A/N: I know I said I would update yesterday, but family kind of deterred that. ^^" Sorry. Anyways, I'll post two chapters right now since I'll be so busy this weekend that my next update may be a bit delayed.

I didn't expect to get as much feedback as I have been for this story. :) Almost every day I get a new follower and it surprises me because this isn't that good. Thank you guys. I don't deserve such great readers, but thank you all the same.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Chapter 16: Multihued

JOHN POV

I swear that rubbish detective will ultimately be the death of me. Not in a metaphoric sense either. There may be some literal truth to those words that I had skipped over in signing this contract.

Sherlock is the epitome of dense to all that disturbs the common ground of others. Well, maybe that's too broad. It's more like he simply didn't care for the effects his actions had on people. High functioning sociopath my arse. He was more like a low functioning sociopath if you ask me!

Sighing angrily at the white-washed walls, I glanced at my hands. They clenched and unclenched as I flexed them through my phases of annoyance and anger. The small tubes for the IV moved as I moved and I half-heartedly glared at it. Ironically enough, I was a doctor but I abhorred being hospitalized. If I could, I would rip out the tubes and find my clothes – wherever they put them – and check myself out.

But Mary and Sarah would not hesitate to throw me back in here. With restraints.

I stared at my hand, observed those annoying tubes, but did nothing.

I would rather not get on a doctor's bad side. Especially those who have the power to inflict sedatives for my lack of cooperating.

So, I'm going to have to remain here. Quietly. Behaving. And, whether this was due to Sherlock or merely human relevance, bored.

No, maybe it was Sherlock. I've been in a hospital room a few times and I can normally keep myself occupied. I wasn't easily bored out of my mind. That blasted detective had definitely done something to me. There were no "ifs", "ands", or "buts" in that certainty.

On top of this, I'm flustered! Ugh, I hated this! I already know why. Again, it was that stupid twat of a "consulting detective". Experimenting? Ugh.

I'm not an idiot. When he says it's for an experiment, then it has to be for an experiment for there is no way he would do it on purpose just to spite me!

Wait, would he? No. Well, maybe. Whatever! It still didn't alter the fact that it had even occurred! I mean, is he completely numb to the effects? I know I felt them for sure! The spark, the tingle of nerves, the rather annoying and pitiful thumping of my heart.

It was the body. It was not me acting on that! It was the stupid soul mating process.

But that wasn't what infuriated me beyond belief! Is he blind?

All he took notice of were colors. I myself noticed them as well, but unlike him, I didn't necessarily concentrate on my surroundings. My focus was instead on the detective. It was sad and pitiful, I know. Of all things to narrow my vison on, it had to be him. The pesky detective himself!

Maybe it was because despite his previous monochrome hues, he was rather unique with those missing pigments being revealed.

And no, I'm not at all complimenting him. I am merely pointing out that he has more than meets the eye. Sod off.

His scarf wasn't the deep grey but this color that my subconscious filled in as blue. The name surprised me because I had never seen the color before this time! Only those hues in my monochrome vision that condensed everything to some level of similarity.

Yet blue was the first color that made itself known. When I moved to his coat and hair, they were still the mixture of gray and black. There wasn't anything new there. But… his eyes.

Now, I'm not doing any of that entranced talk. I'm a bloody soldier. I'm not a pansy that will swoon at every bloke on the block. Not me. I'm stronger than that.

I'm, again, only pointing out the obvious.

But those eyes the detective had? I could have sworn they changed color. My vision is not bad nor am I even close to old. Maybe it was the drugs in my system or perhaps I was seeing things, but those eyes were definitely not one color the entire time. They appeared to distort into a new color with each passing second and each of those said colors in those orbs were quickly named.

I didn't know why I knew the names of these colors. I had never seen them and when we did learn colors in school, it was by shades of grey or black or white, not with legitimate hues. That being said, I knew all of these colors like I had seen them before. Odd. Not that I was complaining! I didn't know when would be the last time I would be able to see color at all.

Another experiment? Please. I have better chances having Sherlock blow up the flat.

But seeing these pigments also made me a little sad. Sherlock would hold as little interest discussing color as wondering about planets orbiting the sun no doubt. I had friends here at the hospital, the same ones I am currently afraid of irritating, but it would be pointless unfolding this event. I could never discuss these in detail with Mary and Sarah.

I mean, how would you describe red or blue to someone like a monochrome?

That's the catch.

You can't.

So a monochrome would not be able to notice the differences of color in Sherlock's eyes. I saw them as a light gray and I'm sure I wasn't the only one! Now, I see them for what they are. They were not light grey. They were blue, a pale blue, that would change to a greenish blue and lastly to pale gold. It was magnificent and breath-taking and certainly not at all attractive. Shut up.

I could feel my face flush and cursed when, by all the bloody luck in this world, Sherlock had to come in while I was trying to cool it down.

