An awkward silence fell heavily over the two would-be friends. To John, Sherlock seemed to be a bit on edge. He fidgeted and frowned, sometimes staring at the borrower intently, other times his eyes swept back and forth over the room. Whatever was on his mind, he wasn't saying it. Unable to stand the silence any more, John cleared his throat and decided he may as well start.
"So, why'd you come back here anyway?"
"I, ah, left my phone." He replied simply, lifting up the device as proof.
"You don't seem like the type to forget things."
Sherlock smiled at this, considering John a bit more carefully before answering. "No, I'm not. I left it on purpose."
"Why?" It was a simple question, but Sherlock seemed surprised by it. Like he wasn't used to people actually caring about why he did things.
"I needed an excuse to get another look at the crime scene." He indicated the room in which they were now sitting with a wave of his hand. "I do that sometimes. It helps me to focus when I'm just looking around with no one else present."
John nodded in understanding, not sure what else he should say. The lull in their conversation only lasted a few seconds, when John decided to ask what it was he had wanted to know for a while now.
"How did you do it?"
"Hmm? Do what?" Sherlock had started to fiddle with the smartphone in his hands and so was a bit distracted.
"You know, find all that stuff out about what happened here."
"Observation is the key to a successful investigation." He said this like it as the most obvious thing in the world.
"All those little things you noticed, that was all it took for you to determine that it was murder?" John was somewhat skeptical. Could you really conclude so much from so little?
"Hardly. There is more evidence here. However, I only tell the police what they need to know."
"What other evidence is there? What more did you find out?" The questions came before John could stop them. The subject seemed innocent enough and John was genuinely curious, but Sherlock was acting very standoffish. It made him feel like he had to be careful not say the wrong thing. Although it pained John to admit it, he did not really know Sherlock any more. John would have to watch his step, at least until he knew where he stood.
Sherlock hesitated for a brief moment. Once again he seemed surprised and even slightly puzzled at John's interest. Surprised, but not displeased. In fact it was just the opposite. Sherlock loved any opportunity to show off.
"Well, in cases like this, a major piece of evidence is the note. Generally, whenever the police see a note by a dead body, the case is immediately written off as a suicide. But this note seemed odd to me. It was short and printed. Now, my first impression of this man was that he was old-fashioned. That being the case, it seems only logical that he would have a handwritten, lengthy note with plenty of details and brimming with sentimentality. Not a brief 'I'm sorry,' and 'I can't live like this anymore.'"
He stopped and frowned, unsure of whether or not he should continue.
"Is there more?" John had been paying rapt attention through Sherlock's explanation and wanted him to continue. It was fascinating listening to him go on about his work and, John had to admit, very impressive.
Seeing as he still had an attentive audience, Sherlock happily continued. "The man's appearance was neat, meticulous. At his time of his death, he was wearing a nice suit and shoes. You only wear shoes if you're about to go out. So, who gets up in the morning, carefully dresses for work, and then commits suicide. It doesn't make sense."
He seemed to turn in on himself after this. Though he continued to speak, it was more to himself than to John. "What I need is the motive. And why make it look like a suicide? Was this personal? Unfinished business, perhaps? And there is something about this house. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something is not right here…"
He frowned again, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. John let him remain silent, having a few things to think about himself. Such as; who on earth would want to kill the bean he had been living with? He'd seemed like a nice enough man. A bit reclusive and secretive maybe, but John had noticed nothing that would suggest he was involved in anything unsavory. But, then again, he hadn't exactly been looking. John generally tried to avoid anything to do with beans, so it wasn't as if he would know if something were going on.
As he was thinking this, Sherlock suddenly stood. The borrower jumped, his heart leaping in his throat as the giant towered above him. Once again, he was painfully reminded of just how small he really was.
"Wait here, I'll be right back." And with that, he disappeared up the stairs.
John released the breath he did not realize he had been holding. Well, one thing hadn't changed, Sherlock was just as strange and unpredictable as he had been twenty years ago. He smiled a little as he recalled their first encounter. When Sherlock had reached out, almost unthinkingly, just to make sure that he was real. Everything had been so simple back then. They had gotten along so easily. John wasn't sure exactly when they became friends, it just sort of… Happened. And now? Now what were they?
Sherlock returned then with a determined look on his face. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he immediately went sit back down in front of John. However, a change seemed to have come over him. He had a much more professional air about him.
"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" The way he said this took John completely off guard. It was so different from the awkwardness that had pervaded his speech just a few minutes ago. Now it was determined and emotionless. John might even describe it as robotic.
"Uuhhh, no, go right ahead." John hoped he didn't sound as confused as he felt.
"You know this place better than I do. Has anything strange happened recently? Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?"
John shook his head, "no. Everything was perfectly normal until this morning, when I found out he was dead."
"Are you sure? You must have been here at the time of death. You didn't see or hear anything?" Sherlock pressed.
"Well… I did hear some strange thumping sounds last night. I didn't bother to investigate though, so I have no idea what they were."
"What time was this?"
John had to think for a second before answering that one, "uuummm… Around three in the morning, I think."
"Most likely, then, that's the time of death." Sherlock nodded, filing that information away.
John couldn't suppress a shudder. Those had been the sounds of the struggle? While he had been up making tea, a man was being murdered. Right above his head, no less. He was certainly not going to be staying here for much longer.
"Are you sure there's nothing else? Maybe there have been strange visitors or certain people not showing up when they're supposed to?"
Shaking his head firmly, John answered, "the man was a loner. That's part of the reason I chose to live here. There's hardly anyone in or out besides him."
Sherlock smiled. Well, it was more of a self satisfied smirk. And it made John a little uneasy.
"What? Is that important?" The borrower finally asked.
"Perhaps," was all he replied with, but he said it in such a way as to suggest that it was, in fact, very important.
Before John could question him further on the matter, he was very suddenly surprised by a hand lying flat in front of him. Sherlock's long fingers curled slightly in a hurrying gesture.
"C'mon, Watson, we haven't got all day."
John could barely believe his ears. And did he just call him Watson?
"Excuse me!?" He finally managed to sputter.
"I'm not very well going to leave you here. You are clearly vital to this case. And it's not safe for you to be living right in the middle of a crime scene. So, come with me."
Was he even really considering this? John couldn't believe it. Maybe twenty years ago, he might take such a chance, but now? He was older, but wasn't he also supposed to be wiser? And yet, here he was, seriously considering putting his life in the hands of-
A friend?
He didn't even know anymore. But then again, maybe this was the universe giving him a second chance. Or maybe it was just dicking with him. Either way, his decision was the same.
With a shrug that said 'eh, why the hell not?' He climbed onto the outstretched palm and held on tight. To his surprise, though perhaps he should have expected this, he was immediately deposited into Sherlock's coat pocket. It made sense, the bean couldn't exactly carry him around without drawing a lot of attention. But it was still highly uncomfortable. The last thing he heard before they left his old home was a quick shout of;
"The game is afoot!"
AN: ehhhhh, I feel a lot like John towards the end there, I don't even know anymore. Sorry for the long wait, guys. Thanks so much for being patient. I hope you like this part and thank you for reading! (Also, sorry if the end sounds kinda bonkers, I just finished it and it's half past midnight over here so I'm a little out of it :P)