When He Wakes Part 2

Twenty three minutes later and they're pulling up to an elegant hotel turned crime scene.

Lestrade meets them in the lobby and takes then up to the room and the victim; explaining the details on the way.

"This is his fourth victim in the past month and a half. We can't discern any connection between the victims. The first was an auto mechanic on the other side of town. The second a school teacher. The third was a woman who owned a bookshop and now this one. He was a thirty eight year old accountant. Staying here with his wife for the weekend; courtesy his parents. It was his birthday gift apparently.
We don't know anything about the killer. Strangles his victims. But no prints; no traces. Nothing. The only possible lead we have is from the wife who says she noticed a tall blond man on their floor earlier today that she hadn't noticed before. He could just be another guest though."

Sherlock quickly approaches the corpse not even bothering with a glance at Donovan when she sneers "Morning freak."
He drops to his knees quickly beginning his examination.
John moves to stand behind him and watch him work. After a few moments Sherlock lets out a growl of frustration. "Nothing relevant!" he snaps glaring at the corpse as though it's his fault there is no helpful information to be gained from his death.
"What do you mean nothing relevant?" Lestrade asks; growing concerned. Sherlock always finds something. "Well if I was trying to determine the bakery where his mistress buys breakfast from or deduce his favorite television show then we'd be in luck. However we aren't looking for any information about the victim and the killer hasn't left anything!" He rescans the corpse with an irritated glare.

"John do an examination."
he huffs after a moment. "What?" John asks disbelievingly. "You just said there's nothing relevant" "I want you to determine cause of death." "They already have cause of death. Lestrade just said - they were strangled." "Well confirm it." Sherlock snaps irritably. "Sherloc-" his protest is cut off in mid-sentence by Sherlock grabbing his belt buckle and yanking him down. He fumbles, falling forward onto his knees.
"Sherlock!" he scolds angrily as Lestrade makes an odd sort of sputtering sound at Sherlock's unorthodox action. "The cause of death John." he insists before standing to sweep the hotel room.
There's got to be something here!


John mutters expletives under his breath; but does as he is told.

He finds that Sherlock; as usual is right. "They weren't strangled."
"What?" Lestrade gawks "They have bruising on the neck; but it's superficial." John explains. " Not enough to be the cause of death." Sherlock doesn't bother trying to hide his triumphant smirk.

"Really this is a new level of incompetence for the Yard. Congratulations Lestrade. Your agents can't even determine a cause of death. Thank god London rests in your capable hands." He says with a derisory smile.
Then turning to John he says "Well what do you think then?" John's gaze travels thoughtfully over the body and after a moment he answers "Got to be poison. You'll have to get blood work done to determine what sort." Lestrade just nods. "Right. We'll get on it then." "Good. John and I will stop by the Yard and get the case files. I need to look over them." "Course. I'll text and let them know you're coming by." in response Sherlock sweeps out of the hotel room calling "Come along John." as he goes.
As John scrambles quickly to his feet he catches Lestrade giving him an odd sort of look. John hurries after Sherlock; not wanting to decipher its meaning.

The next week is miserable for John. The case files were "moronically useless" according to Sherlock. They didn't have enough information about the crime scenes to suit him so they went to investigate on their own. Of course.

This meant three late nights spent scouring a car garage; a walking park and the storage room of a bookstore. London decided that they should have as difficult of a time as possible catching this particular criminal; blasting them with rain and cold all week long.

Sherlock was becoming increasingly sour; screeching on the violin constantly or snapping at John for everything from eating to breathing. It was a nightmare.

This killer was good. He left no evidence at all; made no mistakes. And they still couldn't find any sort of connection between the victims. John had taken two extra shifts at the clinic that week just so he had a sound excuse to be away from the flat for a while. Away from Sherlock for awhile.

And of course nothing was mentioned about their little snuggle session on the first day of the case. It's just his luck isn't it? A chance to tell Sherlock how he feels and a murderer just has to ruin it. But then killers have never really been the romantic sort have they? He actually chuckles a bit as this thought occurs to him because it's rather macabre but strangely amusing. A bit like his life now.

