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“No, Watson, concentrate. Think,” Sherlock said, shaking his hands as he paced up and down the sitting room in front of his wall full of pictures and papers with his black eyeglasses on.
The natural sunlight coming through the window was too bright for him.
“I thought, Sherlock! I concentrated! My answer won’t change.” John clenched his fist, sitting on his armchair as he let Archie rest on his chest. “It was the butcher who did it. The victim had a combination of an incision and a stab wound on his lower back. Inaccessible area for anyone, and besides, that’s the last way anyone would commit suicide!”
“Who said anything about suicide?” Sherlock stomped and stopped pacing. “The third possibility is this guy,” he said, pointing at a guy with a ginger beard’s face. Sherlock breathed deeply.
“But that’s his best friend, mate!” John’s tone was desperate. Archie barked in his lap loudly and leapt out of the chair to go to the kitchen. He had never been that active before! John furrowed his brow in guilt as his eyes followed Archie.
“And?” Sherlock crossed his arms across his chest.
“And…” John trailed off and scoffed. “Friends don’t do that to each other.” He felt his voice come out softer this time. He knew how silly it sounded once he voiced that thought, but he couldn’t shake off that dread in his heart for some reason.
Deep down, John knew in his heart that the victim’s so-called best friend seemed to be the only possible suspect here, after a week or two of working on this case with Sherlock. He shifted in his chair a little.
Sherlock exhaled. “They’re not supposed to. But oftentimes, they do it anyway. Backstabbing, quite literally so, in this case.” He pointed at the photo again and placed his hands on his hips.
As much as John didn’t want to admit it, Sherlock was right, as always. The prime suspect, Lenny, even had a solid motive: money.
But, was money everything? Apparently, yes, in this guy’s case. John sighed. “Alright, what the hell. Let’s hunt him down, then, shall we?”
Sherlock smiled briefly and clasped his hands together. “But where do we start,” he thought out loud.
John sat back and began to think too. Lenny and the victim, Harry, had been friends since uni, both with a gambling addiction. Both were IT sector employees on weekdays and would spend their weekends drinking and placing bets.
This meant that John and Sherlock could find Lenny at a local pub. Except Lenny would not just be roaming about after the murder.
Through some background check Sherlock had done on him a few days ago, he and John had discovered that Lenny was actually from Sussex.
That didn’t seem to be a bad place to start…
“Sussex!” John blurted out. “We should start our search there.”
“Excellent, Watson!” Sherlock clapped his hands together. “Let’s head out tomorrow, shall we? It’s Saturday.”
“Perfect,” John replied and got up from his chair. He and Sherlock nodded and went to their rooms after that.
***
That night, John lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling for quite some time. What gnawed at him the most about this case was how financially driven the world had become.
It always was like this, perhaps.
There were some things for which people would do anything. Stoop to any level. Money was one of them.
All friendships, interpersonal connections, etc could be forgotten once money came into the picture.
John also thought about how people were only polite to you if you came from the upper middle class or above.
He let out a mirthless chuckle at the irony of the situation. John himself used to be strapped for cash when he first came back to London after the war. The time before he met Sherlock and Mariana.
John may have contemplated sinful stuff, then…
John wasn’t very rich now, but his situation was definitely manageable, given the ever-increasing popularity of their podcast nowadays.
John turned to lie on his side for a bit. He was facing his bedroom door now.
The fact of the matter was that having lived with Sherlock and solved so many cases with him, John had fallen in love. It was hard not to, he thought defensively.
Sherlock’s brilliance in every case, his sense of humour (in its own, weird way), his kindness, the way he provided justice for real, instead of mindlessly making arrests like policemen, his charm, and, yes, his looks.
Those gorgeous, big, brown eyes, the brown skin, and the dark, curled hair. The everlasting curiosity in those eyes.
Yeah, all those things were enough to make John gradually fall for his flatmate/friend.
Even today, when they intensely discussed the case in the afternoon, John had instances of trailing off and gazing at Sherlock instead.
John even wondered sometimes if his feelings were mutual, but he would shake his head and brush all that off as his imagination.
