Hello Lovelies, I'm really enthusiastic about this story.
Just to be clear Sherlock's thoughts are italicized.
P.S. I loved all the reviews and alerts. It makes me feel loved. Input of how the story should go is always appreciated.
A couple months after he moved into Baker Street.
"JOHN!" The doctor flinches, he is right in the middle of recalling the past few months with one, Sherlock Holmes. He almost gets up, the doctor has a somewhat unhealthy obligation to come when Sherlock calls. Growing impatient to a man who actually didn't even speak, John raises himself slowly out of his bed and makes his way down the stairs, listening for the eventual call.
Sherlock Holmes is an interesting creature. When he first entered the lab with Mike Stamford all those months ago, all the white noise of London stopped, John's brain went blank with silence. John remembers being frozen in place at the silence. He handed the man his phone at some point while listening to his brilliant deductions, but the entire time he was silent in lieu of the silence. John didn't realise until the potential flatmate had left the room that Sherlock was the cause of the silence in his head. As soon as the detective strolled out of the room, his coat following melodramatically, the white noise and mumbling thoughts came back, almost overwhelmingly, it took the rest of the day to get used to the noise.
The next time John met with Sherlock, outside of their potential new flat, the white noise ceased again. John took advantage and probed the younger man's thoughts carefully. Sherlock's deep baritone voice echoed throughout his head, his thoughts scattered fast. So he could still read his mind, Sherlock just has the talent to be the best pair of headphones ever. John lets the baritone flow through his head until he noticed the detective frowning and knitting his eyebrows. John instantly recognised that look and had backed out, Sherlock's face instantly smoothing. John remembers thinking that odd, it's had been years since people could sense his invasion and he knew that he was just as careful, if not more so, than ever.
John smiles at the thought. Of course, he read the cabby's thoughts outside of Baker Street when Sherlock willingly got into the car and followed them. He shot the cabby, he tried to push into Sherlock's mind to see if he was going to take the pill but by the time he focused on it, Sherlock was already onto a different point. John left to dispose of the gun.
"JOHN!" The soldier remembers flinching when he heard Sherlock call his name in his head while sitting in the ambulance with the shock blanket, talking to Lestrade. The detective had just deduced that John had shot the cabby. It was the first time the detective was able to penetrate John's barriers, just like the woman cab driver, back when John saved the little girl all those years ago. At that point, John should have known that Sherlock would have a knack for infiltrating his mind uninvited. The man has no physical boundaries, while would mental ones be any different.
Sherlock is the only one who has the ability to unwillingly call out to John, getting passed his barriers. Surprisingly, the detective is completely oblivious to both his mental callings and John's gift in general. The doctor is amused that the World's Only Consulting Detective is unable to deduce John's ability.
Most importantly, the soldier finds it a relief, who knows how Sherlock would react. The genius would probably kick John out for being a freak. Or, the younger man would hand the doctor over to Mycroft, John shudders at the thought of being the elder Holmes's test subject.
"John!" He hears Sherlock shout from the sitting room just as he enters, looking at the robe clad genius laying on the sofa. "Oh good you are here. You are Fast." Sherlock says not looking away from the ceiling.
"What?" John asks moving to the kitchen out of habit.
"Phone." Sherlock demands echo through John. He sees the phone on the kitchen table, reaches for it and turns to head back to the couch absentmindedly,
"Phone," Sherlock says, John already halfway there. Sherlock takes the phone and John heads back to start the kettle.
John stills, "Come on Watson, you have to be less obvious." He chastises himself at his stupidity. John curses inwardly at his obviousness as he habitually makes two cups of tea.
"Maybe he just thinks you know his needs." John reassures himself as he goes back into the sitting room. He drops all of his tension about the situation and refuses to call anymore attention to his slip up, that would just make Sherlock more curious.
John places Sherlock's mug, the detective texting to rapidly to notice, on the coffee table in front of him while John sits on his chair, grabbing his laptop in the process. John opens up his blog and starts typing, occasionally sipping from his cuppa.
"We've got a case." Sherlock says bluntly after a few minutes.
"Oh?" John says half listening. "You don't seem very excited." He adds, looking up from his laptop.
"Dull." He hears in his head, not really sure if its Sherlock's thought or if he just knows the detective really well.
"Dull." Sherlock says flatly and John sighs.
"Then why are you taking it?" John questions, his full attention onto Sherlock. The detective is now standing up, his arms crossed.
"Aren't you glad that I'm just leaving the flat." Sherlock huffs annoyed, walking away to get changed.
"Fine, fine. I suppose you're right." John calls after him. "You haven't left the flat in three days." John remarks closing his laptop and washing out his half full tea sadly.
"Dull."
"I don't see whats the difference between being bored outside and being bored inside the flat." Sherlock says, walking swiftly into the kitchen, making John jump slightly at his sudden appearance.
"I don't know fresh air and all of that." John responds turning to face the genius.
"John." John hears the contempt and 'idiot' tone even in his head.
"The air is just as fresh inside the flat as it is outside." Sherlock says petulantly.
"I win."
"Fine." John says waving his arms in the air. "You right, you win. Where to?" Sherlock grins.
