Chapter 47

John sat fidgeting on a chair in the corridor outside Lestrade's office, wondering why he was there. The DI had sounded agitated when he had called, and John had hurried to the Yard, but now he was here, waiting till he would finally be called in. A door opened at the far end of the corridor, but he didn't look up, since people were walking through the building all the time.

Sherlock was rather annoyed as he walked in. He really disliked being summoned without any kind of explanation. It just felt too much... Mycroft. Then suddenly he stopped, glued to the spot.
"What... What are you doing here?" he asked John.

John looked up and was once again reduced to staring for a moment, before his brain started working again. "Greg called me in," he said quickly. "I had no idea you would be here too."

"Me too," Sherlock said. "I mean, me neither... You know what I mean."

He stood for a moment, looking anywhere but at John. Then he frowned. "You don't suppose he called us here just to... meet?"

John sighed. The thought had also just crossed his mind, and he really hoped that that wasn't Lestrade's goal. He did want to talk to Sherlock, but not after a tiring day at work, when someone else decided it was time. "It sounded like something serious was going on," he said, trying to keep his eyes off Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. It did."

At that moment Lestrade opened the door to his office. "Oh good," he said. "You're here. Come on in." He seemed unsettled and nervous, Sherlock thought. This could turn out to be interesting. If only he knew why John was here. This was not how he would have chosen for them to meet. If he had been able to work himself up to actually contacting John, that was.

John looked from Greg to Sherlock. If this had been some plan of Sherlock's ... He didn't know what he should think then. But it didn't seem so. Sherlock looked a bit confused and eager to hear what was going on, and it looked like a natural expression rather than a carefully put-on one.

"Why are we here?" John asked Lestrade.

As Lestrade closed the door, he turned to look at them both, his face lined with worry.

"We have a problem," he said. "Harris has been released. There were some problems with the evidence and one of his former victims backed out of testifying. So they couldn't hold him anymore. Rumour has it that he'll be looking for Sherlock with the intent of 'finishing the job'."

He looked directly at Sherlock. "I don't think I need to remind you just how dangerous this man is. So until we can figure something out, you cannot go out on your own. I would get you a police escort if I could, but, the situation being as it is..." He shrugged, looking very uncomfortable.

"I see," Sherlock said and thought for a moment. "So, John will get dispensation to carry his gun, I presume."

"Wow, wait. I'm becoming his bodyguard?" John said, looking a little desperate at Greg. "I- I have a job. I can't be there all the time."

Lestrade smiled a little sheepishly. "Yeah, well, for tonight anyway," he said. "Mycroft will send one of his men in the morning."

Sherlock huffed. "He most certainly will not!"

"Ah." John looked a little awkward, but then he didn't want to leave Sherlock unguarded either, if there was no-one else. "That's alright, I suppose. As long as we don't kill each other instead," he added, looking down at the desk

Lestrade chuckled weakly. "I'm sure you can manage for one night. Right, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded and turned towards the door. "Will that be all?" he asked as he opened it.

"Yes, but..." Lestrade began, but Sherlock was already striding down the corridor.

John hesitated before he went out, giving Lestrade a questioning look.

Sherlock waited for John before stepping outside. He quickly got them a cab. As it stopped, he turned and looked at John for the first time since their meeting in the hall.

"Do you have your gun with you, or do we need to go and get it?" he asked.

"I brought it," John said. "I was just back from work when Lestrade called, and with him sounding so worried it seemed like a good idea. Where are we going?" He felt a bit like the first time he had shared a cab with Sherlock, only now he already knew how amazing the genius was, and he had more reason to feel awkward.

"If Harris is looking for me," Sherlock said, "he will probably start at my place. So that will be the best place to start looking for him." He gave the address to the cabbie.

"Yeah, Lestrade should have known better than to expect you to go sit and wait patiently for Harris," John said, attempting a small smile. "So, er, do you like your new flat?"

"It's a dump," Sherlock said flatly. He was staring out the window. A myriad of questions crowded his mind: 'How is the new job?', 'What have you been doing?', 'How have you been?', 'How are you?', 'Have you missed me?', 'Do you miss me?', 'Can you ever forgive me?', 'Do you still love me?'... But none of them found their way to his lips.

John quietly looked out the window, not knowing what to say. Of course there were so many things he wanted to know and wanted Sherlock to know, but there didn't seem to be a good starting point.

"You went to Cardiff," he blurted out eventually.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. With the books." He was glad he hadn't asked John any of those questions. He was clearly still angry and hurt, if this was the only thing he was interested in about their time apart. Then his stomach dropped. Maybe he knew about the kiss. Maybe he had talked to Ian. Not that Sherlock had been wrong to kiss Ian. He and John were no longer together at the time. But still... He had hoped John would never know.

"I was told Professor Gryffydd had a job for you there." John simply had to know if that was true. It made a lot of difference towards how he felt about what had happened if Sherlock hadn't run to Ian.