That night when he gets in he has his heart set on a nice cup of tea and relaxing book. They'd been swamped at the clinic all day and he was already weary and worn from the case. That meddling "divine being" is back again though.

Just as he's shrugging of his damp coat Sherlock come tearing out of his room.

"Ah John you're home. Excellent! Another victim. Just got the address. Let's go!" he says snatching his own coat off the hook and scrambling into it as he rushes past John.
John doesn't bother to protest just shrugs back into his coat and dashes out behind him. It's horrible and he knows it; but he's actually pleased that there's another victim. Another victim means another chance for the killer to slip up.
To give them something. To end this hellish week.

When he reaches the street Sherlock is already climbing into a cab shouting "Hurry John!" John hurries; scrambling into the cab as Sherlock reels the address to the cabbie.

Thirty two minutes later and they're pulling up to a small café surrounded by yellow tape and flashing lights. Is it a bad thing that John feels so at home around the sirens and police?

Sherlock bolts from the cab leaving John to pay as usual. John does so quickly and scrambles after Sherlock. They duck under the police tape; Sherlock tossing a sardonic smile at Anderson as they pass him. They cross the central dining area of the comfortable airy café and enter the kitchen were the body is.
Lestrade and a handful of other agents are there waiting on them. Sherlock ignores the lot of them saying "John check the body." before launching straight into his own examination of the surrounding area.John doesn't bother to argue though he doubts he will find anything. If the killer has made a mistake Sherlock will probably be the only one who can spot it.

Or not.

"He was in the military." Sherlock whirls about in confusion. "No he wasn't. His grandfather died in combat. He has an aversion to conflict -" John cuts him off.
"Not the victim Sherlock. The killer."
Sherlock crosses the room and is on the floor next to him in an instant.
"How do you know?" he demands. John lifts the victim's palm and shows him.
There is a faint but definitive outline in the shape of a dog tag with faint numbers and letters. "He must have grabbed it during the struggle. Left an impression."
Sherlock's eyes widen comically as he process the fact that John has just solved the case. "Its - he - military. How?" He stands quickly turning to Lestrade who looks so happy John expects him to hug someone. "Paper. Pen. Now!" Sherlock demands.

Fumblingly Lestrade supplies Sherlock with the items and he drops back to his knees quickly deciphering the imprints and writing out the information.
He stands then and John quickly follows. He reads off the information aloud; adding a few of his own deductions in the midst. Basically case closed. Now they just have to catch him.

Lestrade smiles triumphantly "Brilliant!" and surprisingly Sherlock joins in the revelry giving a relieved and elated laugh.
Turning to a shocked but pleased John he exclaims "You're magnificent!" before tossing the paper at Lestrade saying "We'll meet you at the address." and sweeping away.
John's on his heels as they dash to hail a cab; adrenalin from his discovery coursing through him.

Two hours, a short foot-chase and rough fist-fight later they have the killer in custody.

"Another one down." John comments happily to Sherlock as they stand surveying the scene. "Yes. You deserve credit for this though John. You were amazing." John laughs off the praise but Sherlock persists "No really. This is why we're friends." Then gives him an unusually warm smile; before walking away to finish up with Lestrade.

Donovan approaches John; having overheard their conversation."Don't let it get to you." she says giving John a strange sort of smile.
"Sorry what?" "He doesn't mean it. All that about you being friends and such. That's not how he works." She says with a bizarre combination of pity and a sneer.

John feels a wave of anger washing over him. "Really?" He asks; his voice eerily calm. Donovan misses the fact that it was a rhetorical question; a warning and continues.
"Yeah. It's manipulation. Makes you think you're worth something. Makes you think he actually cares so that you'll do what he wants. But he doesn't care. About anyone.
I've warned you once John and I'll warn you again. You need to get away from him and stay away. He enjoys this stuff. He's just a twisted freak."
she finishes; waiting for John's reaction.
Big mistake.

John is usually a rather mild-mannered person. Despite the war or perhaps because of it he has an amazing supply of patience. There is almost nothing you can say to insult him because the words just roll over him. His friends are another matter entirely.