"Lestrade texted the address. Come along, John." The genius states sweeping out of the room, grabbing his coat and scarf on the way out.
"The game is on." John sighs and follows wordlessly.
They arrive at the crime scene, it's tumultuous with activity. Usually, the incoherent muffled thoughts of the crowd would have been too overwhelming for John, but with his own personal silencer, John is able to follow the detective under the police tape and into the crime scene completely headache free.
During crime scenes is the only time John indulges slightly. He opens up and lets Sherlock's mind flow. He rarely ever reads Sherlock's mind, he respects the man's privacy too much. Even though the genius has burst into the bathroom, while John's in there, showering, on more than one occasion.
When he does read Sherlock's mind it's only when the younger man is deducing.
Today is no different, John's curiosity wins and he soon finds himself leaning against the door frame, listening to Sherlock's deductions as they flow gracefully into the doctor's mind. All the while, John keeps a stoic and patient look on his face.
John is always amazed when he hears Sherlock thinking and deductions. His thoughts are well formed but scattered. Thoughts and ideas and deductions echo throughout John.
The woman in front of them was an adulteress. She was hiding from her husband who found out she was having affairs, at least according to the rings that Sherlock is thinking about currently. John drops his eyes to the areas of the body when Sherlock calls them out in his mind, deducing their reasons and motives behind certain items on the woman's body.
John gazes at the woman's ankles when Sherlock notices the dirt, John follows the detective's line of thought. He moves onto the shoes. They are not expensive but comfortable. There is dust on her jacket.
John revels in the pure genius. He loves this part of Sherlock, his mind is truly amazing. A sudden feeling pulls at John, a pleasant feeling. A feeling of want and desire. This usually happens when he listens to Sherlock thinking. The doctor can't help but think about the attractive man in front of him as the detective deduces seductively.
Sherlock thoughts and following movements stop abruptly, a frown plastering the genius's face. John knows that expression and immediately closes the connection. The doctor got caught up in listening, not paying attention to how long he was listening. The detective could feel an unusual intrusion, Sherlock could feel John, even if the genius is unaware that it actually is John in his brain.
After a moment of Sherlock analysing what's left of John's intrusion, the detective continues roaming around the body. John stays out and doesn't listen this time.
"John."
"Here we go." John thinks to himself and remains still, waiting until he is actually called this time. He does not want a repeat of this morning.
"John, what do you think?" Sherlock asks, looking up at the doctor with curious eyes.
The doctor waits a few seconds and then walks over to the body, leaning down close to the lifeless corpse. He scans the victim, looks are her fingers and opens her eyelids. Once he sees the lifeless dark brown pupils of the woman before him, he sighs and closes the eyes.
"Asphyxia, petechial hemorrhage around her neck, not to mention the finger-like bruises." John rattles off and Sherlock listens. "But her eyes are closed." John states quietly as an afterthought.
"Well done." Sherlock comments, sounding actually impressed. "Remorse." The detective thoughts say and John silently agrees.
"Why is it important that her eyes are closed?" Lestrade asks, standing at the door way.
"Remorse, she knew the killer. It wasn't her husband though." John says, casting a sideways glance at Sherlock, the detective's eyebrow is raised. "What? I know things." John states after looking at the disbelieving look that the detective is wearing.
"How do you know it's not the husband?" Sherlock challenges. John's eyes cast down sheepishly.
"I don't know. It just seems to easy to be the husband. It's too obvious." John states.
"Impressive. Always surprising."
John tries to stop the smile, he really does, but his grin betrays him and the doctor lowers his head to hide it. John coughs to cover it and stand up, avoiding the detective's eye.
"Could you be anymore conspicuous today, Watson?" John accosts himself.
"You're methods aren't necessary following the lines of evidence and logic but you are right, John. It wasn't the husband." Sherlock says standing. "You are looking for one of her lovers. Probably one who was in love with her." Sherlock adds walking out of the room.
"Wait, how?" Lestrade questions as the detective strides past him and down the stairs.
"Remorse, the killer was remorseful so they closed her eyes." John clarifies. "It indicates that the killer felt guilt. He probably loved the victim."
"Oh my god, you are turning into him." Lestrade chuckles, running a hand through his silver hair.
"That isn't a bad thing." Sherlock calls from the bottom of the stairs.
"Yes, it is." Both Lestrade and John say at the same time. Sherlock's eyes narrow at the two of them.
"Dull."
"Come along John," Sherlock snaps ascending the stairs again, heading right to John.
"Lestrade, call me when you have a list of her lovers. It's on her phone in her pocket." Sherlock chides, grabbing John's hand tugging him along. John feels the spark of a starting connection, but it quickly dies. Thank god he remembered the thick gloves when they left.
"Sherlock." John hears the DI yell after him as they leave the flat and jump in a cab.
"It's six o'clock, it's dinnertime."
"Hungry? Angelo's?" John asks nonchalantly.
"If you are." Sherlock shrugs noncommittally.
Dinner passes by without any distractions of the telepathic kind. Sherlock doesn't even unknowingly sends thoughts his way. It is nice and dare John think, blissful.
Of course, this didn't last for long.