The stoic detective didn't as much as remark on my expression. Maybe he was thinking of a case or perhaps it was something Mary said. He certainly wasn't quite himself. If he was he would have noted something by this point of my person. It was in his nature.

Seeing as he wasn't going to tell me what was bothering him, I decided to ask him personally.

"Sherlock? Is there something the matter?" I paused and pursed my lips. It would be like her to "bristle his feathers" so to speak. "Did Mary tell you something?" He looked up at me for a moment and blinked slowly before shaking his head.

Liar.

"She did tell you something did she? Whatever she said, just let it go. She has this protectiveness for me that I'm still confused about. It's probably nothing, Sherlock." Once again, I got no response.

Sighing, I drop the topic.

Wait.

Speaking of dropping…

"Sherlock. Somebody wanted me to relay to you a message." That caught his attention. I knew it would. It was practically cat nip to him, information on a case.

"Oh?" He replied distractedly.

I nodded. "He wants you to drop the case."

Sherlock scoffed and I grinned. I wasn't fooled, but it seemed whatever was bothering him before was visibly out of the picture now. Go figure. I shouldn't have been surprised. It was typical Sherlock behavior 101.

"And who had the audacity to even propose such an absurdity?" an amused smirk replaced those air-drifting thoughts with scold-worthy mischief.

"A man by the name of Moriarty." Fumbling with the tubes, I asked out of impulse. "Do you know him?"

The detective leaned onto his fingers that had somehow clasped themselves together, "No. I haven't the slightest idea." He then met my eyes and I knew just from the look what he was going to pursue. It was in those eyes that I, regrettably, still want to see in color once more.

"Shall we do a little experimenting of our own, John?"

-Time Skip to John Leaving the Hospital-

I rolled my left shoulder gingerly, wincing as the muscle rejected it. Looks like I'm not going to be doing much that involves this arm and rotating in general. Ugh I hate injuries. I suppose it's nice that it's not my dominant side.

Sherlock, oblivious to my moment of hesitation, started walking in a direction immediately. I raced to catch him, quickly falling into step beside him.

"Where are you…? Let me rephrase that, where are we going?" I rose a brow when he gave me this exasperated look as if I should know immediately. Sorry, I'm no mind reader. I don't have the magnificent ability to telepathically pick out bits and pieces of information I wished to receive.

Although it seemed that Sherlock wished it was so. Of course, he would wish the impossible.

When it was clear I wasn't going to somehow miraculously pick it up like some human satellite, he sighed and muttered something about "little minds" and "dull" before replying, "We are going to visit some sources, John. We cannot conduct an experiment if we don't have the correct tools and materials to perform them with! Common sense."

I rolled my eyes, "Common sense my arse. That's more like common deduction."

"Exactly. I thought you would understand it quicker," he sounded disappointed, but a glance in his direction and I was proved wrong. He was grinning! It was a small one. But it was there and it mocked me to no end.

"Understand it? What is there to understand? It seems like a whole bunch of rubbish you pull out of the clouds! At least, until you present the facts with it."

"Rubbish indeed," Sherlock mused, "But speaking of facts, we really should cease this banter and meet my sources. They get antsy in a place like this."

I was about to question how so - and who exactly these sources were - when he took a detour into an alleyway. It was like stepping into a different realm entirely. One second we are on clean streets of bustling crowds and next we are in lanes of garbage and whatnot scouted with the homeless or the Translucent. It was saddening and it angered me. One look from Sherlock told me to keep my emotions in check.

I would have retorted. I definitely would have because I am not too fond at taking orders. At all. But, as our debate earlier consisted of, I needed to use common sense. Fighting with this twat of a detective will ultimately scare these people away like a loud clash to mice.

Biting my tongue, I let out a sigh and follow the detective. He seemed to know exactly where he was going which I suppose isn't too surprising when judging what his profession was.

The first person we approached was an elderly woman. She was a normal Monochrome... not even Iridescence. She never found her mate. Shaking my head, I dash the thoughts aside. It seemed like such a Sherlock notion to do, but I didn't want to feel pity for her. Surely she didn't want it. I know I wouldn't.

"Josie," Sherlock greeted, handing her a few notes. The old woman grasped them loosely and stuffed them in her small purse. Without saying anything, she looked pointedly at an old gentleman who was currently drinking a bottle of whiskey quite abundantly.

Sherlock thanked the woman and began walking away. I followed quickly after him but not before turning back to see the woman look at us wistfully and a little hopeful. Whether that hope was for herself or for us I didn't pursue.

All the next gentleman told us was that a fellow by the name of J.B. has some information on Moriarty. After that all he said were angry grumblings and drowning swigs of alcohol to cure his sadness. He seemed particularly irritable with us and I could only assume it was our standstill status. He was a Discoloured individual after all and they don't like Iridescence at all. Painful memories.

