From the sublime to the ridiculous in under 2,500 words.

Starts like CSI, ends like The Love Boat

John 0, Sherlock 1

Hope you like it!

Humiliation and Frustration

This ridiculous crime scene tape all over the place does there have to be so much of it ducking under it stepping over it who puts all of this tape out I've never seen so much tape in my life for one scene or fine here's some more I'll just Jesus Christ well Donovan must be given something to do that aligns with her abilities and intellect where the hell is the body oh oh oh bloody hell it looks like Molly just like Molly from this angle, the long hair, this particular shade of chestnut where's John at my side don't let him look talk to him first turn him around prepare him for the sight.

"John, look at me, don't -."

Too late. Sherlock looked to his friend who was frozen in place, staring at the body of this woman in her early thirties, medium to small stature, naked, lying on her side partly covered with rubbish and other street debris. Her slender neck was at an impossible angle for a living creature and her face, three quarters of which was in tact and visible, had large eyes and dainty, elfin features. But it was the long brown hair, cascading down her back, and partially obscuring her breasts, the same length, style and shade as Molly's that had made Sherlock see the resemblance, and which was probably transfixing John at that moment.

"John, it's not her."

"Oh, bloody hell, I hadn't thought of that, Sherlock, but you're right, you're right it does look just like -." Lestrade made the connection.

"Shut, up, for god's sake!" Sherlock snapped. Lestrade saw the resemblance immediately when prompted, though naturally enough hadn't thought of it before now, either to mention or to warn.

"Sorry. Ah, John? All right there?"

"Jesus fucking hell."

John felt the blood drain from his face and his whole body begin to shake. When was the last time he'd ingested anything fluid, he wondered? A man suddenly blocked his view of the girl.

A dark coat, gripping my arms hard, holding me, moving me, where are we going, legs giving out, on the ground, oh, up again, ok, what are we doing of course it's not Molly, I just spoke to her on the phone, she's fine, she's at the morgue, why the fuck does she have to work at the morgue? I can support her, why is she there at all? Publish? Publish papers, going to work and what the fuck are we living in this godforsaken city for constantly investigating crimes, fucking murders it's absurd and us, the three of us what are we doing the three of us, what are we doing, are we going to continue to live in this insane limbo, this secret asocial love triad, keeping it a secret, living a lie of a life, for what, for god's sake, for god's sake, Molly should be having babies. Sitting down, now, are we, fine, that's fine, I've got to get her out of here, out of this filthy city.

"John? All right? Drink this, you didn't eat anything for breakfast. Molly? Oh, thank god, talk to John, here, no, he's fine, Molly, he's fine, he just needs to hear you, he's just had a little shock, all right, love? No, psychological, not electrical. I'm with him, everything's fine. Just tell him you're fine, yes, try not to ask questions, keep it simple -."

"You're frightening me, Sherlock." Molly had recognized the number and was apprehensive before picking up. Why was it Sherlock and not John calling her? Anyway, she'd just talked to John. Sherlock rarely called, only texted her.

"Don't be frightened, it's fine, I'll explain later, we'll see you later, all right, here's John."

"John, love? Hullo? You there?"

"Yeah? Molly?"

"Yes, it's me, darling, are you all right?"

"M'fine. Didn't I just talk to you?"

"Yes, darling. I'm just fine, I'm at work, you know, right? I'm in the lab at the moment. Doing some crap paper work. It just builds up, you know? John?"

"Yes, paper work. You're in the lab. Good."

"Well, it's good for someone, I suppose. Will you be home at the usual time? John? Are we having take-out?"

"Um, I dunno. I. Don't. Know. Sherlock?" John handed the phone to his friend and got up, wandering away from the car hood he'd been propped up against. He took a couple steps toward the river's edge, overlooking a particularly dramatic skyline view of the city.

