Oh my gosh, I heart you all, almost 80 reviews no way.
I love everybody.
And now what you've been waiting for, John meets Moriarty. Dun Dun Dun
Review and tell me if you like it.
Peace&Love.
John curses Mycroft silently and bitterly as he enters the flat of 221B Baker street. His hands are full of heavy plastic shopping bags and his whole form is soaking wet from the light December snow, the flakes melting upon John's jacket. The politician not only kidnapped him but he didn't return his groceries, so John had to go out in the snow to shop, for the second time that week.
John huffs up the stairs, his mind automatically trying to find Sherlock but the detective is still fortifying his thoughts, for the second day in a row.
John doesn't even get subconscious thoughts anymore. The doctor wonders how much mental power the detective is using to keep John from 'getting hurt'.
John sighs in resignation as he climbs the seventeen steps. He freezes at the landing, the door to the sitting room is open, as is normal. What isn't normal is the mess practically oozing from inside the doorway. John almost drops the shopping in shock. He grips the bags tighter and braves the new mess.
John scans the room, every inch is covered with papers and various instruments. The cushions of the sofa are overturned and laying scattered around the room. The telebox is crooked, sitting precariously on the side mantle.
"What the hell?" John mutters to himself. He steps on and around the crinkling paper beneath his feet as he make his way towards the kitchen.
John finally makes it through the mess, grumbling and already strategising on how he is going to clean up the mess when he sees the detective in the kitchen.
John doesn't even freeze this time, he walks straight into the kitchen, setting the bags on the floor next to the fridge.
He stares up at the form of the detective. Sherlock had moved all of his equipment on the 'experiment' table to one side and is now standing haphazardly on top of it, his long fingers running along the ceiling tiles.
"What in bloody hell are you doing?" John practically screams at him.
"Cameras." John keeps face neutral, the detective must be more focused on the task at hand then at his mental barriers. John takes the time to probe the detective, but with no luck, even the pairing of lilac and honey doesn't greet the doctor. John sighs.
"I'm looking for cameras." Sherlock answers distractedly.
"In the ceiling?" John asks, moving back to the shopping, putting them away, every once and a while seeing if the genius lets his barriers down through his distracted searching.
"Obviously." is Sherlock's answer. Just as John finishes putting away the shopping, Sherlock jumps down from the table and runs into the sitting room. John follows curiously, his arms crossed and his back leaning on the kitchen door frame.
Sherlock is laying on the floor, halfway underneath 'John's chair'.
"There are none under there." John says coolly and turns back into the kitchen. The doctor goes about making tea, turning the kettle on and organising his fixings.
He notices idly when Sherlock enters the kitchen mere seconds later.
"How many?" Sherlock asks, John notices the detective trying to keep the haste out of his voice.
John just shrugs noncommittally, his hands filling the mug with water and proceeding to make tea, ignoring the detective.
"John." Sherlock's thoughts whine. John notices the manipulation, he knows that Sherlock has been depriving the doctor of his thoughts and this has put John slightly on edge. He is attempting to bring the doctor out and reveal the locations of all of the cameras.
John just laughs, "I thought you weren't talking to me." John states disinterestedly.
"I'm talking to you right now." Sherlock remarks. John rolls his eyes and huffs.
"You know what I mean." John clarifies. "Did you change your mind?" John asks, unable to get the hopefulness out of his voice.
"No." Sherlock declares. "I still think it's too dangerous." Sherlock crosses his arms across his torso as John turns around, the fresh cuppa in his cold hands.
"Well then I'm not telling you were the cameras are." John retaliates, sipping the tea, letting the warm liquid comfort his throat. The doctor stands straight in the kitchen stalemate.
Sherlock huffs, "That's not fair." The sulky detective pouts.
John just shrugs and continues to stare at the detective, wondering if the stubborn, petulant genius would falter, if he will give in.
"Since when do you want Mycroft to spy on us." Sherlock says smirking.
"I don't." John remarks simply. "But, I don't think you are being fair."
The younger man squints his eyes in concentration.
"I'm not saying we have to do anything extravagant, we just don't have to stop with the experiments." John states, letting his cards show. "And you bring down your walls, they are annoying." John adds.