For the next half hour, Sherlock and I searched and searched every crevice and alleyway for J.B. We didn't know who we were looking for. Ah, correction, I didn't know who I was looking for. Sherlock seemed to, but he didn't seem kind enough to share at the moment. Twat.

I kept looking around at various aged people with an even greater diversity in their emotions. Each time I thought I found him I would glance at Sherlock but he would only shake his head. It could have been a child or an adult. I didn't even know the race and the drunkard Discoloured didn't seem too keen upon helping my clarification.

I was about to tell Sherlock that maybe J.B. wasn't there – maybe he was in a different area – when I heard a rustle behind me. At the specific area where we were currently scavenging, all there was behind me was a dumpster filled with god knows what along with a few stained boxes and boards. No wind jostled anything in these building encased alleys so it couldn't have been a breeze.

As a precaution, I stood still. Not a second later another whisper of noise is heard shuffling behind one of the boards.

Avoiding any trash that could make my presence known, I stride towards the boards and grasp one of them, the largest, and pulled it away.

Behind it was a kid of perhaps 16. He was a translucent. It was obvious in that much. Scars and scratches adorned his figure as if he had been tortured and decided to not go to a doctor to effectively heal them.

"You are J.B. I assume?" I greeted with a chuckle, shuffling a little when Sherlock appeared next to me.

Whereas J.B. was completely stiff to me, I noticed his posture relax in the sight of Sherlock. I suppose most if not all of the homeless knew him so I shouldn't have been shocked.

"Mr. Holmes!" The boy cried with a grin. He was an odd one this translucent. Normally they whisper but he talked in normal volume. On top of that, it seemed he held some human qualities. In more ways than one, he reminded me of Sherlock's case. "Oh, I thought you were the others! Bad men have been after me, sir! Very bad men."

"Would you like to clarify?" Sherlock questioned, handing a note. The boy felt it a little in his careful fingers before slipping it in his back pocket.

"Sure thing, sir! One was this man who had an aura a lot like your own and myself! I think I heard J.M. That's what my instincts are telling me. Oh, and the other was this… other sort. I couldn't tell much of him either. They were rather weird. I was hiding from them because I was afraid they would harm me."

Sherlock looked at me and I nodded. It sounded a lot like Moriarty and his lackey, Sebastian.

"Why would they be chasing you J.B.?"

The boy shuffled, hesitating. His voice wasn't nearly as loud as before when he finally grasped the courage to speak, "I may know where they are heading to next. I heard it on accident I swear, sir! But I overheard that they were going to see this man in southern London. I can't remember the address, but I think it was the Desolate Fields."

My eyes widened, "The Desolate Fields? Are you sure?" I haven't heard that sector in quite a while. Possibly because, as the name implies, not many people inhabit there. It's mostly a few strays that linger or those who want total and complete privacy. The lands consist of a handful of buildings, all ranging in status, with rubbish of other buildings surrounding it. I myself have never been there, but I have heard it is quite the bad neighborhood.

The boy looked at me for a moment, judging me in a way that resembled Sherlock's own scrutiny, before nodding. "Yes, sir. I would never lie."

"Thank you J.B." Sherlock handed a few more notes and made his way back whence we came. I didn't bother asking questions this time. I knew where we were heading.

Out of habit, I glanced behind me at J.B. and he had the most passive face. Considering how well he knew Sherlock, I didn't know if it was a poker face or an expression of satisfaction. He just watched us without blinking. I turned back, unsettled by the boy's mien.

This was only a case to find this Moriarty fellow, wasn't it? Yes. It couldn't be anything other than that.

We were on a hunt after all and Sherlock was practically the bloodhound and I the simple master to let him go.

But the countenance the boy contrived made me wish I had a tighter leash.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

It wasn't necessarily hard finding the house J.B. spoke of. Fairly easy acutally. For one, in South London Desolate Fields, or SLDF for short, there are only two houses left standing after the years of torrent and torture. One of them was clearly habited compared to the other one so Sherlock and I both approached that one.

At this point it was well past the night hour. The moon shown above us brightly as we crept.

When we got to the door, Sherlock held out his hand, stopping me. We were right and by the looks of it, Moriarty and Sebby hasn't left yet.

When our ears attempted to decipher the conversation, it was definitely...interesting to say the least.

"No Sebby! We can't simply leave him there! Or at least, if we do, we have to make him a creataive spectacle! Gosh. It's like you have never been in an art class, Sebby!"

"I haven't been, Jim."

"Psh. That's a poor excuse. Now, are we going to hide the body or will we make it worth their visit?"

"I still think hiding it is better."

"How so?"

"It gives the Yard more time before they point suspicions."

