Chapter 24

The jewel thief crept down the streets of London, holding his treasured bag of diamonds tight in his grip. He had out run the police once again. They would never catch him; never. He was invincible! He trotted down an alley, cackling to himself on how simple his job had been tonight.

Smack!

The thief flew into the brick walls of the alley, gasping in surprise. What had hit him? He opened his blurry eyes to see a short man with his leg braced in a cast. He wore a jumper under his coat and in his hand he held a crutch. So that's what hit him.

"Bad choice, old man!" the thief shouted, attempting to pull himself up.

"Hmmm…actually I think you're the one who made the bad choice. Isn't that right, Sherlock?" the man stated, glancing behind the thief. The thief whirled around to see a man with dark curls and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in a black coat and blue scarf. His wrist was in a cast and hanging in a sling.

"Yes, I believe you're right, John. Threatening the world's only consulting blogger detectives is definitely a bad choice," Sherlock stated, glaring down at the thief. The thief stood strait, a smirk growing across his face. What was he to be afraid of? These two? They were crippled! What could they possibly-

The thief gasped as John's crutch smacked him against the head again and his vision blurred when Sherlock kicked him in the chest, sending him flying into the wall and hitting his head against the bricks. The bag of jewels fell from his hand as he drifted out of consciousness. Sherlock sighed, picking up the bag and tossed it over to John, who caught it simply. "Text Lestrade and tell him where he is. Another case closed," Sherlock groaned, boredom leaking back into him. Jewel thieves were so predictable. John nodded, sending a quick text to Lestrade.

Jewel thief in ally at Chestnut Ave. -JW

You two do realize that you're supposed to be taking it easy right? It's only been a month since the…incident. –GL

Try telling that to Sherlock. Anyway, the doctors said we needed to exercise to get our busted limbs back in working condition. This counts. –JW

You sound just like him. –GL

I'll take that as a compliment –JW

John shut his phone and strolled over to Sherlock's side. He glanced up at his friend. His skin was still freckled in scars like John's. Even after a month of being away from the asylum they still haven't heeled physically or mentally. John still had nightmares about the place and he knew Sherlock did too. He had caught the man tossing and turning in his sleep some nights, but Sherlock never would admit to it. Damn him and his bloody pride. Lestrade and Mycroft were the worst, though. They never let the two of them out of their sight and it was really starting to get annoying. Even Mrs. Hudson kept a close eye on them!

"…and so of course the answer would be…John? John, are you listening to me?" Sherlock shouted, snapping his fingers in front of John's face. The good doctor's mind snapped back into the present and he looked up at Sherlock.

"Oh, sorry. I was just…thinking," John stated, running a hand through his hair. Sherlock let out a sigh, quirking up an eyebrow.

"You should leave that to me, John. I am better at it after all," Sherlock teased. John glared up at him, but broke into a smile as Sherlock smirked at him. "So what were you thinking about?" Sherlock asked finally, fiddling with his sling. It had come loose when he had kicked the burglar into the wall.

"The asylum," John stated simply. Sherlock tensed instantly and glanced over at John.

"Why would you be thinking about that?" he asked.

"Well, we were tortured, blown up, and practically bleed to death. You can't tell me you don't think about it sometimes." Sherlock remained silent, staring straight ahead. John chewed down at his lip and stared ahead as well. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock moaned, still fiddling with the straps of his sling.

"At the asylum…" Sherlock flinched again and John felt sorry for bringing it up for a second time. However he carried on with his question, he needed to get this off his chest. "When I…was shocked I completely lost myself, but when you were shocked…well, you still remembered. How?" Sherlock stopped walking and looked down at his short friend.

"Because of you." John stared at him, frowning in confusion. Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "Honestly, John, it's like I'm talking to Anderson some times." John felt the corners of his lips quirk up slightly, amused at how flustered Sherlock was acting now. His smile left however, as Sherlock continued with his answer. "When I first woke up at that place I was like you, oblivious to the truth. I just went along with what I was told, but then I started dreaming about Baker Street and everything clicked back together. I remembered you and that's what kept me going." John stared at Sherlock, mouth agape.

"Sher-"

"Mushy moment's done…can we go home now?" Sherlock whined, starting to walk again. John grabbed Sherlock by the good arm and pulled him into a halt. He stared into Sherlock's cool blue eyes, realizing that the consulting detective wasn't lying. He didn't know how he knew he just…did. He could feel it in just one look into those vibrant eyes. He let go of Sherlock's arm and they both stood there like statues for a moment.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Thank you." Sherlock frowned at him, his eyes flying back and forth like they always did when he was thinking or processing information.

"For what?"

"For believing in me…being my friend…exedra." A smile played at Sherlock's lips.

"Well, someone has to," Sherlock mused, running a hand through his curls, awkwardly. He hated these heart to heart moments. There were always too many emotions in them and emotions meant pain. Sherlock glanced down at John then, taking in a deep breath. Well, maybe he could let his mask slip just this once.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock stated. "For believing me in the end and saving me," Sherlock added before walking again. John stared at him as he walked ahead, coat flapping elegantly around his legs. John felt a moment of triumph for a second. Too bad he didn't get that on tape. It's not every day the great Sherlock Holmes says thank you of all things. "John, hurry up! I still have that experiment in the oven!" Sherlock shouted at him. John paled, the image of a head exploding all over the kitchen passed before his eyes. As quickly as he could manage on his crutches, John followed him and the two gabbed back and forth about cases and experiments on the way home. Everything was back to normal again; just the way they liked it.

A black crow watched intently as the two stepped into the cab, unknowing of its presence. The bird with ink black wings and beady red eyes let out an ear piercing caw and ruffled its black feathers. Death slowly materialized a ways away like black smoke. He made his way to the bird, bones clicking and rattling as he walked and stood underneath the hideous bird. Death, leaning on his staff as he watched the detectives slip away from his icy grip again tapped his fingers lightly on the blade of his scythe.

Caw!

Death looked up at the bird.

"Yes, my pet, I know. Don't fret their time is coming…sooner than what they expect. They can't run forever; not from me.

CAW! Mwahahahahahaha! And FIN! Dun, Dun, DUN! I was going to leave it with just Sherlock and John, but then I figured I should put some sort of creepy ending just adding to your wonderful feels. I can't leave you guys with some easy happy ending now can I? Hehe. Where's the fun in that? Thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting! I hope you all enjoyed the ride. This is my favorite one I've written so far and I hope it was yours too. If you have requests for anything you would like me to write next just send me a PM.