A/N: I will warn you! This has not been edited at all! I just got it done right now and I wanted to upload it since I have a goal of hopefully a chapter a day as long as I can manage! I would have had it done sooner but I wasn't fully awake until 2pm this afternoon and school gripped me with all the homework I had due. Hopefully this is decent? Probably not. I'm sorry for all errors because I know there is bound to be plenty. ^^"
Oh! Okay, this is the start of one of the major cases of Sherlock and John. One of them! I have a list. All written down and described to the tip with detail! Most of this is dialogue. I apologize for that if that is not your forte. ^^"
Well, read/fav/follow/review! Enjoy the chapter, guys. Ciao~
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock
Chapter 7: Sepia
Moving out of Harry and Clara's place was surprisingly easier than I thought it would be. I expected my sister to appear all suspicious of this random bloke that appeared suddenly and asked me to move in but she instead waved her hand around, claiming that I needed to move out so I could find my mate. The way her mate acted was more subtle. Clara nodded though I could see her expression foretold that she knew why I was moving in with Sherlock.
Saying my farewells came easy and I tugged a suitcase behind me as I left the flat and towards the cab at the curb. The driver helped me place my case in the back while I got in and took out my phone to check the time. I should be earlier than expected. Sherlock said he might have found a place that would meet both of our standards – which made me wonder where he lived prior to this – but I would have to be present with him.
"7 o clock sharp, John. Don't be late."
Why would I be late? Not to mention, why did it matter if I was late? Did he have somewhere to go? As far as I knew, he didn't seem to have a job at all! On top of that, he was injured and healing. Performing some sort of extreme activity was definitely not advised by someone of my stature. How did he expect to actually pay for this flat which he got for a "good deal" if he didn't have the money to follow? I hope he didn't expect me to pay for both of us because I don't nearly get paid enough for that yet otherwise I would be in my own flat by this point.
When the driver got into the cab, I directed him to the address – 221 B Baker Street – and awaited the arrival I anticipated and was in confliction with.
What if I was wrong? About the both of us being soul mates? It wouldn't be the first time but I would rather it be the last if that was the case. I was almost certain that wasn't it but with how stoic and standoff-ish this man appeared to be, I wasn't so sure anymore. He didn't appear to feel it as intensely as I, but he did feel a pull.
Does that still count?
I shook my head, scolding myself. Get ahold of yourself Watson. You were a captain. Worrying over such petty issues is not your kind of scene. Just wait it out and proceed from there, like when you were in Afghanistan. If you succumb to the usual worries you will lose any sense of personality you ever had and when something does happen and you will hesitate. You know very well what hesitation brings.
It brings error or a disaster.
So, that being said, observing how this goes is the best course of action.
In the back of my mind I wondered how long we would really last.
"Sir," I blinked and met the gaze of the driver. He was motioning for the exit and I realized we were here. Nodding my thanks and paying the fare, I got out of the cab and retrieved my luggage before ascending to the doorstep.
My brow rose when I saw Sherlock was not here yet. He warned me to not be late and then he does the same? I swear that man… a hypocrite and a child. And apparently my mate. Lovely. Grand.
The sun went down slowly and I found my foot tapping with anxiety on the pavement.
I checked my watched. It has been almost 10 minutes. Where the hell was he?
Glancing up at the small light close to the doorstep, I sighed and looked down. My muscles tensed and my senses heightened when I saw a shadow, larger than my own, appear behind me. Almost like a switch my military side spoke up and began to prepare me for a reaction.
Perhaps if I turn around and swiftly jab him in his abdomen he will be disoriented enough for me to grab his arm and twist it behind his back. Then I can just push him against the side of the building to pin his other arm. From there I can deal with him with more civility.
Counting to three, I did just that. The man who was currently groaning in front of my, keeling slightly from the angle I was holding his arm at, was definitely a good head taller than me. He looked dirty, full of grime and whatever else he rolled in while in an alley. His hair was blackened though in the lighting I couldn't tell if it was from some sort of fluid or if it was his actual hair color. The Monochrome genes didn't make it any easier.
