Lestrade arrived half an hour later to find that a response team was already snapping photo's of the broken window while Sherlock was busy taking photos of a clearly frustrated John who sat propped on a kitchen chair with his shirt off and his face a distinct shade of pink.
John was pressing an icepack tightly against his face as Sherlock flitted around him with a camera. The bruises from his earlier beating had begun to fade away and were now yellow in places and gone entirely in others. They had however been replaced by a multitude of small cuts which Sherlock was in the process of documenting with a digital camera. Aside from this John's trousers were distinctly blood stained.
"Sherlock, that is unnecessary.' John grumbled trying to swat Sherlock away.
"It is, not, this is evidence. He would have seen you, this is assault.' Sherlock growled as he kept flashing the camera at John, outdoing the flashes coming from the window.
"Sherlock, if we ever manage to catch this guy the police have plenty of pictures of me with broken bones and footprint shaped bruises. They are not going to need this. Look I really want to clean up Sherlock, just talk to Lestrade and try not to be to be… well you know…' John trailed of.
"Sherlock!' Lestrade placed a hand on the young man's arm making him turn around. "Let the poor man wash off, he'll feel better and you'll get better pictures if he is cleaned up. Just tell me what happened in the meantime.' Lestrade took the camera out of Sherlock's hand and guided him into a chair. At the same time John got up with a relieved look on his face and hobbled toward the bathroom.
"What happened Sherlock? John said someone threw a brick through your window.' Lestrade looked at Sherlock with concern. He had seen the gash on John's jaw as he removed the ice pack and made his way to the bathroom. It didn't look exactly dangerous and nor did the cuts across his chest and left arm but this was one more suspicious attack and Lestrade was really beginning to worry where all this was going. They were no closer to catching this guy than they had been a month ago and there was no way of putting a restraining order on someone whom they could not identify.
"I'm not entirely Sure, John was unclear on the details, a bit shook up I guess. He did say the man responsible wore a grey hoodie and blue Jeans and looked fairly young, it was not the same man that confronted him in the toilet. Possibly a sportsman of some sort since he had very good aim and managed to hit John in the face even though a window pane. Of course he could just have been lucky but the previous attacks on John don't suggest that luck is an element, this is well thought through.' Sherlock took a few breaths and brought out the note.
"It wasn't really an attack though, it was a threat, a challenge. My attempts to keep John safe has angered whoever is doing this.' Sherlock looked deflated, almost on the verge of being scared, and Lestrade felt truly sorry for him. He remembered when his daughter had broken her arm and they had called from the hospital. He had felt so helpless, so useless when he was unable to help her to feel better as she cried and complained.
Of course John did none of those things, he did not cry, or complain. He was solid and strong and stayed upright, even under this strain but even Lestrade, unobservant as Sherlock accused him of being, could tell that John had lost weight, that he was not sleeping properly, that there were heavy circles under his eyes, and that he was pulling away, not engaging, not socialising. He had not been to any of the informal events that the Met organised and Lestrade invited him and Sherlock along to in forever. Lestrade never expected Sherlock to come but John had come occasionally, and Lestrade had increased his invites after he had heard what had happened at the clinic where John worked, but he had not been able to coax him to come out.
Well, lestrade knew what it meant to feel helpless in ones desires to diminish the pain of a loved one and he took the proffered not with trepidation. He saw the same look in Sherlock's eyes now that he had seen in his own back then and it was terrifying. Sherlock, the calm sociopath, looked both worried and just a little bit helpless. His eyes kept darting toward the bathroom as though he really wanted to go in there and check on John.
Lestrade's eyes turned finally to the paper in his hand and he read slowly, making note of each person being threatened and wondering at the implications of each. He had no doubt as to what John would do. It would take physical force to keep John in the flat after at treat like that, and Lestrade understood. He may not be quite so self-sacrificing as John Watson but he knew that if someone he loved was involved he would do anything, including willingly making himself a target. He could not help at marvel at the fact that Sherlock had no once been one of the people named in the note. Lestrade had a feeling that this meant something, but he didn't know what.
Half an hour later John returned clean, and once again fully clothed, moving a little stiffly but without the ice pack and with a large white square pasted across the cut on his jaw. He looked surprisingly normal. More focused and determined than he had seemed in weeks.
'Let's get out of here. Sherlock I'm sure you already have everything you are going to get from here… let's leave the forensics to play and go look over Lestrade's progress instead. I NEED to get out of this flat.' He said with steely eyes. Sherlock started to protest but the look that John gave him was not a plea but a visual order.
Together they made their way out of the building and it was a sign of Sherlock's concern that he actually agreed to ride in the police car, in the back even next to John who sat calmly clutching the plastic bag that now contained the note he had received just over an hour ago.