Silence followed with an "I suppose when it's like that it is correct to assume that. But nonetheless, I'm the boss, yes? I think creativity is greatly depreciated in criminal murders, therefore, we should choose that one."

"Fine… whatever you say. Let's just hurry before anybody comes in."

Sliding of fabric and a few grunts followed with a curse was all we heard after that. Backing away, I look at Sherlock and opened my mouth. Sherlock shook his head.

"No questions," he whispered. "Don't have the time."

"But why can't we go in there? I'm sure we are able to distract them at the very least," I pressured and Sherlock gave me a look.

"You were a captain, John. Tell me how many flaws your plan has just executed." I thought it over and grimaced. He was right. Too many variables. The percentage of them getting away was too large compared to us capturing them. "Oh, and not to mention your gun isn't with you."

Glaring at the detective, I patted my pockets to find it gone. I was sure I had it or grabbed it when I left the hospital. Certain of it actually. When I met Sherlock's gaze again, he was smirking. A legitimate smirk. The twat. He took it didn't he?

Of course, he would.

Reaching into his Belstaff coat pocket, he retrieved the pistol and tossed it to me. I caught it easily and scoffed at him with a shake of my head. My body betrayed me though when a grin escaped. Damn it.

"We may have to run and if there is anything I have learned from those rubbish American CSI shows, it's that they fail to shoot the runner in the leg. Take notes of that for it may become useful." Rolling my eyes at the fact that he watched American shows to begin with, I nodded in his direction.

"Good." With that he motioned me to get against the wall and to stay. After that he didn't hesitate to turn a 180 and walk right into the home of the newly deceased individual.

Crouching in front of a window, I peeked over it to keep tabs of Sherlock.

"Oh, Sherlock. Nice of you to join us! Have you finally come to join the dark side?" Moriarty greeted. Sebastian stiffened, before turning around and adjusting the fag in his mouth. A knife spun idly in between his fingers.

A humorless chuckle rang out, deep and melodic, "I am here merely out of curiosity, not to join this metaphorical and stereotypical dark side you speak of. In fact, I was wondering if you would give me some information - Particularly about me dropping the case?" Sherlock's hands slipped behind his back. Almost like he knew I would be looking at them, he signaled me to cover him.

He didn't need to tell me twice.

"I see your little pet has given the message to his master successfully," Moriarty chuckled. He leered towards Sherlock like a slinky, getting closer and closer until he was no less than a foot apart. "That's good. I hope you listen as well as your pet does."

Sherlock scoffed at the man, "If you know me so well, you know I'm not too fond following orders. Tell me to stop tailing a case and it's only going to increase the temptation. You of all professions should know this. Or have you chosen the wrong one?"

A snarky grin appeared on the criminal's face, "If we are going to play that game, I might as well bring out my own cards! I've been planning it for a while, you see, and your response was exactly the one I was looking for." Nodding at Sebastian, I noticed the lackey continuing his work on the body as Moriarty circled Sherlock with slow steps.

"You see, in this world, boredom is sadly a constant. It's not a variable. It's not a neutral. I'm using your scientific terms by the way, Sherlock, I hope you can understand. I myself succumb to this often and… I believe you do too, don't you?" Sherlock didn't respond, but I could feel the aura of curiosity and anticipation rolling off of him. "I have five objectives. Five little tasks to keep the both of us from this boredom. It's simple really."

"The catch?" Sherlock quipped and Moriarty grinned.

"The catch? Oh, that was quick! There is always a catch, Lockie. I create the objectives for one. I am the master mind behind it. Secondly, because having two of us is clearly not a good thing, it's a pity to say one of us will have to sacrifice. Simple. See? Those are easy terms?"

After speaking the rules, Moriarty backed off. Sebastian soon joined him. Getting close to the door, Sherlock scoffed.

"Are you going to leave?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Moriarty responded with a smile before flicking off the lights. Everything went black for a moment, but I could hear a distinct click of a door. "Oh, and your little pet can come out too!"

When the lights were turned back on, Sherlock was staring at the door, clearly not amused.

"Blast it all," he muttered as I walked up to him.

Rolling my eyes, I tug on his wrist towards where we entered, "Yeah yeah yeah. Tell me all about it. Come on. We really should leave before the Yard arrives or you will be the number one suspect. Anderson will be thrilled with that."

"Please. I'm sure if I was here they still wouldn't think that far ahead," Sherlock replied but followed nonetheless. It didn't take long for him to stride ahead of me. It was more so on purpose than anything.

I didn't know if it was the colored genes or just the comradery I felt towards Sherlock, but I was uneasy. I felt this game wasn't going to end well as Moriarty promised quickly. It could be for Sherlock or Jim. I had a lot of faith in Sherlock's skills, but Moriarty was neck and neck with him.

No matter what happens, I would place my own life before his own. I'm only a simple doctor after all.