Now why he was here is the real question.
"May I inquire why you appeared behind me, mate?" I questioned lowly into the man's ear. I put order behind it and as much intimidation as I could muster from my past. It wasn't too hard considering I was already agitated from the late Sherlock Holmes.
"John…" the man groaned and I froze temporarily. I knew that voice. Very well in fact.
"Sherlock?" I spoke in confusion and annoyance as I backed off of him and allowed him to stretch. I was grateful I pinned his good arm behind his back and not the other or his fractured ulna would have definitely complained. Not to mention the sutures and stitches in his abdomen. Did I by chance pull them? Damn it. It was all his fault for not making his appearance known, but I still felt guilty for not observing him more. I could have prevented this somewhat awkward situation.
"Ah, yes. Your observational skills are superb, Watson," he groaned before glaring at me.
I shrugged. "I'm sorry. If you were going to appear to me like some of the bums from the Grime Zones in the city I would have looked for you but I was under the impression that you would appear differently. Actually, now that we are on that topic, why do you appear like you have rolled around in anything and everything in the local alley?"
Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, "Another time, John. For now, let's get our living arrangements in order. That is why you are here, correct?"
I watched him knock on the door. Not a second later it opened to reveal a small elderly woman. She was grinning but the second she spotted the state of Sherlock her hands went to her hips and her lips pursed in annoyance.
"Sherlock! What have you been doing at this hour? Is it one of your cases? I swear, young man, you have just gotten out of the hospital and now you are looking to be put back in!" She would have continued on had Sherlock not kissed her on the cheek and motioned towards me. He looked significantly more at ease now that the woman was here. Mother? No, no resemblances.
Another question to ask him.
"Mrs. Hudson, this is John Watson. He will be accompanying me in the flat upstairs. You should expect him to be living here from now on. John? This is Mrs. Hudson. She is the landlady at this flat." Mrs. Hudson looked over to me and judged me up and down before giving a happy little noise and pulling us both in. While Sherlock brushed past us and went upstairs, Mrs. Hudson kept me back.
"Are you living with him as a friend or…?" she left the question hanging and I patted her hand, already liking the woman.
"Just a flat mate." I don't know why I lied to her. She was incredibly nice and I don't see why I couldn't have told her the truth. Perhaps it was my uncertainty. I didn't want to give unsure promises.
Her face faltered but she still patted my cheek in affection and rushed me upstairs, "Alright, dear. Now go up and stop that boy from destroying my flat, will you? I will bring up some biscuits and tea soon enough." I nodded with a smile and quickly climbed up the steps.
The flat inside was a mess but that was what I expected.
All around were papers and books, beakers and flasks. It was a mess of knowledge and in the center was the messy black and white blur of Sherlock Holmes.
In the white light he appeared dirtier than before. Every part of him was covered in some sort of black smudge that was certainly dirt, grime, or even oil. He was in such a state that I was not sure whether those black splotches around his abdomen was blood from the snapped sutures or just more dirt from the alleys.
"You know," I spoke calmly though agitation was definitely there, "I told you not to perform any strenuous work of any sort until you were healed. What part of you did not get that?"
Sherlock met my eyes with a roll of his own, "Really, John. I suppose I cannot blame you since you don't know me well yet, but I rarely sit around and laze about simply because of an injury. Too boring."
"Boring?" I rose my brow and he nodded stiffly.
"Yes. Like watching paint dry or the sun rise and fall. It's all boring. Cases. Cases and crimes and the whatnot around those are what intrigue me and I'm not going to let a mere fracture and stitch stop me from breaking that tedious cycle of boredom."
Okay, great. So he is like a child. He gets bored a lot but it seems he takes it to a whole new level by find preposterous ways of curing that from cases.
Wait.
"So, are you a detective then? I never thought detectives would go through such ordeals for a client," I mused as I sat on the arm of one of the chairs.
"Oh no, I don't do that all the time. I only do cases that are interesting or those that the yard apparently don't have the brains to deduce on their own, which is plenty and all of them."