John swallowed. He was too afraid to voice his feelings in front of Sherlock.
What if it came with the price of losing the close friendship he had already formed with him?
John had learned to feel satisfied with the friendship they had together.
This case about two friends betraying each other didn’t hit close to home, per se, but it did unlock a new fear in John’s mind that he previously never had: fear of losing his only two close friends, especially Sherlock, somehow.
Through death, betrayal, or maybe if Sherlock decided John simply wasn’t good enough for him as a crime-solving companion.
Not helpful enough.
John had not asked much from the universe, just a long-lasting friendship with Sherlock and Mariana.
John had found it a bit relieving that Sherlock had looked almost as uncomfortable as himself when he’d concluded Lenny to be the murderer for the first time.
Still, though, humans really never hesitated to do anything they could over financial matters, among others, John thought.
And how was he any different from other human beings? What if desperate times brought cracks in the close friendship he had with Mariana and Sherlock?
What if Sherlock decided to move out of Baker Street and leave John one day?
John internally shouted at his brain to shut up as he closed his eyes to catch some sleep with his brow furrowed.
He wished Mariana were here in London too right now, instead of in Japan to meet with her university friend.
The next day was going to be long for both of them.
***
Sherlock grabbed John from behind by the collar of his jacket and pulled John beside him in the alley.
John bent over, rested his hands on his knees, and panted for a moment. Sherlock took a peek from the corner of the road where they were hiding.
Lenny was surprisingly fast, despite being a chronic smoker and drinker. Maybe it was being in the twenties that was going easy on him.
Sherlock and John had got to Sussex by train in the morning itself. It had taken them some time, but Lenny had not been so hard to trace in a pub in East Sussex.
Sherlock’s excellent compartmentalising skills had helped the two of them a lot even when their phones’ GPS hadn’t.
Lenny was way too quick to flee from there, though, so here they were, running around the streets of East Sussex, trying to catch their criminal the old-fashioned way.
Thankfully, the mid-morning sun was not too bright for Sherlock, or else he really would have needed his eyeglasses right now.
“Damn you for having become so famous lately that he began to run the moment he saw you!” John blurted out as he straightened up and caught his breath.
Sherlock turned to look at him sharply with his brow furrowed. “Oh, so it’s my fault, now?”
“Of course it is, you-”
Sherlock cut him off by shushing him because they could hear some footsteps becoming louder from the other side of the road.
John stepped forward to take a peek. It was Lenny. Running down the road and flailing his skinny arms.
Sherlock and John exchanged a look.
What to do now?
John frowned and looked around, trying to take a quick action.
That was when he saw a medium-sized stone lying in the alley. John also heard the footsteps becoming louder.
Before he could overthink, he picked up that stone and blindly threw it in Lenny’s direction, hoping it would at least slow down the bastard.
Soon enough, Sherlock and John heard Lenny swear and groan in pain in the middle of that road.
Sherlock and John sprinted out of the alley and went to the spot where Lenny was lying on the road.
Lenny was lying on his stomach and grunting a bit. The stone had hit him on the back, right on his trapezius muscle. “Ugh… fucking pieces of shit. Mother-”
“I would shut up at this instant if I were you, Lenny,” said Sherlock and stepped on the back of his hand to make him scream some more. “You’re under arrest, anyway. That’s what betraying your own friends does to you.”
It was silly, and maybe even a bit inappropriate, but John felt a small smile form on his face.
He couldn’t take his eyes off Sherlock, especially when he was being like this. Beautiful and authoritative, with his brown eyes shining against the mid-morning sun. It was hot.
“Under arrest?” Lenny shouted through his pain, trying to retract his hand from under Sherlock’s foot. “You gotta be kidding me. I know who you are, and I know damn well you’re not the fucking police.” He spat on Sherlock’s shoe, which made him step off Lenny’s hand.
Sherlock frowned in disgust as he looked around for a piece of cloth in his pockets to clean his shoe.
“Erm, he’s better than that, you know,” said John, taking a step forward. “A consulting detective, the only one in this world. Possibly the best one, even if there were many.” John cleared his throat and was now looking everywhere but at Sherlock, blinking a lot.
