John awoke the next morning, in his room, with a splitting headache. He over did it last night. He rolled over so that his back was to his window. It was too bright outside for his liking. His eyes landed on his bedside table. There was a glass of water and two pain pills. Who put those there?
John tried to recall the events of last night after leaving the pub, but he was drawing a blank. He didn't even remember coming home last night. How the hell did he manage to make it up all those stairs? Perhaps Sherlock helped him? It seemed likely. If John was that drunk, Sherlock would have had to help John. Otherwise, he would probably be at the bottom of the stairs and not in his room.
Taking the pills and finishing the glass of water too quickly, John decided to get up. He needed more water, and a shower wouldn't hurt either. He slowly sat up getting used to the feeling of holding his head straight, then got out of bed.
After grabbing a change of clothes John made his way downstairs. Entering the flat through the sitting room door. He felt slightly disappointed when he found the room empty. He wasn't sure why, but he quickly shook off the feeling and entered the kitchen. John had to drink three glasses of water before he felt his thirst satisfied. Getting drunk was a bad idea.
As John entered the bathroom, he heard Sherlock's door open. He thought about stepping out of the bathroom and speaking to Sherlock but decided against it. Shower first, then he would speak to Sherlock.
Sherlock heard John enter the bathroom. Taking the opportunity to leave his room while John was busy. He had informed his brother what had happened-not all of it obviously-and was unsure if John would remember any of it. He was drunk and under a trance, but Mycroft believed that if it was Victor he would have made sure John would not remember. But what if he had? What would John's reaction be? Knowing that he kissed Sherlock and Sherlock didn't stop him. If anything, Sherlock took advantage of him. John was already mad at him; this could push him over the edge. This could make John want to leave.
Sherlock was clearly thinking a lot longer than he realized. He was in the sitting room lying on the sofa as John walked in. The sound of his blood grabbed Sherlock's attention. It was no longer sluggish or muffled. It sounded like it was gasping. He was nervous. Freshly showered, clothed, but nervous. He awkwardly stared at Sherlock unsure what to do with himself. He remembers Sherlock thought feeling horrified, but he didn't dare let it show. He just continued to stare at John.
"Morning Sherlock," John finally said. He actually started the conversation first. This was a great improvement after a week of almost complete silence from the man, "Thanks for the pills, I guess I over did it last night. Um did anything ...did anything happen? I don't even remember coming home," John admitted sheepishly.
Sherlock felt himself relax. John didn't remember, great. But he felt slightly disappointed. No, he needed to stop with those silly thoughts and feelings. John and Sherlock were friends, nothing more. And that was fine. It was all fine.
"I heard you stumbling in, around two in the morning. I found you sitting on the landing laughing that you couldn't walk. I helped you to your room and put you in your bed. That was it. Nothing else happened," Sherlock explained, adjusting the time to accommodate John's encounter with Victor. John visibly relaxed and his blood was no longer gasping. It was singing again. Sherlock may never get over how beautiful it sounded.
Then John's eyebrows came together in confusion. His eyes moving back and forth as if trying to remember something. He took a few steps into the sitting room and sat on the arm of his chair. He was really struggling to think.
"If you think any harder your brain will shut down," Sherlock teased, and he closed his eyes.
"You said I came in around two?" John said slowly.
"John, I do hate to repeat myself." Sherlock grumbled.
"Right, right. It's just, I left the pub at one and it's only a few blocks. Why would it take me over an hour to get home?"
Sherlock tensed. John was with Victor for two hours? There is no way that message took that long for Victor to give to John. What else did he do to the doctor? He tried not to think too much about it. It would have been better if he hadn't mentioned the time to John. Sighing inwardly, he continued to keep up the lie.
"I don't know John. We did not discuss your evening's drunken adventure. I was just trying to get you to stop giggling like a schoolboy before you awoke Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock tried to sound annoyed. To keep the act up. Lying to John about this was proving to be difficult.
"Yeah, okay then. So new case then?" John asked, pointing to the file on the table.
"Yes, courtesy of Mycroft," Sherlock said, sounding bored.
"And you're taking it? A case from Mycroft? Must be interesting," John said as he reached for the file.
Before he could grab it, Sherlock's hand snapped out and grabbed John's wrist. John looked at Sherlock and saw the look of warning. He was so surprised by Sherlock's actions that he didn't even notice how cold Sherlock was. Why didn't Sherlock want him to see the file? Did Sherlock not want my help with the case? John felt a stab of hurt when he thought this. Was Sherlock upset about what John said last night? Didn't he realize that he didn't mean it? He was just angry.
"Before you look," Sherlock said as he released John's wrist, "There is something I need to tell you," Sherlock stood so he could pace the room. He had never intended to tell John about Victor, but now he had to.
"Oh okay, what is it?" John relaxed slightly. Sherlock still wanted his help. Thank God.
"When I was in university, I had a… friend," He started. Talking about Victor brought up things long forgotten. Most he wished he could delete but was unable to.
