeping his back to John, so he wouldn't notice what he was doing with his eyes, he asked her again, keeping the flirting as discrete as possible. Molly's giggling wasn't so easy to obscure as she went off to see what she could do.

John sighed and shook his head. He knew it was ridiculous, but Sherlock doing this almost made him doubt if the detective needed something from him when he was as nice to him as he had been the last days. Rationally, he knew Sherlock's feelings for him were sincere, and he never doubted him when they were cuddling at home, but standing here, ignored, it made him feel bad.

Sherlock turned to John, grinning happily that he'd once again gotten what he wanted. Then he frowned. John looked a little tense. He probably wasn't too keen on the whole 'dead child' thing. He really was so sensitive. That was part of why Sherlock loved him.

Taking advantage of Molly's absence, he hurried to John and placed a quick kiss on his forehead. "Why don't you go home? I have to test some things, but I should be done within a couple of hours."

John sent him a small smile, but he was still tense. "I'd rather stay with you. I want to help," he said. And I'm being ridiculous because I want to keep an eye on you and Molly, his mind added, reprimanding himself.

Sherlock really didn't want John present at the tests he would have to perform. He knew how John disliked him being 'insensitive'. He didn't really think he could handle John being disappointed in him right now. "No, it's fine. I can manage on my own. You go ahead. Get some rest, read a book, relax." Sherlock smiled as he ruffled John's hair. "I'll see you tonight."

John bit his lip. "Are you sure? Is there really nothing I can do?"

"I'm sure." Checking there was no sound of footsteps approaching, Sherlock bent down to kiss John quickly on the lips. "Now go."

John hesitated, but didn't want to push it any further. "Alright then." He reached up for another quick kiss. "Text me when you need me."

Sherlock nodded and then strode off in search of Molly.

John decided not to take a cab home so he could get some fresh air. Apparently even the non-observant people noticed the change in their relationship and thought that they were regularly having sex, but instead of getting him off, Sherlock was flirting with someone else. Great.

With John out of the way, Sherlock could focus on his work. And Molly was so eager to help.
He was testing different ways of pulling the small body out of an enclosed space, cross referencing with the markings he'd seen under the bed. He had been right. None of this made any sense. As Molly wheeled the little girl away, Sherlock settled on the floor, his back against the wall, and emerged himself in his mind palace. He stayed like this till morning, never noticing the passing of time.

John paced the room, annoyed. He had sent Sherlock five texts, but hadn't got any answers. Calling Molly told him that Sherlock had still been in the morgue when she had left. Fortunately he knew Molly well enough to know that she would really have left and that they weren't there together, but still he was getting angry. Sherlock could at least come home.

"You should know by know that I hate sleeping alone," he texted, ramming the buttons of his phone.

When Sherlock finally came to, the first thing he noticed was the message light flashing on his phone.

John. Of course!

He had promised to be home last night. Sherlock groaned. He hadn't meant to break that promise. The case was just so... complex. John should understand. This was how it was. Sherlock was married to his work. Which made John what? He found his thoughts going round in circles. He checked the phone again. The last text had been hours ago. Surely John must have gone to bed at some point. He couldn't still be waiting. Could he?

If Sherlock called, he might wake John. So he texted: "Might have had a breakthrough. Going down to the Yard, to check some facts." He considered for a while, then added. "Sorry I didn't contact you earlier. I've been busy."

The buzzing of his phone woke John, who had fallen asleep on the sofa a few hours ago in a very uncomfortable angle. Reading the text made him even more annoyed than he had already been. Quickly he went to refresh himself and then took a cab to the Yard, so he would be there first. When Sherlock arrived, he was standing in front of the building with his arms crossed in an impatient posture.

You didn't have to be a detective to know this was not good. When Sherlock saw John waiting for him, he very nearly turned and walked away. Why now? He did not have time to deal with this. But he was not going to run again. He had told John how he felt. He had shown him. Surely that must be enough. Forcing a smile on his face he walked up to John. "You didn't need to come. Hope I didn't wake you up."

"Yeah, probably that's the reason why you didn't come home, because you were so thoughtful not to wake me up," John bristled.

Sherlock almost cringed at John's tone, but he kept his expression calm. "I was working." He made his way past John and through the doors.

"You could have let me know something, Sherlock," John said, walking quickly behind the other man. "Sending a text is not that much of an effort. And if you were just thinking, you could have come home instead of forgetting that I exist altogether."

Sherlock was not going to apologize. This was how he worked. John knew that. In fact, it was one of the first things Sherlock had ever told him about him self. So instead of entering into a pointless argument, he just shrugged as he headed for Lestrade's office.