John may have said a little too much. He could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him now.
“Wouldn’t you know that, his arse-kissing sidekick?” Lenny reached for his pocket for something, and before John could react, Lenny took out a gun, cocked it, and fired it at John’s thigh.
John gasped from deep within, grabbing his left thigh as he fell. He heard Sherlock shout his name faintly from far away.
– –
“Watson! Watson, run! Don’t slow down just yet!”
That was what John heard his Major yell as he frantically ran across the battlefield but got struck by a bullet in his right leg, anyway.
– –
That day from his army life was all John could think of as he lay in the middle of the road, taking in shallow breaths. He could feel his trousers soaking in blood.
Soon enough, the world blurred and faded to black.
***
John opened his eyes and winced at the bright lights shining directly into his eyes for a second.
He grabbed a fistful of linen sheet draped on him. John then realised he was in a hospital ward close to an OR somewhere.
John exhaled in pain and felt a line of sweat form on his forehead as the effects of general anaesthesia were gradually wearing off.
“John!” Sherlock exclaimed and walked briskly over to his bedside. He leaned in, and now his face was quite close to John’s. He looked wonderfully worn out.
Truly a sight for sore eyes.
John smiled despite the burning pain in his left thigh. It was as though he had been run over by a truck, and the same truck had also cruelly pierced through his skin.
John grunted as he tried to get up, but he was tied down on the bed by his pain and the ECG wires that were holding him in his place.
“You can’t possibly be smiling,” Sherlock said in a voice just above a whisper. He placed a hand on John’s shoulder.
“I can’t control my face,” said John, still smiling.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes which looked a lot redder now. “Actually, you can. Facial muscles are voluntary, remember?”
John just shook his head. He didn’t even have the energy to move his leg, much less debate about something like this with Sherlock. “What happened to Lenny?” John asked in a small, raspy voice. “Tell me you had him arrested.”
His one line seemed to flip a switch in Sherlock. Sherlock’s brown eyes darkened, and he clenched his hand in a fist by his side. “Not before I demonstrated some of my Bartitsu moves on him first.”
John furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why?”
Sherlock let out a deep breath. “He was being too difficult when you passed out. Tried to get up to run away once again! What was I to do then?”
John eyed him dubiously, wincing because of his leg once again. “You beat the absolute shit out of him because he was trying to escape? Because I really don’t think he could’ve gone too far – the stone had hit him hard.”
Sherlock bit his lip and looked down at John’s bed for a moment. He looked John in the eye again. “Yeah, well… nobody who brings you even an inch of harm can ever get away with it. Not on my watch,” he said in a small but intensely deep voice. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly.
John’s eyebrows must have gone up to his hairline as he parted his lips. “Really?”
Sherlock nodded, opening his eyes again. “I even told him that. Then I called the local police to get him because I knew an inspector around here.”
“Let me guess, we ended up here in this OR afterwards?” John asked, trying to piece everything together even through his foggy brain.
“Brilliant deduction!” Sherlock’s sarcasm was thick in his tone.
John chuckled, and his laugh turned into a groan. “Shut up!”
John licked his chapped lips and tried to swallow even through his dry throat. “Does Mariana know about, well… this?”
Sherlock nodded. “I texted her everything. She’s cut her trip short. She said that she’ll be back here by tomorrow.”
Sherlock gazed at John for a few seconds and sighed. “Good that he shot you in the leg. Because if he had actually shot to kill you, then there would’ve been two murders on that street instead of just one.”
John opened his mouth to form a reply but closed it again. His mind went blank for a moment. John even looked Sherlock in the eye closely to check if he was joking or something. He wasn’t.
The fact that Sherlock looked so serious about actually murdering someone for John… John shivered at the intensity of Sherlock’s gaze and tone with the way he said it.
“Didn’t mean to break you -”
“Do you mean it?” asked John, cutting him off, “what you just said?” John swallowed in anticipation. He needed to know.