"It's too dangerous." Sherlock repeats, his body tense, somehow both of them have been able to keep the argument out of the conversation.
"Worth the risk." John remarks, his shoulders shrugging with indifference.
"No, it's not." John scoffs at the stubborn detective. He stares at the younger man, debating his next move.
The pair sit in silent contemplation.
John sighs. "I'll show you were all the cameras are and we can send them back to Mycroft for his birthday."
"His birthday is in February."
"You know what I mean," John says through his narrowed eyes.
The stare at each other for ages, Sherlock in thought and John just waiting. After minutes, John picks up his now empty mug and deposits it in the sink. He turns towards the messy sitting room and braces himself for the tidy up. He moves towards the room with determination.
A tall, six foot detective immediately blocks his way. Sherlock peers down at John, his expression pained but fixed.
"Fine." Sherlock's thought ring through John with welcoming familiarity.
"Sorry, didn't quite hear you there." John says snidely.
"I said, Fine." Sherlock scowls, "But I have conditions."
John is shocked at how easy he got the detective to agree.
"Okay." John concedes, hiding the enthusiasm of his win. The doctor never wins, ever.
"If, at any point, you feel or I notice the starts of an attack we will stop, I will stop," Sherlock says firmly, appropriately implying that these are non-negotiable.
John just nods eagerly. "And you'll open up your walls again?" John asks hopeful.
"Yes, as much as they were before." Sherlock says, resignation in his voice.
"Now the cameras, John." John just smiles and the two of them spend the rest of the afternoon hunting down the almost invisible cameras.
The next week passes in a blur for the doctor, John spends his days taking shifts at the surgery and nights chasing Sherlock throughout London.
A few days back, Lestrade had called the detective, and about time too, John knows the genius can only last so long without a case.
The case consists of a triple murder in a locked room. Sherlock was at the crime scene in record time, John barely able to keep up with the whirlwind that is the excited detective.
The case has proven to be a tad more difficult and of course Sherlock is enjoying every bit of it.
John walks into the flat, barely dropping his bag and walking fully in the main hallway before Sherlock bounds down the stairs, grabbing the doctor's wrist and heading out the door.
"Get in the cab." John scoffs at the thoughts demand.
"No, Hi John, how was work?" John says, "Just get in the cab. Lovely." The doctor is teasing and he smirks at the genius as they both climb into the cab. Sherlock settles in next to John and says nothing, the doctor looks at the younger man and notices the face, the face of Sherlock Holmes thinking.
"Where are we going now?" John says after a few minutes of silence, his curiosity overwhelming him way to easily.
"A lead."
"Any more information or do I only get 'A lead'." John says quietly, looking up at the driver, suddenly feeling very self-conscious at the one sided verbal conversation.
Sherlock doesn't answer, John opens up the link and sees the detective's thoughts running a mile a minute, images and maps, people and places flooded at inhumane speed all over the detective's brain. John pulls out quickly, knowing that Sherlock hates it when John probes during a think. It's too big a distraction.
"Dangerous?" John questions as he looks out the window, his muscle itching with excitement like they always do with a case. The doctor is silently thanking the lord that his shift at the surgery was relaxed today.
"Possibly." Sherlock thoughts are distant but precise. John just nods and relaxes into the seat while Sherlock thinks and the cab driver transports them to the unknown.
John recognises the area of west London vaguely, and for a second, contemplates on whether or not to hack into Sherlock's brain to pull up a map to confirm. The doctor even looks over at the detective but then decides against it. The detective will be less stroppy if John doesn't interfere.
They pull up to a warehouse, it's exterior industrial and bland. The sun is just setting and soon they find themselves alone on the complex in the dark.
"It's always a warehouse." John thinks as he stares at the creepiness of the place. "Who would meet up here?" John asks himself.
"By lead, do you mean you found out where the killer is?" John asks with chagrin.
"Took you this long, disappointing." John crosses in arms in annoyance but follows the detective as he moves towards the warehouse, silently wishing he had his gun with him.
"Here." Sherlock's hand dips into his jacket and pulls out John's gun. John grabs it, a new confidence in place.
