Summary: Sherlock wants to know where John got his inexplicable information from. John's help eventually leads to Mycroft.
A/N: Apologies for not updating, (for about 8 months?).୧(•̀ ^ •́)୨
I went bluh, and just stopped, so I'm writing again to make-up this hiatus.
Sherlock contemplated the fact whether John was actually a witness or a spy paid by Mycroft to stalk over Sherlock.
The detective watched as John contently ate his pasta, not even noticing that Sherlock was staring intently at him. The blond was obviously a soldier judging by the stance, manner, and haircut. John also had slight indications of a limp, possibly psychosomatic the good soldier stood perfectly fine with out any support. Most likely caused by an original traumatic experience, wounded in action.
"I think the cabbie did it."
"I'm sorry?"
"The murderer, I think the cabbie killed them."
"Perhaps, a cabbie is a liable suspect. Easy to blend with the crowd and most people put full trust in these strangers for their safety. You can find them anywhere, everywhere," Sherlock replied disinterested.
John sighed and shoved his plate off to the side of the table and then cleared his throat. "Well. I spoke with the children, thought they might have seen something. Turns out B-, Victor, saw someone come into the house with his mum."
Interesting there were no signs of a child at the crime scene, so it was impossible that a kid was there.
"B-?" Sherlock grinned at the blonde's mistake he knew more than he was saying.
"The boy," John blurted too quickly, Sherlock noticed that the blond was playing with bracelet on his hand again. "He saw a man with a cap and glasses, but the woman arrived in a cab with no one else and was found dead next."
Still didn't explain why John was at the crime scene and why the kids were asleep.
Sherlock hated limited information he frowned at the blond and returned his attention to the window. "Look across the street. Taxi."
John gave him a 'I told you so' face, then Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf and head out for the door.
"Welcome to London."
"Er, any problems just let us know," John smiled politely then slammed the taxi's door shut.
Sherlock watched John walk up to him from a few metres away. Half of the detective's mind was frustrated by their find and the other part was satisfied that John was walking in a straight line with no signs of a limp.
"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down."
"Basically," Sherlock's mood falls back down.
"Not the murderer."
"Not the murderer, no," Sherlock exasperated, tossing Lestrade's I.D. card back and forth between his hands. Damn. He was so sure that that was his man; wrong country, United States. American, Californian. Good alibi. "Hey."
Sherlock snapped out of his trance.
"Where-where did you get this?" Sherlock released the card into John's hands. Calloused; doctor?
"Right," John reads, "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"
"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat," Sherlock replied nonchalantly, watching John nod his head. Then the blond starts to giggle silently slightly surprising Sherlock, "What?"
"Nothing, just: 'Welcome to London.'"
Sherlock noted himself to categorise this into John's small yet growing file, and for the first time Sherlock relaxed and lets out a chuckle. Then the consulting detective looked down the road to where a police officer was apparently approaching the cab that they had just stopped in the middle of the road. The passenger got out and pointed at both of them.
Sherlock turned to John, "Got your breath back?"
"Ready when you are."
"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."
"And you invaded Afghanistan," Sherlock hears John giggle and after a moment the consulting detective also begins to laugh.
"That wasn't just me."
Sherlock chuckles and pauses when he heard Mrs Hudson's footsteps. He smiles at John when Mrs Hudson opens the door, her arms open wide.
"Sherlock, hello." Sherlock briefly hugged her.
"Mrs Hudson, John Watson."
"Hello, are you here for the flat's share?" Mrs Hudson asked.
"He'll be taking the room upstairs, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock responded before John could protest. The blonde gave Sherlock a murderous glare before smiling at Mrs Hudson and then followed the landlady into the flat.
The living room of the flat is a mess with all of Sherlock's possessions and boxes scattered across the room, Sherlock noticed John's grimace at the room displayed before them. "I can, um, straighten up a bit."
Sherlock half-heartedly tidied up the place while tossing couple of folders into a box and grabbed a bunch of envelopes and stabs them with a multi tool knife on the mantelpiece.
John pointed nervously at something else on the mantelpiece, "That's a skull."
"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend'..." Sherlock stared at the skull himself and then took off his Belstaff and scarf.
"What do you think, then, Mister Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms," Mrs Hudson grinned at the blond.
"Of course we'll be needing two," John blushed.
"Pity. Did you bring all of your belongings? Wouldn't want to move in without your stuff, now?"
"I-I don't-"
"That's it, thank you Mrs Hudson. I'll take care of him," Sherlock pushed his landlady lightly towards the door. The detective bent down and whispered, "I'll pay for him later."
Mrs Hudson shrieked happily and Sherlock wills himself not to roll his eyes.
Sherlock checked the time on his laptop 11 O'clock pretty late now, he set his laptop to the side of the table.
"You should go to sleep now," the brunet ruffled his hair then faced John's small frame.
The blond was huddled in the chair opposite of Sherlock's facing the fireplace ignoring the detective and stared into space. Sherlock got annoyed and shot up from his seat suddenly startling John.
"Sherlock!" John clutches the fabric of his jacket.
Sherlock felt a sudden pang of sentiment, no, shame; ashamed of startling the solider who sat in front of him.
'Sherlock!'
'I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean the scare you. It was supposed to be a surprise.'
'It's okay 'Lock. Please stop crying. You just scared me for a moment there, that's all.'
"Sherlock, you okay?" John's soft voice brought Sherlock back to reality, his head hurt like hell. What the in the world was that? It couldn't have been a flashback else Sherlock would have remembered what happened just then, deleted memories never come back. Ever.
"Fine. I just need to be alone for a second. Go... go use my bed, I'll sleep on the couch tonight."
"But-" Sherlock cut John off with a glare and grimaced as a new wave of pain flooded his head. Bloody transport. The blond's expression showed concern, but he reluctantly turned to Sherlock's room. Sherlock sighed when the pain suddenly subsided.
The wind blew coolly onto Sherlock's face and he resisted the urge to grab a cigarette.
When his phone rung for the fifth time Sherlock nearly chucked the item out the window. Fuck Mycroft and his pompous arse, his brother was probably spying on him right now at the very moment.
"What do you want Mycroft? You know I prefer to text."
"Lovely tone as always brother mine. I'm calling in regards of the good doctor you have in your flat right now."
"Great, and maybe you can help me find out who he really is Mycroft," Sherlock drawled sarcastically.
"I'm getting there if you let me talk. As you know I have eyes all around London. Finding Doctor John Watson was not hard."
Sherlock scowls at Mycroft's cameras across the street. Mycroft picks his pace, "He's currently on the other side of London." Sherlock blinks at the camera again, if Mycroft wasn't his older brother he'd probably thought he was speaking to the word's most stupid idiot. Even worse than Anderson.
"I know that Watson is in Baker Street right now, but my cameras picked him up at two different locations a few hours ago. Your doctor walked out of the alleyway seconds after you left the restaurant Gregory invited-"
"Who's Gregory?" Sherlock quipped.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade. Sherlock..." Sherlock hears Mycroft pause. Sherlock knows that silence, Mycroft saw something he shouldn't have.
"Stay put. Right now, Sherlock. I'm sending a car to pick you up," Mycroft commanded which made Sherlock scowl.
"Stay away from John Watson. He is not supposed to be here."