John sighed. He wasn't finished, but he couldn't create a scene in Scotland Yard - they were already sniggering enough. Frustrated, he followed Sherlock and greeted Lestrade with a stiff nod.

Sherlock demanded access to all official records on the family, comandeered Lestrade's chair, desk and computer and ordered coffee. This was why he loved kidnappings. The time factor made everyone so much more cooperative, as they stepped back and let him get on with his work. His eyes caught John's and he frowned. Why was he still upset?

John silently sat down on the edge of Lestrade's desk, in case Sherlock had a task for him. The fact that he hadn't made him feel useless and even angrier.

Sherlock soon found what he was looking for. "Has anyone spoken to the father?" he asked.

Donovan, who happened to be the one closest by, answered irritably. "Of course we have. We're not completely incompetent, you know."' Sherlock barely suppressed a scoff. "It was the first thing we did. His alibi is solid."

John questioningly looked at Sherlock. "Do you think the father set this up?"

"Of course not." Sherlock didn't even look at John, but kept his focus on Donovan. "The only thing you could think to ask was if the man had an alibi?" He dismissed her denial with an impatient wave. "Is there a transcript?" She nodded and was about to speak when he cut her off. "Well, then get it for me!" When she had left, he turned to John. "Could you do something for me?"

"Yes, of course," John said, short.

Sherlock smiled gratefully at him. "I'm going to need to go up north for a couple of days. Could you go home and pack some clothes for me and then bring them here?"

"Why, yes, but... Are you going alone?" John frowned.

Sherlock would have loved to travel with John. After all, that was what they usually did. But after everything that had happened, he thought, having John around would be too much of a distraction (or temptation). And he really needed to focus on this. Besides, them going together would just fuel even more of that insufferable gossip. "Yes. I think it's best."

John stared at him, disappointment clear on his face. "Ah. I take it you have something else for me to do then."

Sherlock realised that John was taking this as a rejection. How could he make him understand? He looked around. This was definitely too public a place to reassure John. He considered his options. "Come on, I'll walk you out and help you get a cab."

John sighed and hoped that this meant that Sherlock would use their time alone to explain his actual intentions.

As they made their way out of the building, Sherlock spotted what he needed: an unused small office with no windows. Checking that no one was watching, he grabbed John's wrist and pulled him inside. As soon as the door was closed he pressed his lips to John's pushing him up against the wall.

"Sherlock!" John gasped, immediately pulling back out of shock. This was not at all what he expected during a case.

Sherlock was surprised. Did John not want him? "I ... I'm sorry?"

"No, no, don't be, I'm just surprised. You're on a case!" John was so astonished that he even forgot that he was supposed to be angry with Sherlock.

"I know. That's why I can't bring you with me. I just didn't want you to think that I don't want you. That I don't love you." Sherlock kissed him, gently this time. "I need to focus on the job."

John looked up at him and a smile broke through on his face. "Thank you." He cupped Sherlock's neck and gently pulled him in for another kiss, this time allowing himself to enjoy it fully.

This was getting very distracting, but right now Sherlock found that he didn't mind at all. The case could wait for a while. He was so distracted in fact that he did not notice the door open, nor Lestrade's strangled yelp before he quickly closed the door again.

"Er." John stopped kissing the detective, glancing at the already closed door. "I'll, uhm, I'll get your clothes. The clock's ticking." He couldn't deny himself a last quick peck before he let go of Sherlock.

Sherlock hugged him one last time. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Just send me a text now and then when you're gone. It always helps you to think out loud anyway," John said.

Sherlock nodded and then went off in search of Donovan.

John was eating a late lunch in the flat when he got his first text from Sherlock. He must still be on the road, probably bored, John thought, opening the message with a small smile.

'Still no demand for ransom. Sloppy or scared?'

'So they don't urgently need the money. Probably more personal reasons then? An enemy of the father?' John tried thinking along.

The next text came a few hours later: 'Why did the girl not crawl?'

'Why did the boy?' John answered.

'Exactly.'

"Ah," John said as he read the message. He hadn't realised he had actually said something clever there. 'Any progress?' he sent.

'Probably.'

'Any time you feel like sharing anything...'

Several hours later, Sherlock wrote: 'It's cold here.'

John chuckled. 'That's what you get if you don't bring your hugger-blogger along.'

'That's not fair. You know why I can't.'

'Not really. Can't be that distracting, can I? It's boring here without you.'

'Read a book. You're always complaining that I interrupt you, when you do.'

'Alright then. Good luck with the case. Love you.' He had hesitated about the last two words, but he felt silly enough today as it was, so it wouldn't make much difference.

'I love you too.'

It was the last text Sherlock sent for two days.