"Thank you Molly, no I'm with him, I'll be with him, I swear to you. Later, honestly, everything's fine, sorry to worry you, later, all right? Good. Ok, bye." Sherlock ran to his friend's side, guiding him gently back to the police car. He noticed that his own hands were shaking, now, as he replaced the phone in his pocket. That won't do. He still had safeguards in place, barriers to emotion, and he used them now with definitive efficiency.

"John, we'll get you home. Will you stay here while I – while I talk to Lestrade? Don't wander off, all right? Just sit here a moment? Will you do that for me?"

"What? No, I'll come with you, I'll -."

"No, John, you'll distract me. You can appreciate that, yes? Stay here, now, please. Do not wander off, or you will irritate me."

John wasn't used to the tone Sherlock was using. It harkened back to the two years they'd lived together when he'd first come back to London. It jolted him a bit back to reality, as he watched Sherlock's back recede, walking back toward the crime scene.

What's happening? What just happened? Oh, the girl. Oh, yes, the girl looked like Molly, just like Molly, oh, bleeding bloody hell, yes, I see now, yes. Sherlock phoned Molly, he had me talk to her, she's at work, she's fine. Water?

John took another sip from the bottled water he found he was still holding. How had he gotten this? Sherlock. He sipped again, then drained the bottle.

And he took me away from her, from the girl in the rubbish heap, he blocked my view of her, and walked me away from it, got me water, gave me the phone. Ah, yes. Oh, fuck. What had I been thinking? What was I going to do, move away from London? Scarper off with Molly away from London and Sherlock? Ahaha. But that girl, that poor girl. Too late for her to make a move. Oh, god, I was in shock, wasn't I? Am still?

John looked up to see Sherlock emerging from the enclosed crime scene stepping over, under and around the crime scene tape, with his focus trained fiercely on John's face, making a bee-line for him.

"Get in, John, this kind officer is taking us to the high street, and we'll get a cab."

"I'm fine, we can walk to the high-."

"Get in and don't argue." Sherlock held the door open and put his hand on John's head, as he ducked into the car. They got out at the high street, a five minute walk, John thought, and got straight into a cab, and Sherlock did the hand on head thing again, how adorable, John thought, just like the movies.

"I was-, I was in shock, a kind of shock, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were, you may still be."

"So, where's my blanket? Ahaha."

"Mmm. Well, I got you water."

"Yes. You did. Thank you. Sherlock. I drank it. I drank it all." John looked at the plastic bottle still in his hand. The doctor took Sherlock's hand in his, rubbing the fingers with his thumb, holding tightly. He did all that for me, out of worry for me, took care of me, gave me water, made me talk to Molly, and didn't think of himself at all, though he had as much at stake as I did, is he just not as susceptible to cues like, like that poor dead girl? "Thank you for that and -."

"John, it's all right. Almost there." Sherlock took his hand away from John, placing it on his own thigh. Is he angry with me? No, just, vigilant, in protection mode, no nonsense. Is he taking me home? Is he taking me to Molly? No. What are we doing. Are we working on a case? Hold on, aren't we working on a case? Jesus Christ.

"Sherlock?"

"John?"

"I'm still in shock aren't I?"

"I think so. Almost there."

So dependable. He's so reliable, I can trust him and rely on him and he's – wait. He's mine somehow. He's mine and Molly's somehow, and I'm his, we're his and – Oh, god. Where are we? What the fuck are we doing? Good lord, I'm disoriented!

"Ah, here we are," Sherlock paid the cabbie and hopped out of the cab, helping John to his feet. They were in the flat in a moment. Sherlock directed the doctor to his customary chair, where he seated John. Sherlock knelt down directly in front of him. The detective looked carefully into his friend's face, took his pulse, looked into his eyes, observed his pupil dilation, gauged his usual pallor.

"John, what day of the week is it?"

"Tuesday."

"Who is the prime minister?"

"I don't bloody know."

"John."

"Camera. -on. Cameron. David. Compassionate conservative, for fuck's sake."