Naturally, tonight it was John's turn to get mugged on the way back to Baker Street. Of course, fate would pick this date, this night be the catalyst. The catalyst that will break Rule #10: Sherlock Holmes must never find out.
John and Sherlock are talking as they make their way back to the warm confines of Baker Street, well more the detective is prattling away about one of his new acid experiments that he could now get back to, while John follows half a step behind. The doctor listens, with a little bit more enthusiasm then necessary. This is how it always is with the detective. John listens to him ramble so he isn't distracted enough to listen to the genius's mind.
John feels a hand on his mouth suddenly.
The connection is instantaneous and uninvited, John doesn't even shout or try to get away. He eyes become unfocused and blurred. Flashes burst through his mind at rapid pace, he can feel himself physically bucking against the arms snaked around his torso and arms, to no avail. The doctor futilely wrestles with the link, strong images barrage John's mind, practically immobilizing him. Pictures, spread like wildfire, throughout his brain. He sees a young blond girl, about nine with straight locks, she is sitting at a kitchen table doing homework. A woman stands at the stove, smiling as the girl rambles.
John tries to shake his head to dispel the images. The pictures blur and then John sees a man, an addict, buying drugs off the street. John's mind jumps again, the woman from earlier is screaming. Her words are jumbled but loud, so loud John groans and goes limp in his attackers arms. He doesn't know where he is at, he doesn't know if Sherlock noticed the lack of his presence. All of John's strength is fading as the very strong and very unpleasant link continues.
John vaguely thinks that he has never had a connection this strong before and another picture of the man emerges, this time he is surrounded by four other men. The group is beating up a couple in an alleyway. John is forced to witness the memories with distaste. The man and his buddies roam over the couple, robbing them of their money and belongings. The group of muggers leave the woman and the man, bruised and bleeding as they run away. John struggles slightly, disoriented and not sure how much time has passed.
"John!"
John's thoughts are faintly distracted by the detective's worried baritone. The doctor sees more and more memories of muggings and brutal beatings, they light up his brain.
"John!"
The attackers grip loosens slightly and the doctor instinctively bucks against the human restraints with sudden force. John shakes the hand over his mouth causing it to fall away. He pulls against the two arms around him. The muggers are caught off guard and let go of John without warning. The doctor falls unceremoniously to the ground. The link is severed immediately and without preparation. John screams in pain. He can see the flashes of the little girl and the couple getting beat up streak across his mind. He doesn't move, he feels the cool brick against his body, as he lays curled on his side.
John's head is on fire, he writhes in agony at the severed link. The doctor hears mumbles above him. He feels hands roaming around his body, each touch sending more images to his brain. His defenses are down, the muggers touches are able to link through his clothes, its faint and normally wouldn't be painful, but every touch feels like a burned memory on his mind, imprinting fire of torture and pain on his mind. Inconsequential memories streak through the doctors brain, flashes of women, sometimes places, the tube, a chair in the middle of a room with blood around it, a different little girl, a man smiling warmly down with crinkling icy blue eyes.
John screams out in pain, he feels the blood flow down his face and he knows that this is 'a bit not good'. This is the worse he has ever experienced. John can't think, the memories invading and bewildering the doctor. Suddenly the hands are gone, one by one. John writhes on the ground, the torture splitting his head open, he is twisting and turning. He suddenly realises that he needs to get away. He wonders where Sherlock is? Did they get him too? Was he hurt?
With the sudden thoughts, John tries to push the pain away, he rolls onto his stomach and pushes himself up. For the first time since he was grabbed, John opens his eyes. He is met with darkness. He stands up and immediately pitches to the wall. Cool brick comes in contact with the pads of his fingertips as he leans heavily on the wall. He looks down and sees the waterfall of blood flowing out of his nose and staining his shirt. John tries to breath deeply. A burst of mumbled white noise that he isn't used to, enters his thoughts overwhelming him. He falls to the ground again, his bad shoulder hitting the muddy ground with a painful thud, screaming in pain, rocking back and forth in the muddy pavement below.
"John!" He hears Sherlock before he actually hears him. Even with the pain, the left over flashes of memory (which are new to John), and the thoughts of London, John can still hear Sherlock's worried thoughts.
As loud as he can muster, "I'm here." But it comes out weak and feeble. The doctor tries to turn towards something, light maybe, the entrance to the alleyway. He sees darkness and memories everywhere. The doctor brings his bloodied hands up to his temples and squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out the pain and the memories.
Hands are on him again, John screams out in agony. Flashes burst through his mind, nothing stops, the line of memories blur. He screams until the flashes stop. He can feel the leftover warmth of a hand that was placed on his cheek.
"John. It's me." He hears Sherlock say, the tone unusually worried. The doctor writhes in torment. He opens his eyes and looks at the liquid smoke. Sherlock's eyes are worried and full of concern, distress and anxiety. He senses Sherlock's hands moving towards him again and he yelps. "Just-Just don't touch me." John strangles out. He can feel the dizziness starting and the alley spins.
"It's a good thing I'm on the ground." John thinks darkly, before his passes out.
Wow. Thanks everyone for the reviews and such.