"You…you had a friend, like an actual friend? Like me?" John raised an eyebrow as he watched Sherlock pace the room.
"No, no not like you," Sherlock said quickly spitting out the word no like it tasted bad, "He was a monster, a complete and utter…" Sherlock stopped. He needed to calm down before he did something stupid. With a deep breath he continued, "To put it bluntly we used each other. I used him to get drugs, and he used me for my intelligence and…other things. At the time I didn't care. I was getting what I needed from him, and I didn't realize that he was…he was trying to control me. He would make me do things I didn't necessarily want to do. He would physically punish me if I didn't do what he wanted. It got to the point where he refused to give me drugs and not wanting to go through withdrawals. I did what he wanted.
"Mycroft eventually found out and removed me from the school and from Victor. I was put into rehab and tried to delete most of what happened with Victor. He disappeared according to Mycroft, but it seems he is making his appearance again. This time with a threat," Sherlock finished, standing in front of the window just staring into space as he recalled what happened.
John was silent for a while. Sherlock could hear his heart rate go up slightly and his mind was racing. Sherlock couldn't hear everything John was thinking but there was at least one thought he heard. No wonder I surprised him so much. He was never really shown what friendship was.
Finally, John stood and made his way to Sherlock and placed his hand on the man's shoulder. Wanting Sherlock to look at him. So, he could determine how to go about this conversation. Sherlock slowly turned to face John.
As expected, his face was a blank expression. So, this really bothered Sherlock. He was trying to hide his pain, but John could see it in the man's eyes. Unconsciously, John slowly rubbed small circles on Sherlock's shoulder blade. It was a sign of comfort and understanding but Sherlock couldn't help but feel it meant something more.
"You know you don't have to keep everything bottled up. One day you will explode, and it won't be pretty," John teased lightly. He was trying to remove the pain from Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock quickly blinked and walked away from John to the other side of the room. He couldn't be near the man without wanting to hold him and kiss the man. Like they did last night.
"It was a long time ago, John. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that Victor is back and is killing people." Sherlock stated, jumping right back into the work. He needed to focus on the work. Not his childish feelings for John.
"Right, so the case is about Victor then. Is that why you're taking it?" John asked. A note of disappointment was in his voice. He didn't like the idea of Sherlock encountering this man again.
"No, I'm taking it because…well here look at the file," Sherlock grumbled and tossed John the file.
John caught it with ease and took it over to the kitchen table so he could lay out the pictures and reports. Looking at the first picture carefully, he tried to take in everything like Sherlock would. The victim was a blonde in his mid-thirties, he was in scrubs and probably was on his way home when he was attacked. His throat looked like it had been attacked by a dog. His throat was in shreds as if claws ripped the man up.
John read the report next but most of it was redacted. John was becoming confused. Mycroft didn't provide Sherlock and John with redacted reports before. What was different about this case was that multiple lines needed to be concealed? It would make more sense if Victor was someone that worked for the government or was in the military at one point it would explain the redactions. But John found that unlikely. If what Sherlock said about him was anything to go by. A man like that would not do well in a government job or in the military.
John looked at the next picture. John was taken aback. The man was also a blonde and in his mid-thirties, but this one was in an army uniform. The same wound on his neck and this time the man's eyes were open. They were blue…the same shade as John's. He read the report. Or what he could, it was also redacted. Why the hell is this report redacted too? Becoming alarmed, John quickly looked at the third victim. Same thing. All the victims looked like John.
"Couple of things," John finally said. His voice was steady, but his left hand was twitching. He wasn't looking up at Sherlock, not yet anyway, "When did you find out about this?" He asked a little tense.
"This morning," Sherlock lied. He wasn't about to tell John he found out last night and let him be out when someone was clearly targeting him. If Sherlock was being honest, he used John for bait, and it worked. Victor made contact with John and had him send Sherlock a message.
"Right, ignoring the fact that these men look like me. How can you be sure it was Victor? From the amount of damage inflicted on these men it looks as though a large dog, or a wolf attacked them. There are teeth marks for Christ's sake. Is this man a cannibal? And why are all the reports redacted? This isn't a government or military matter, is it?" John finally looked up. His face expressed that he believed Sherlock was hiding something. Oh, how John always surprised him. Always able to ask the right questions. It is unfortunate that he must lie to the man.
"All Mycroft said was that he had been looking for Victor for some time now. He wasn't even going to tell me until this happened. They feel that you are in danger because of me. So, we need to find him before anything happens, obviously." Sherlock said casually as he picked up one of the photos.
"You didn't bother to pester your brother about it?" John couldn't believe that Sherlock of all people would not bark at his brother about withholding information about a case. He would need every detail.
"I was waiting for you," Sherlock shrugged, "Come along John. Mycroft has sent a car for us," He gave John a quick closed mouth smile before dropping the photo and heading out the door. John left standing there watching the man's coat tails disappear. Oh, he is hiding something, John thought as he collected the reports and photos to put back in the file.