Sherlock knitted his brow with confusion. “What? Of course, I meant it!” He was whispering too, and he leaned in so close, that their noses were almost touching.
So, Sherlock was willing to kill for John if needed, and he looked and sounded like he meant it.
There, it was out in the open.
The realisation hit John like beautiful sun rays on a cruel winter morning.
If that wasn’t the most obvious expression of Sherlock’s love for John, what was?
And if that realisation came to John at the cost of his other leg getting shot too, then it was worth a wound.
John gave Sherlock a knowing smile. Sherlock was looking at him curiously now.
John tilted his head and tried to lean impossibly close to Sherlock.
Sherlock caught on, and his jaw dropped a bit. He nodded and closed the distance between the two of them.
Sherlock’s lips felt soft and firm against John’s. They felt just right, and the kiss made sense after everything they had been through for a whole year of being together as flatmates by now. It brought meaning to everything.
Sherlock placed a hand on John’s face as he deepened the kiss. The ECG was making loud and frequent sounds now, which had nothing to do with the major surgery John had just been through.
John wanted to do the same – touch Sherlock somehow, but he was tied to the bed in more ways than one.
A sudden jolt of pain arose in John’s left leg, making him break off the kiss and groan.
Sherlock visibly swallowed and ran his hand through John’s hair for a while. “You’ll be alright. Don’t worry. Should I call the consultant around here?” Sherlock looked around himself in the ward. “Aren’t they supposed to check on you when you come back to consciousness?” His tone became impatient.
John’s pain subsided in a few seconds, so he let out a sigh of relief. He could see a surgeon walking around the ward, talking to several patients, one at a time.
John chuckled, and his heart filled up to the brim with affection for Sherlock and his concern for him.
“He must be on his way,” said John, meaning the surgeon.
Sherlock turned around to have a look, and he nodded when he spotted the surgeon himself. He looked around at John again. “D’you feel better now?”
“Yeah, for now. I think this will come and go for a while.” John grunted again because of another jolt of sharp pain. He took a couple of deep breaths and looked up at Sherlock. “Told you.”
Sherlock’s eyes were red and brimming with tears as he watched John, looking helpless. He blinked furiously, but his eyebrows were still furrowed.
John held up a hand that wasn’t hooked up to the IV stand. Sherlock took it in his own immediately and squeezed it.
“Real cockblocker, this. My condition,” said John and let out a tired laugh. “Arsehole got my other leg too. Can’t say I missed being shot ever since I got out of the army.” John shrugged.
Sherlock slammed the bed railings, making John flinch instinctively. “I know where he is right now. Just say the word, and I’ll -”
“Shh.” John squeezed his hand. “Him being arrested is going to be enough for now.” He swallowed.
“On multiple charges,” said Sherlock and nodded. “Murder, possession of an illegal weapon, and others. I spent my time explaining the whole case to the police as I waited by your side.”
John smiled at him gratefully.
Sherlock pressed another kiss on John’s mouth. “Are you sure, though? In what world was it fair for him to do that to you?”
“It - it wasn’t fair. I never said that. But yes, what he’s facing right now is going to have to be enough,” said John, gazing deeply into Sherlock’s beautiful eyes.
Sherlock blinked again a few times and nodded.
“Since when, though?” asked John, freeing his hand from Sherlock’s grip to gesture between the two of them.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow for a second, but then he seemed to get what John was asking. “Oh, that. For a while now. Don’t remember the exact moment. You?” Sherlock bent over to kiss John on his forehead.
John smiled as he melted beneath his touch. “Within the first two months of knowing you, I think.”
Sherlock smiled brightly for the first time since morning. The kind of smile that reached his eyes too.
But then he frowned immediately, staring into the distance. “It scared me to death when you passed out. Your leg was oozing blood everywhere…” he trailed off as his voice broke.
It oozed love, John corrected him internally. My love for you.
John leaned forward, trying to kiss him again. Sherlock was going to close the distance, but they had to stop themselves right there because the surgeon was approaching John’s bed now.
John was ready to face whatever life had in store for him, now that he had Sherlock by his side, hopefully forever.