"Then, you are a special detective. The yard doesn't go to detectives so I would assume you are a…"
"Consulting detective, yes," he concluded quickly while heading to the kitchen. Grabbing a wash rag, he began to run the sink and clean up his face and hands. After a few minutes his face was its usual white-gray hue that came with paleness and no cuts or injuries was visible.
Now to check the stitches.
"Well, while you tell me about all this consulting detective nonsense, why don't you sit on the sofa so I can make sure you didn't pull something extremely idiotic?" A scoff came out of the detective's mouth but he complied with a few grumbles.
I retrieved my medical kit from my luggage and got on my knees in front of Sherlock while he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. His skin was clean though I could clearly see a good stream of black protruding from one of the wounds where I stitched. I tsked at the man in front of me but made no remark. I was tempted to rant about how when I said he shouldn't do something it is for his own benefits, but I knew he wouldn't listen. That much I was sure of.
"So, consulting detective?" I prompted while biting the thread and yanking so I could stitch the broken skin.
"Ah, yes. I am the world's only consulting detective. When the police are at their wits end, or always as I have come to know, they come to me."
"And you use your deductive skills to figure the case out, I assume?" I questioned while slowly threading the needle in and out of the puckered skin.
"Quite."
He left it like that and I sighed, "Care to explain what sort of case involved you getting into this sort of mess?" I finished one of the stitches and moved to the other while checking the ulna that was previously fractured. A few sparks here and there gathered on my fingertips but I moved my hands quickly so it didn't last.
"The Sepia Order."
I met his gaze with one of confusion, "The Sepia Order? I have never heard of that group in particular. Not even by the government."
Sherlock laughed humorlessly, "That's because the government is nothing but a few men who have more power than most. Anyhow, they don't have a single clue about this group. I have only recently discovered them from the recent murder spree. The ones consisting of men in the Grime Zones?" I nodded, finished with his repairs. "They are an order that prey on the Discolored and the Sombre to scientifically bring back color. It seems those who have been subjected to this are often found completely disfigured with aspects such as orange-yellow scleras, yellow finger nails, and most of their nourishment has been depleted to skin and bones. Few I have noticed have been made blind when those who knew them before have said they had perfect vision."
"That still doesn't explain why you appeared as if you ran a kilometer to get here and out of there," I reminded.
"I found out where they were located. It's a distinct area along the Barren Zones of London. I was there previously but I was found out from some sort of noise trap they had set and I got back here. I planned to be here sooner and in better condition but cases can be rather unpredictable sometimes."
Pursing my lips, I sighed, "So what do you plan to do now? Go back?"
"Precisely."
I looked him up and down before walking over to my luggage and pulling out my old Army pistol, all the rounds still loaded.
"Fine. But I will be coming with you."
He smiled, plucking the shirt from before back on and buttoning it up, "That was what I wanted to here, John. I'm glad to hear we are on the same page."
Wrapping a scarf around his neck and buttoning his Belstaff coat, he motioned me to follow him as we ran down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson was at the bottom with a tray of biscuits and two cups of tea. I gave her an apologetic expression but she brushed it off and looked disapprovingly at Sherlock.
"Young man, you better not get this good friend of yours into trouble! He seems nice and I don't want to hear you got him scratched and bruises to prove a point." But she smiled anyways. I think she knew that Sherlock wouldn't do that, however, I wasn't so sure myself. I barely knew this man.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson. You can leave to condiments on the table in the flat."
When we got out of the door, Sherlock was already running through an alley. I had no trouble keeping up but seeing him altogether was a different story.
"Just so you know, I'm not following you so I can see this case of yours! I'm just worried about you stressing your wounds!"
I could feel the smirk in the detective's response, "Then why can I tell that your pulse has heightened and adrenaline is rushing through your veins? I suppose you could say it is running, but I believe you are actually enjoying this rush, are you not doctor?"
Glaring at his back, I sighed in defeat (very hard to do while running) and smiled, "Maybe. Maybe you are right, but I will not give you the liberty of knowing so!"
"Oh, but I think you already have."