Chapter 3

"I needed to solve the case quickly," Sherlock defended. He was on his knees now, crouched in front of John, who was still seated in his chair.

"You shouldn't need to smoke to do that," John pointed out rather angrily. "You're brilliant without them."

Sherlock glared, but there was no real heat to it. Not after that compliment.

The doctor sighed, propping his forearms on his knees to level himself with the man kneeling in front of him. "I'm just worried, Sherlock."

"Why would it worry you?" Sherlock asked, genuinely puzzled.

"I'm a doctor, aren't I? You're doctor to be exact," John smiled at his last comment, but quickly turned serious again. "I should know what smoking does to one's system."

"Does this mean you're going to hide my secret supply again?" Sherlock dreaded.

For a moment, John remained silent. "Will I have to?"

Sherlock's face dimmed as he went into a deep thought. "Just throw out the pack I have now and make sure no one in a 2 kilometer radius will sell me any."

A small laugh left John's lips at the rather drastic suggestion. "I can't assure that last one, but if it stops you from smoking I'll see what I can do."

Sighing with a mix of annoyance and relief, Sherlock wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist and leaned head against the man's chest. "Thank you."

"For what?" John asked softly.

"Putting up with me," he mumbled.

The doctor pet the detective's hair way from his face. "You're not that hard to put up with, Sherlock," he smiled.

The two men sat in relative comfort in their embrace, slowly going over the turn both their lives had taken and where it would lead them. Their calm silence was interrupted however by Sherlock's phone going off with a loud ring. Both of them looked over to the illuminated screen on the coffee table only a couple feet away.

"No," Sherlock groaned.

"Sherlock, it could be a case," John said as he fidgeted in his chair. The idea of a new case excited him, he always enjoyed watching Sherlock in the work field. At the same time the blogger didn't want to move away from Sherlock's embrace. "Or it could be Mycroft…" he trailed off. After a couple more rings the phone fell silent.

With a satisfactory nod, Sherlock relaxed back into John's arms. However, he perked up again when the phone let off a single ping. Instead of being annoyed, the detective looked interested. "Mycroft never calls or texts twice in a two minute time span."

"You think it might be a case then?" John asked with a small frown. Sherlock had just finished up a case, and he had gotten him to relax.

Sherlock removed himself from John and got back on his feet, taking two quick strides over to his phone and scooping it up. "Once missed call and a text, both from Lestrade," he announced.

"Well read then," John replied.

Sherlock hummed and continued to read through the message. "The body of a woman was found at a house in Wembley. There were no signs of forced entry and no severe wounds," he read out loud.

"Interested?" John asked. Honestly he found it a little boring, or what Sherlock would call 'dull'.

Grey eyes kept roving over the letters and words on the screen for a few moments longer. As he stood in thought the phone pinged again and another message popped up. "'Witnesses heard her scream, but it was silent after and they thought there was no cause for alarm.'" The blond looked up at his friend with a questioning look, not really understanding a word that was being said.

There was silence between them, then…

"COME ON, JOHN!"

The consulting detective dragged his flatmate to the door, throwing him a jacket and snatching up his own coat.

"Wait, wait! What? Where are we going?" the doctor stumbled out the door trying to obtain some sort of idea with what was going on.

"MURDER, JOHN! Sherlock grinned like a kind in a candy store. He grabbed the doctor's hand and pulled him down the stairs, onto the street and into a cab.

"I'm going to want more information, Sherlock," John stated while sitting down in the cab with his detective.

"Simply because the body has no severe wounds does not mean that there are no wounds. Of course Anderson is probably on forensics, he's stupid enough to miss anything," he rambled, a distant gaze on his face. He still hadn't released the doctor's hand.

John laughed quietly. "So where are we off to?"

"The crime scene in Wembley," Sherlock answered. He squeezed John's hand as the cab rolled through the streets.

"Obviously," he replied in the same tone Sherlock would use. He responded to the pressure with his own squeeze.

Hearing his tone, Sherlock turned in his seat to face the blond. "Did I annoy you?" he asked curiously.

Smiling, John shook his head. "You're fine."

Sherlock adjusted himself some more, shifting a fraction closer to his flatmate. "I am rather new to this…"

"Well, I'm sure you've noticed but I'm no good at these things either," John said. He thought back to the other relationships he'd had and how most of them ended because of the detective beside him, he huffed a laugh at that.

It didn't take much deducing to know what John was really referring to and Sherlock bristled. All the women John had dated before today. He promised himself that this relationship would work, he would make sure of that. Besides, he could not live without John.

"I don't think this will end the way the other ones did," John went on. "After all, most of them were because of spending too much time with you. But in this case, I don't see that being a problem." It was a rather horrible attempt to flirt.

