A/N Next one is set a bit after ASIP, so the early days of their acquaintance. Again, I apologize for the absurdly slow updates, but I keep on forgetting! To address maggiemacjack's comments: there are indeed some chapters later on with a more sexual sort of relationship between John and Sherlock. However, most of them are more ambiguous and could be considered a deep platonic relationship, and since there's no real sequence to all these (they don't even all exist in the same reality!), it's perfectly fine to skip over those ones, and feel absolutely free to.

Thanks to LittleMisChevious, Natalie Nallareet, johnsarmylady, maggiemacjack, and Pyreflies Painter

Disclaimer I don't own Sherlock or any associated characters, events, etc.

VIII. Misfortune

"You deserve better than him, you know."

"Sorry?" John hesitates mid-stride, letting Sherlock's taller, darker figure recede ahead of him into the crowd surrounding the crime scene, and turns back to where the subdued voice came from. Sergeant Sally Donovan is poised with one hand on her hip, clutching a walkie-talkie. She's wearing an odd expression, one that seems out of place perched on her usually disdainful features. She seems almost pitying, and John can tell that the words are a bit of a challenge for her.

"Sherlock, I mean. It's just… you seem like a good person, Dr. Watson, and I'm sorry that you were unlucky enough to end up with him. This is your, what, third case? Second? At Lauriston Gardens he drove off in a cab, and look now—isn't even glancing back towards you."

Reluctantly, John checks this statement, only to find that it's completely true. Sherlock's no longer visible amongst the many mulling bodies that fill the London streets.

"I just want to say"—Donovan's eyes flash momentarily—"get out while you still can, because seeing you like this is stressful. I hardly know anything about Sherlock Holmes, and I wish I knew less, but I can promise this much: the day that you got a flat share with him, that was the biggest mistake of your life."

Disgust begins to creep up around the edges of his stomach, souring the knot in his chest that's already burning with suppressed frustration. "And how would you know?" he spits out with a good deal more venom than originally intended. She isn't trying to be such an absolute bitch, after all—apparently, such a thing comes naturally for a person like Sally Donovan. Still, he tries to bring his tone down a bit. "I think I know my life a bit better than you, to be completely honest. I fought in Afghanistan, and you call this the biggest mistake of my life? Sergeant Donovan, I—the truth is, these few days that I've spent with Sherlock have been the most amazing of my life, not the worst." For some reason, this declaration—this confession—feels exposing, humiliating, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart.

Donovan looks more than a little taken aback at this sort of speech, and she shrugs, sending the curls framing her face aquiver. "You'll learn better, eventually," she mutters. "I've known him for three years now, and you barely three days. We're all taken in at first, you know. He has that feel about him—it almost draws you in—but he's twisted inside, absolutely rotten, just a dormant psychopath waiting for his chance to strike. And when he does strike, Dr. Watson—he's going to strike at you."

"Then let him," John says simply, without the slightest hesitation. "Better me than someone else, because I know him. I think—I believe that he's a good man, a brilliant one, and nothing you have to say is going to convince me otherwise."

"John!"

Sherlock's voice comes from behind him, and he looks over to see Sherlock shouldering his way over, calling his name repeatedly.

"Guess he didn't leave me behind after all," John grins to Donovan's stony face, then, without farther delay, hurries off.