"Not now, John. What did you have for breakfast?"

"Bottled water you gave me at the crime scene."

Sherlock took a deep breath.

"What did you see at the crime scene?"

"Dead girl looked just like – oh, god, she looked just like Molly, didn't she?"

"Yes. I'm sorry you had to see it."

"Me, too. I mean I'm sorry you had to see it. Sherlock."

Oh, god he had to see it too, he had to look at her lovely hair and her naked skin under that garbage and what had happened to her face? What had happened to her at all? Who could do such a thing? And Sherlock went back and looked again, and looked closely, while I was sitting on the hood of the car in a useless daze.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock's hands, which had placed themselves on John's arms were now violently shaking. John took the man by the shoulders, kneading the muscles there, holding on hard. For himself, or his friend? He didn't know as he continued to grip the man with all his strength.

You have given me so much, Sherlock, what can I do, what can I do to give something back to you, there's no way it will ever be fair.

"It's all right," said John. "We're home. Molly's safe."

"Yes. I know. I know. Intellectually - I know." Sherlock took a deep breath and was better.

John noted the speed with which his friend recovered.

"You are amazing, you -, no you are – formidable, Sherlock, you are." John reached a hand to his friend's cheek. And you're quite beautiful too aren't you there's no use denying it there's no use your eyes and your skin and you belong to us to me and Molly and I -

John couldn't think of a reason to wait another day. He leaned in to kiss his friend.

"Ah, ah." Sherlock said, and backed away.

John opened his eyes, which he had closed only a moment ago. He watched as Sherlock smiled his wicked half smile, and rose from his kneeling position before the doctor.

"Tea?" He called over his shoulder as he strode to the kitchen.

John's mind reeled. Did this just happen? Did this just happen?

John got up, a little unsteadily from the chair and followed Sherlock. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

"What? What did you just do? To me? Out there?"

"Hmm? Me? Nothing, John."

"I know. Why?"

"It would be quite unethical for me to take advantage of you in your current state. You're still in shock."

"I'm fine!"

"No, you're not, actually, but you will be, I can see." Sherlock pottered about a moment, smiling his smuggest smile then added, "Molly should be here for us, too, don't you think? Close your mouth, John, you look more intelligent that way."

John continued to take in what had just happened to him while Sherlock made tea. Then the detective swooped in close and whispered into John's ear in a tone he normally reserved for bed.

"But it is extremely satisfying and lovely for me to know that you're finally interested in doing that with me, John, extremely gratifying. I don't think you can know how delightful I find it, thank you, love. And very fucking difficult to resist, I assure you. I can't wait to find out if you really mean it, or if it's just the shock talking. We'll see, hmm?" Then Sherlock moved off. "I only have Earl Grey in, so-." He left the kitchen with a tray of tea, looking over his shoulder.

"Come on, John, don't let it get cold."

"You prat. You fucking prat." John husked out. The humiliation came now, red, fiercely burning, his ears itched, his face and neck were on fire. He hung his head and followed Sherlock into the sitting room.

"I heard that." Sherlock said, "That's all right, though, no offense taken. I completely understand your, ah, humiliation. And frustration. Yes, that particularly." Sherlock was giggling now. "You should – haha – you should see your face, John. Oh no. Hmmhmm. A bit of your own medicine, Doctor? Is it bitter? Hmmhmm."

John said nothing, and took his cup of tea, exactly as he liked it, he had no doubt, from Sherlock's hands. He sipped, and sipped again before speaking.

"I'm going to have to punch you. I'm going to have to punch you very hard for this. Probably in the mouth. But I require tea."

"Yes, hmmhmm, of course. Cake or bread and butter? Hmmhmm."

Hello, lovely fellow travellers!

Enjoy your coffee break – You won't need any sugar at the end of this one.

Oh, please review me, please? I'm dying to hear from you, yes, that's YOU!

(Extra love if you tell me what famous work I'm quoting from in the last bits)