"Yes," Sherlock glanced at him, trying to hide how relieved he felt. "He wanted my help on writing the history of the books. And the myth. He paid me a very handsome fee."

"Ah. I thought you were never interested in money." John couldn't hide a smile in his eyes.

Sherlock huffed. "I needed it," he said. "For a... place." He shifted uncomfortably in the seat. They were very close now to talking about what he wasn't sure he could handle talking about.

"We could have... discussed it." John heard how empty his words sounded, but he meant so much more. You didn't have to leave.

"I know..." Sherlock muttered. "I just didn't know... then." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

The cab stopped and Sherlock busied himself paying the fare and then practically jumped out of the cab. He could not handle this. Not yet.

John watched Sherlock as he walked in front of him to show him into his flat. Apart from the beauty that had struck John once again, the detective looked thinner than the last time John had seen him, and there was something in his eyes that just looked... off. Probably he hadn't been taking much care of himself then. It made John feel guilty. If he had contacted Sherlock earlier, it would perhaps never have come so far, and now it was only the question if they could mend their friendship.

Sherlock could feel John's eyes on his back. He had to fight the urge to turn around and just kiss him senseless right there and then. But that would be wrong. That was not how things were between them anymore. He opened the door and cringed at the sight of the mess and clutter. For a moment he considered the option of just closing the door again and going somewhere else. But he needed a change of clothes before they went in search of Harris. And he had wanted to offer John a cup of tea. If he had any milk. With a sigh he stepped aside to let John enter.

John's eyes darted around quickly. He had intended to say that the place looked nice, but the small space and the chaos made that impossible if he didn't want to tell lies that Sherlock would immediately see through anyway. Instead he bit his lip and quietly sat down, trying to ignore the cigarette smell that made it hard to breathe in the flat.

Sherlock quickly removed two stacks of books and a tissue sample from the small table. "Tea?" he offered, not really meeting John's eyes.

"Yeah, thanks," John answered. At least he'd have something to do with his hands then.

Sherlock made his way to the kitchen, only upsetting one pile of papers in the process. He opened the fridge and sighed. Completely empty. "I don't have any milk, though," he called. "Would that be okay?"

"It's fine," John said, looking back over his shoulder, and then frowning as he saw the empty fridge. "Uhm, did Molly throw you out of the morgue?"

Sherlock looked at him blankly for a moment, then he chuckled. "I haven't really been in touch," he said. "After that time she saw us..." He couldn't quite finish that sentence, his mind suddenly filled with what seemed to be snapshots of every single kiss they had ever shared. Quickly he turned his back to John and busied himself with the kettle.

"Ah." John quietly looked at his knees, keeping himself from watching Sherlock make tea. "Thank you," he said when Sherlock handed him his cup.

"I'll go get changed," Sherlock said. After a moment he realised that he had not moved but rather just stood there looking at John. He pulled himself together and, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding, turned and made his way to the bedroom.

John nodded and busied himself with the tea. Sherlock couldn't keep living like this, in this horrid flat that was nothing like a home. Even if they could never live together again, John decided that he would help find his friend a better place. He just... deserved better. He sighed, waiting and trying not to think of the fact that Sherlock was changing and thus at least partially naked for a moment. That was behind them. Unfortunately... but still. Nothing to do about that.

Sherlock chose a dark turtleneck, rather than his usual shirts. He glanced in the mirror and frowned. He looked a mess. No wonder John was reluctant to look at him. He tried to smooth down his hair, but it just wouldn't be tamed. With a sigh he gave up and went back to the sitting room.

John couldn't help but stare when Sherlock came in. Those pale cheekbones were standing out even more in the turtleneck and he had to swallow a few times before his dry mouth allowed him to speak. "What's your plan?"

Sherlock picked up his coat. "Harris is looking for me, so I thought we'd make it easy for him. You'll keep out of sight and be ready to assist, should it be necessary." He really hated using John this way, but he was the only one he'd trust for something like this.

"Okay." John emptied his cup, got up and put it in the sink. Only when he put the cup down, did he realize that perhaps he shouldn't have done that, acting like he was living with Sherlock and taking care of his washing-up. He hadn't taken off his jacket because it was unpleasantly chilly in the flat, so within a minute they were out again.

"Stay back as far as you can, without actually losing sight of me," Sherlock said, glancing up and down the street. Then he allowed himself one direct look at John before turning and striding off.

John nodded, but Sherlock was already looking away again. He waited, pretending to check his phone, and chewed his lips. So there they were again, in a way, looking for danger. Still, even in this, Sherlock had put more distance between them than was usual. What if he found it all rather annoying, having to work with John again, and didn't want to talk at all? Though in the cab, he had said that it was an option... John didn't know what to think of it. For now he should focus, and he saw that Sherlock was far enough away to start walking slowly.