Sorry it took so long guys, blame me. I've been swamped with work to complete and at least two nights of every week I am at my Nan's. Sorry!
As usual enjoy and thank you. :D
The decent from the roof was trickery than the assent. As Sherlock found out. The drain pipe was weaker than he had calculated however the window ledges and bins he had first used work just as well. When he got back down he dusted himself off and made his way back towards the fish and chip shop. He wasn't even around the corner when he heard the loud antics of four men. The other men sounded different to what he had heard earlier.
As he approached the chip shop he saw John huddled up in the corner nursing a cup of tea and the four men seemed to be cheerily occupying the shop. Jo was smiling behind the counter. It was amusing seeing John hide in the corner. Well, he best go and save him from his fate.
The bell of the door chimed and Sherlock walked through. John turned around straight away and a state of relaxation over took him as soon as he has seen Sherlock. He directed his eyes towards the four men, asking silently if they were the men they were looking for. "No, sorry, John. No results here."
"Oh, shame." John nodded. "Best be off then..."
"Yes," Sherlock whirled around and winked at Jo. She raised her eyebrows and he shook his head, almost without moving. "Let's be off."
John stood up, feeling his body resisting the movement after sitting still for so long. He walked out of the shop, waved at Jo from outside and was swept along by Sherlock.
"So?" John asked. "You've got the face on again."
"The f- oh, the face. Yes." Sherlock turned his collar up and shrunk into his long jacket.
John sighed and looked out at the road in front of them. "Now you're doing the collar thing... Jesus, Sherlock, why don't you just go put three patches on and brood day in, day out over some minuscule thing that no one else saw?"
"I will do, later." Sherlock mumbled, absent mindedly. "We need some milk... And jam."
"I'll get some milk and jam then." John sighed, "But we need to get home first."
Sherlock stuck his arm out and almost within a second a taxi had pulled up next to them. John climbed in and sat in the back, the warm musk of the cab reached his nose and calmed his, unnecessarily, jittery nerves.
"221B Baker Street." Sherlock announced, he slid into the seat with the grace of a serpent. "Quickly."
The cab moved quicker than John had expected. Especially for the time of day. He expected the traffic to be busy, meaning their journey would be extremely, and tediously, slow. However they pulled up to Baker Street within record time and both hurtled out of the cab. Sherlock remained inaudible as he rushed upstairs to carry out whatever he was going to do. John thought it was best to leave him and head to the shops. Sherlock wouldn't notice him missing.
The shop was basically empty apart from a woman looking at the gossip magazines by the counter and, what appeared to be, a teenage yob eyeing up liquor he was too young to purchase. John walked over towards the fridge section and picked up two cartons of milk. He might as well get double for safety. For a man who doesn't eat anything and has his coffee black, he sure does go through a lot of milk. The jam wasn't too hard to find but he wasn't sure what sort to get. He had been getting raspberry for the last few months but he knew Sherlock was partial to blackcurrant. He got both.
The man at the counter didn't really pay John any attention as he walked up. He was deeply consumed in his Nuts magazine and appeared uninterested in the outside world. John had to cough to get to attention. Several times. He looked a little annoyed as he chucked John's items into a bag and ran the money through. He forced the change into John's hands before replacing a long forgotten earphone and returned back to indulging within his 'intellectual' piece of literature.
John huffed. Some people these days were too lazy for their own good. As he made his way to the exit he noticed that the woman was still looking at the magazines but the teenager had now moved on to look at the giant piles of crisps in the middle aisle. Shacking his head, he pulled open the door and plunged into the quickening darkness. Hopefully he would get a chance to sleep that night. Or so he thought until he remembered the fire damage from earlier that day. He had almost forgotten about it within the rush of the exploding buildings and near death political men. It all made the assent of the stairs to the flat much harder than it ought to be. His troubles only cleared after he had entered through the door into the kitchen to find everything restored. Sometimes a concerned stalking brother came in handy.
"John," Sherlock sighed, "I'm confused."
John started; the great detective Sherlock Holmes was confused. Was that even possible? Clearly it was.
"Why?" John asked, setting the bags of shopping down on the table. He picked out the jams and the milk and hurriedly put it all away.
"The men." Sherlock said, he tapped the bridge of his nose and hummed, loudly. John looked back at Sherlock, humming and making a lot of noise. The man's thoughts were chaos, a train wreck, impossible to follow unless explained. But he'd been explaining himself to John for years now, and John understood a lot of what Sherlock did. The noise was to stop Sherlock from screaming or shooting something. John nodded to himself, found some bread in the cupboard and popped it in the toaster.
"Toast, Sherlock?"
"Case. No eating. Digesting-"
"Slows you down, got it." John nodded, drumming the worktop.
"John, stop making that infernal noise and occupy your hands with a more rewarding task." John stopped the drumming almost immediately, mumbled something under his breath and left the room.
