Exactly twenty minutes after Lestrade had left, Sherlock and John stood outside 221B trying to hail a cab. John stood a little back, while Sherlock, who always hailed the cabs, didn't really have much success.
With an irritated look on his face he turned to face his friend, who stood with his arms folded across his chest.
"John, they just don't seem to notice me. How is that possible?"
John shrugged. "They never seemed to notice me, that why I always let you hail them. Shall I..?" The question hung between them, and with a vague gesture, Sherlock allowed his friend to attract the cabbies' attentions. Just this once.
John stepped forward and lifted his arm, and immediately a cab stopped, right in front of him. John's smile lighted up the grey eyes and sharp cheekbones, and stepped inside the cab, followed by Sherlock.
"Really, Sherlock! We should swop places more often. I like hailing cabs."
"No, you don't." Sherlock looked outside the window, trying very hard not to look at his friend.
"Sherlock, you're sulking."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are. Admit it. Why?" John insisted.
"Well, I'm short, I'm blonde, my shoulder feels stiff, I'm missing my coat and my suits and my shoes and my curls, and the jumpers itch. You rekindled my smoking again… Isn't that obvious? Of course I'm sulking, let me, will you?"
John sniggered, but composed himself as soon as Sherlock fixed his eyes on his now very tall and very handsome friend. A sulking Sherlock usually was very funny sometimes, but when Sherlock's gaze lingered on John some seconds more, John's eyes widened a little and a hurt look appeared on his face. "Why don't you just say I'm ugly, Sherlock? Is it that bad being me?"
"No, John! No, I didn't mean that. It's just... I'm me, and now I'm not me. And it's confusing, and we are going to a crime scene and now I have to pretend I'm you," Sherlock fluently answered, hoping he had convinced his friend. And by the look of it, he hadn't.
"Why don't you just say it, Sherlock?" John's voice sounded cold and distant. "Just say I'm repulsive, let's get over with. No, I don't have cheekbones, raven hair, curls, long legs till in heaven... Cabbie, pull over here, please." As soon as the cab stopped, John jumped out, his coat swirling behind him. He ducked back down low enough to look at his friend through the door opening. "Sherlock, hopefully you enjoy your crime scene, I'm off home."
He slammed the door shut and watched how the car drove off.
Sherlock twisted his neck to look back at his friend, but John had walked away already, his back turned towards the accelerating cab. Sherlock sighed and fished out his mobile phone.
I didn't mean it that way. SH
He pressed send, and waited for a reply that didn't come.
"We've arrived, sir," the cabbie announced, turning back to see why his passenger didn't respond.
"Erm yes, of course. Thank you. Here, keep the change." Sherlock quickly left the taxi. He stood outside the house were the boy was found, his eyes scanning the area for clues. When he had gained enough information, he walked towards the barrier tape.
"Hello Donovan," he said, trying to sound like John. Better not rouse any suspicion now.
"Ah, hello John. Didn't bring the freak?" she snapped back at him. Mmm... Not just unkind to me then. Sherlock shrugged and ducked to slip under the tape, walking inside the house. He had to find Lestrade and solve this murderer, or should he try to contact John first?
The little nagging voice in the back of his head said he should call John first, but stubborn Sherlock just refused. Crimes were a lot more fun than sulking friends, right?
Would John really think himself ugly then? It seemed hardly possible to Sherlock who thought his friend was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He suddenly smiled when he remembered a scene from Doctor Who, the show John insisted on watching. The red-haired women, Amy?, met her older self and started to talk about Rory. The text came back to Sherlock quite literally.
"You know, when sometimes you meet someone, so beautiful, and then you actually talk to them, and then five minutes later they are as dull as a brick? Then there's other people, and you meet them and you think "not bad, they are okay" and then you get to know them and their face just sort of becomes them. Like their personality is written all over it. And they just, they turn into something so beautiful. Rory is the most beautiful man I've ever met."
Of course, Sherlock never really paid attention to series like that, but that quote somehow lingered. It fitted John.
"Well, John. Found yourself a new girlfriend? You're smiling like the yellow smiley on your wall," Lestrade interrupted Sherlock's thoughts. Ah, he was John now. So he nodded, smiling. "Where's Sherlock?" the DI asked.
"Erm… He is at home. Bored, he said. This case is too easy for him. 'Obvious', I quote."
"Well, okay. You'd better have a look then. Follow me." Lestrade climbed the stairs, followed by Sherlock.
John's the most beautiful man I've ever met. Was he?