Sherlock had taken John with him to Janus Cars, a car rental company. After a very odd conversation with the manager, they had headed back to the forensic lab at NSY. John and Sherlock were standing by the car as Lestrade paced slow circles around it.
"Lestrade," Sherlock said, "how much blood would you say was in the car?"
Lestrade gave Sherlock an odd look, one eyebrow raised. But he shook his head and said, "I don't know...about a pint."
"Exactly a pint," Sherlock corrected. "That was the first mistake. Ian Munkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago."
"How can you tell?"
"The blood has been frozen." John only had eyes for Sherlock. This part of a case always managed to take his breath away. Sherlock was so clever it was almost scary. "He's not dead."
"Not dead! So what's his blood doing all over the car seat? Where is he?"
"Columbia."
"Columbia!?" Sherlock explained the purpose behind Janus cars, getting people out of trouble by whisking them out of the country. John was certain that at some point during the explanation, his mouth had fallen slightly agape, but then he didn't much mind.
"Now, go do what you do best Lestrade and arrest them." Sherlock was turning away from the Inspector.
"Them?"
"Yes the wife's in on it too. Obviously." John quivered at the word. "Her husband disappears, she collects the life insurance and splits it with Janus Cars." Sherlock walked away without any further explanation. John gave a slight wave in Sherlock's general direction as an apology to Lestrade, and then jogged after his insane flatemate. When John caught up with him, Sherlock pumped his fist at his side, exclaiming "I am on fire!"
John's stomach churned at the realization that had been building in him from the beginning. He's enjoying this. He doesn't care about these people. No...no... I refuse to believe that. Of course he cares. But that isn't stopping him from enjoying the game. Bloody hell...
The next morning John and Sherlock sat across from one another in a small cafe. Sherlock was staring at the pink phone, and had refused to eat anything, claiming he wasn't hungry. John, however, was starving. He'd been living on vending machine crisps since this whole case had begun. He was halfway through his sandwich when his own phone rang, causing both of them to jump.
"Oh Christ, it's Sarah, I forgot to call off this morning," John explained to Sherlock who was eyeing the ringing phone suspiciously. "I have to answer it. Hold on." Sherlock nodded, and John answered the phone. "Hello?"
Sherlock could hear Sarah's raised voice on the other end of the phone. She was very angry. "Where the bloody hell are you?"
"Look, I'm sorry. I forgot to call you. I can't..."
"You can't!" Sarah interrupted. "You're not coming in again today?"
"No. Look I can explain."
"No you look Doctor Watson, I need you hear when you're scheduled to be. This is getting ridiculous."
"Sarah, we're in the middle of an extremely important case."
"You've got to be joking! You can't come into work because you're too bust traipsing around London with that bloody psychopath you call a boyfriend?"
Sherlock got the same old feeling that he always got when someone insulted him like that. Psychopath, nutter, freak, crazy, loon. All those things hit Sherlock, though he had gotten remarkably good at hiding it. He had gotten better at actually not caring about what others thought, but everyone sought approval, it's basic human psychology. But as he watched John's face contort with anger, he wondered what was going to come next. Perhaps he'll correct her, after all he's never called me his boyfriend before.
John never failed to surprise Sherlock. Calmly, he took a large breath before responding to Sarah. "We are not 'traipsing' around London. We are currently working to prevent the murder of innocent people. Sherlock is brilliant, and if he says he needs me, I will be there. Also, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't call him a psychopath, because he actually isn't. He'd tell you that he's a sociopath, but he isn't that either. He's just a genius, surrounded by all us ordinary people. Also, I don't call him my boyfriend." Sherlock's heart sank, and he suddenly felt the urge to get up and run. "But I really ought to start. He's an amazing man, and I'm lucky to have him in my life." Sherlock snapped his head up, completely in awe.
Sarah remained quiet on her end of the line for quite awhile, but finally she said "Do you want to keep this job John?"
"Right now, I want to help save people, if that's going to cost me my job, then I guess I quit."
Sarah remained silent for awhile again, and then without another word, Sherlock heard the dial tone. He just quit his job...for me... Sherlock was looking at John with an expression of complete awe.
John ended the call and stuck his phone back into his pocket. He looked up and gave Sherlock a small smile. "Looks like I should've taken that money from Mycroft to spy on you after all." Sherlock's face split into a grin. "Well, I guess you're my boyfriend now." John was grinning, but he was terrified at how Sherlock would respond.
"I never expected to be anyone's boyfriend before." John reached out and set his hand on top of Sherlock's. They sat gazing at each other for some time before the buzzing of the pink phone startled them both.
Another voice mail. Beep...beep...beep... Then the picture. Sherlock looked confused, then angry. "How is that fair? That could be anyone."
John glanced at the photo and immediately recognized the woman in it. "Lucky for you, I've been without a job before."
"What?" Sherlock glanced up at John and then back down to the phone.
"Lucky for you that this boyfriend of yours and your landlady watch way too much telly." John stood up and went over to the counter where he fetched the remote. He clicked through the channels until he found one with a news story. "Connie Prince: Dead" the banner along the bottom of the screen read.