Sherlock was puzzled. He had heard the men on the roof, it was all so logical. Unless they had gone down a different turning. He hadn't even heard the other four arrive at the scene. Whoever these men are they're clever, Sherlock thought. He would go back to the chip shop tomorrow and maybe they can work from there. Annoying as it was, there wasn't anything he could do tonight and John needed to sleep apparently. How Sherlock loathed the workings of the human body. It made work so much more tedious and over stretched. Sherlock's thoughts were cut short by the popping of the toaster. "John. Your toast. The popping distracted me. Please see to it."
From the corner of his eye Sherlock saw the outline of John shuffle back into the kitchen, put some jam upon his toast and retreat back to his room. It was too early for him to be going to bed. Barely even seven o'clock. Perhaps he was working or doing some writing. Not that it was of great importance to him.
In his room John was indeed typing away at the computer. He found it easier to write his private blog posts somewhere where a detective with the characteristics of a meerkat would not be able to pop up and read his work.
Over the last two and a half years John had gotten use to writing a blog post very often. Even if it was private. His therapist for once had been right. The website helped him. It was like a diary. Just for him. If anybody desperately wanted to they could easily hack it. Especially someone like Sherlock. John hoped not as he sat there typing away. As the words left his body and stuck out at him from beyond the computer screen, John felt at ease once again.
From the living room he could hear Sherlock pacing around mumbling. Thankfully he wouldn't be able to take control of his laptop. Seeing as Sherlock's was already in the living room. Not that he had ever used it before. It was just one of those things he needed but would rather steal John's. John chuckled slightly to himself. A little gloomy chuckle. John was still trying to get his head around Sherlock being fully back. Even more so now that he had come to realise he harbored feelings for the man. It made things all the more difficult. He couldn't exactly tell Sherlock about his feelings. That would make it not only awkward but also pointless. It's not like Sherlock would reciprocate John's emotions. This was just going to have to be one of those things that John surfed through. He was pretty good at that.
John liked the way he felt after typing away at his laptop. It calmed him down. Recently he had downloaded something that helped with his spelling so he wouldn't get complained at. It seemed logical. Even more so now. He closed the laptop lid before taking a deep breath to compose himself. Walking back into the living room John saw that a few of the books had been scattered around and papers lying on the floor. To be more specific they were music sheets filled with numerous hand drawn notes. He could see Sherlock's scribble in some of the corners and at the sides. The detective however was nowhere to be seen. A few more moments peace. Plonking into his chair John sighed and reached over for the newspaper that had been abandoned there long before. If he didn't have time earlier he would now. More so now they were having an evening off. He did like it when the cases moved quicker. It took his mind off things but by Jove they made him tired.
There wasn't much interest in the actual paper. There was a story of a woman whose husband had been in missing for sixteen years and how a mysterious shoe had reunited them. John laughed at the idiocy. It sounded more farfetched that something Sherlock would manage. Though if it was in fact Sherlock the husband wouldn't have been missing sixteen years but roughly sixteen seconds more than likely. There was yet another story on Help The Heroes which at that point was enough for John. He closed down the paper, fed up of reading it, and stared out the window. He couldn't wait to read the papers in the morning. Images of "HATMAN RETURNS!" splashed across the front pages made me snigger. That would be hilarious if they used that picture. The one Sherlock would never be able to hide from. It was almost entertaining in a way. Even if it did mean he was the Robin of the duo. The side kick. It was worth it to see the frustration on the man's face whenever he saw that picture of him in the 'death Frisbee' hat.
A clattering sound echoed from inside the bathroom causing John to turn his head in that direction. Whatever Sherlock was doing John now knew where he was and that it involved mess. He had probably had a shower to save time tomorrow morning. That didn't explain the clatter. It was a little worrying until he heard the door unclick. The door opened producing a near enough naked Sherlock. He had only bothered with a towel for his hair. John looked away, not wanting to be caught staring for too long or at all for that fact. "Sherlock, is it so difficult for you to at least put a towel around your waist?"
The detective didn't reply but instead slinked away into his room. It took awhile for John to actually notice that he was indeed missing from the room. Looking at the time it was barely even nine o'clock at night but John felt shattered. He felt that it was best to go to bed early. Especially if tomorrow planned to be as eventful as the day before it.
Not long after John had retreated to his room for the night Sherlock exited his once again. This time dressed within his pyjamas and wearing his wonderful blue dressing gown. He didn't feel like lying down and everything else seemed too trivial. Seeing his sheet music he decided we would work on a new piece. He soon found some new paper upon his desk and a pen wasn't hard to locate. Picking up his violin he gracefully began to play. Notes drifted through the apartment. This was softer to his usual music. It was peaceful. It sounded like a piece from a man who was finally home. Sherlock played long into the night until his piece was complete. After which he remained in silence waiting for the moment that John would awake.