Silently they both walk into the warehouse, machines litter the canvas, towering high over the two men.
"Split up?" John suggests, taking in the massive acre of factory and warehouse.
"Probably."
"What am I looking for?" John asks.
"Joseph Abernathy, red hair, mid thirties, one of the victims was his sister-in-law who was cheating on his brother with one of the other victims. The third victim just happened to be in the same room at the time. Joseph works here as the night shift security. He is the only one in the building." Sherlock rattles and then in a flash is off in one direction, leaving the doctor standing in the middle of the warehouse, his mouth agape, reeling from the new information.
"Why does he do that?" John asks himself before turning and sauntering off in another direction. He instantly opens up the connection and is comforted by lilac/honey as he makes his way through the creepy and dusty storehouse.
John sees brief images float through Sherlock's mind and they look familiar to what John is seeing. They both search the warehouse for ten minutes, neither of them finding anything.
The doctor stops briefly, a muffled noise permeates the hallway. John strains his ears but the sounds have gone quiet suddenly. He submerges Sherlock's connection, and opens up in search of new ones. New senses and minds find the doctor, clearly more than one brain ahead of him.
"There is only supposed to be one person here." John muses before aiming his gun directly in front of him.
"John." The doctor walks gently towards the muffled sounds, trying to lightly push into any of the strangers' mind.
Suddenly, John hears footsteps behind him, he turns around, half-expecting it to be the detective but a painful throb in his head dispels the thought. John plummets to the ground and his vision goes black.
John awakes to several things.
1. He is sitting in a chair, his hands tied behind his back with some sort of rope. The doctor's mind is foggy but he can see the bright lights through his closed eyelids, he tries to open up more connections to find anybody in the room but he senses no other person and the throbbing of his head derails him so he stops.
2. John's head hurts, and not from an attack, from an actual blow to the head. John tries to find exactly where he was hit while trying to still appear unconscious but he can only narrow it down to a region.
3. The third thing John is aware of is Sherlock's persistent screaming thoughts rattling around in his foggy brain.
"John. John. Where are you?" The detective repeats over and over. John timidly opens the connection, all the while keeping his face neutral and unconscious looking.
The connection only throbs slightly and it's barely painful, John is familiar with the connection and even when the doctor is having an attack it's hardly ever overbearingly painful.
There is no way John can communicate with the genius, even though Sherlock's thoughts are becoming more frantic at John's disappearance. John does the only thing he can think of to communicate, hoping that the detective understands.
He sends a wave of calm into Sherlock and John can see the detective stop somewhere in the warehouse, his thoughts surging with relief. Then the doctor sends a very brief wave of panic to indicate that John is in danger. The doctor can feel Sherlock's heart beat raise from the emotion and then John sends brief calm to reiterate that he is alright. John stops the emotions and lets Sherlock think.
"John. Are you hurt?" John sends a wave of contentment and then paralyzing helplessness trying to indicate that he is restrained. Conveying his situation through emotions is new for John and he never thought it would be a necessity.
"Okay. Ropes?" Sherlock's thoughts ask and John internally sighs with relief, he transmits happiness into Sherlock as a yes. "Where are you?" John sends a brief spout of confusion, indicating that the doctor has no idea where in the warehouse he is, or if he is even in the warehouse.
"John, look around, find anything you can." John has avoided it until this point but decides to open his eyes, slowly. A breeze of blood, metallic and copper fill his noise suddenly and he looks towards the smell. His head throbs with the movement but he ignores it, he sets his eyes on the body next to him.
A man with red hair lays in a pile of dried blood beside him. John stares at the body of one, Joseph Abernathy, his mind confused. "Who else is here? How is Abernathy dead? Why are they here if the man is dead? Why can I smell the dried blood this strongly?" John head reels with questions, he doesn't even noticed a man walking into the room until an unfamiliar face is kneeling before him.
John's head snaps back once he notices the stranger and without thinking plummets himself in the man's mind.
The smell of blood is ten times worse, John wrinkles his noise in disgust and immediately pulls out.
"Hello Johnny Boy." The man sings.