"Because now all your time will be spent with me," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"Sounds good with me," John nodded.

There was a small grin on the detective's face, but he hid it by staring out the window. Just in time to see the crime scene roll up. "We're here!" he burst out of the vehicle with a hurried and excited gate. Leaving John to pay the cab and follow behind the detective.

In barely a couple strides Sherlock was at the police tape. "Afternoon Lestrade," he greeted the inspector, not even stopping and walking past dismissively.

The grayed haired looked up from his mobile with a wave and moved to follow the taller man.

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, looking past the inspector. "Come on, John." With that he disappeared into the door of the ground floor flat.

John nodded respectfully to Lestrade as he moved past him to follow Sherlock into the crime scene.

The crime scene was laid out perfectly for the consulting detective. He analyzed the entire room before walking the perimeter of the scene, stopping every now and then. "John could you inspect the body?" he said after some more silence, gazing at the body from a distance.

John stepped forward to do his job, snapping on some latex gloves. The victim was slouched in a chair, head lolling back. He found himself a tad uncomfortable due to the lifeless eyes staring up at him. Moving closer to the body, looking more carefully. "My first guess would be asphyxiation, but…" he gently touched around the face and neck, "there is no bruising on the neck. Her hair is wet, but her clothes aren't. Nothing else is wet." The doctor turned around to look at the others in the room. "If it was a drowning, why isn't everything drenched? There would have been a struggle and there is no consistent bruising either. However there is a small bump on the hairline, a single blow to the head, not even that serious. This is probably staged?" He meant to say it as a statement, but at the last moment he made it a question. John felt rather impressed with himself so far, but had a good feeling Sherlock would show him up. After all, that man was the best.

There was a small grin on the dark haired man's lips, it was hard to tell if it was pleasing or patronizing, especially when he began to talk. "Rather well, John. You didn't miss too many important details. You are right in guessing that this is staged. However, you missed the fact that there are wet pajamas in the hamper and also there is a slight swelling on her little finger. We must also remember the victim screamed. Putting the facts together, we get this explanation: someone drugged our victim then attempted to stage a slip in the shower. It is difficult to tell what happened first though…" his voice drifted off, falling deep into thought.

John mentally slapped himself for missing the obvious details, he was a doctor he should be able to find a wound! "Anything else?" he asked, assuming there was more.

"How long has she been dead?" Sherlock asked quickly, taking out his phone.

"Nearly nine hours," Lestrade called out.

It was difficult to tell if the detective had heard, he kept mumbling to himself. "Body's much too stiff… rigor mortis is still premature… the poison could have paralyzed her muscles…" Then he spoke up clearly, turning to leave the room. "Have the corps sent to Bart's, I need more data. I hope you told the cab to stay on the street, John."

Feeling a bit guilty, the blond shook his head. "No, I paid him then he left. I assume we'd be here a little longer."

"Hmm," Sherlock looked slightly annoyed. "Well then, we'll walk."

With the detective leading the way, they both left the crime scene behind them. As the two men made their way through the streets Sherlock continued muttering to himself under his breath. "Moved body… access to poison… paralysis…" He wasn't even paying attention to where he was going and almost walked onto the busy London street.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, trying to catch the man's attention before it was too late. He grabbed the thick wool of the Bell staff and pulled his partner back to safety.

Completely oblivious, Sherlock whirled to face John, gripping his shoulders. "Did you see any bruising around the puncture wound?"

"What? No… No! But I almost saw you get hit by a bloody car!" the shorter man barked in annoyance.

"How? How!?" Sherlock paced the ground agitatedly. "She was a rainforest zoologist… going places…" He froze mid step. "OH!"

John turned his back on the detective with the goal of calming himself, ignoring the idiot's excited exclamations behind him. "How does the world greatest detective almost get hit by a car?" he growled, turning back around. "The one person who pays attention to all detail missed that he was just about to die?" The doctor's voice grew more concerned and troubled as he went on, finishing with anger in his voice.

"What does it matter?" Sherlock looked put out. "I'm still alive and I have nearly solved a case!"

Clenching his teeth to prevent further ranting, the doctor followed. Their walk continued on towards St. Bartolomeo's Hospital in a rather stony silence that Sherlock didn't notice until they were just outside the door to the labs. The curly haired man stopped in his tracks.

"You were worried about me," he seemed shocked.

The blonde's shoulders hunched awkwardly as he stared at the middle of Sherlock's back. "Well, yes. I'm always worried about you, Sherlock."

Slowly turning back around to face John, Sherlock tried his best to look apologetic. "I am sorry," he muttered, leaning forward and gently kissing John's forehead.

Smiling, John gave Sherlock a brief hug. "It's alright," he said, locking gazes with the detective. "Maybe I just worry too much."