While he can take almost any offense against his person if you utter a single word against those he counts as his friends you've just done yourself in. Insult his friend and you're asking for trouble. Insult someone he loves and you must be damn near suicidal.

Years of military discipline taught him to keep his emotions in check but no amount of training could prevent the tidal-wave of fury that washed over him at Donovan's words.

He couldn't stem the flow of the vengeful words if he wanted to. Which he really didn't.

"Sherlock does this for free. Solves your crimes for no pay. When he's on a case he doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, doesn't rest, doesn't stop until the killer is behind bars or on rare occasions, six feet under."
John's glare is cold and sharp enough to accomplish the latter task.
"You spend you're time degrading him for being different. Yeah it's true he enjoys this stuff. But you know what? Catching murders doesn't seem like a bad past-time to me.
You're recreational activities however seem to be limited to sleeping with another woman's husband. And you're telling me there's something with Sherlock?"

Donovan takes several steps back as though she's been dealt a physical blow.
Indeed it feels as though she has when every word stings as it washed over her; seeming as though the tone and delivery where carefully calculated for maximum impact.
The harsh dialogue rolls from John's tongue with a disturbing ease.

Lestrade; who arrived in the midst of the conversation with Sherlock behind him gapes openly at John.
They all stare for a few heartbeats in a shocked silence before Donovan recovers herself and begin to retort angrily "You bastar-" "Sally go help Agent Richards." Lestrade quickly cuts in. "But he -" "Now Agent Donovan." he insists.
Throwing a sharp glare at John she spins furiously on her heel and stalks off.
Lestrade look uncertainly between John and Sherlock for a moment before saying
"Right. Well why don't you boys go home?" It's clear he wants to ask what prompted John's impassioned dialogue but he refrains.
Still reeling from his anger John sweeps away as soon as he hears Lestrade's permission.

And for the first time in the history of their acquaintance John is the one whirling from the crime scene leaving a very confused Sherlock standing blankly in his wake.
It only takes a moment for Sherlock to recover himself though and he easily covers the distance between himself and John; arriving at his side just as a cab is pulling up to let them in.
"John! That - you were - I mean what you said was -" John cuts him of sympathetic to his difficulty expressing emotions. "It's fine Sherlock. I know" "No." Sherlock insists because John doesn't know. "No one's has ever - I - you're" "It's no big deal Sherlock." John insists with a smile as he goes to climb in the cab.

But Sherlock grabs his arm; holding him there. He needs to make John understand.

Why is it that when he needs it most his eloquent vocabulary abandons him? But even the most verbose of paragraphs couldn't express the sensations and emotion assaulting him right now. So he settles for a simple four word sentence.
"It is to me." he insists quietly catching and holding John's gaze willing him to understand. John does and nods slowly still holding his gaze.
They're having a strange sort of wordless conversation with each trying to read, to understand exactly what they're seeing reflected in the other's eyes.
Neither are quite sure what is being said or what it means but they're simultaneously aware that the other seems to be tilting forward.

Is it his imagination or is John leaning in a bit?

Is it just wishful thinking that Sherlock seems to be tilting his head slightly?

"Are you two actually planning on going anywhere?" The forgotten cabbie snaps from his window.
Sherlock quickly steps away feeling as though he was just doused with cold water. John doesn't meet his eyes and scrambles quickly into the cab.
Sherlock climbs in as well his mind struggling to process exactly what just occurred.
Or almost occurred.

Emotions. Gratitude. Protectiveness. Loyalty. Affection? Love? Leaning in?

Lip-licking. What was John's intent? What was mine? Kiss? Misunderstanding?

Sherlock thoughts chased each other in endless circles of questions as the cab drives on.


A voice breaks him from his fervent musings though. "Aren't you tired?" he glances at John to see that's he watching him with an odd look. Tired? Where did that come from?

Seeing his confusion John clarifies "You haven't slept in four days and it was a rough chase. Thought you might be tired."

Sherlock catalogues this -

Concern. Endearing. Platonic? Why should I be concerned with sleep now?

Why is John concerned with my sleep now?

"Right. I'll sleep when we get home." he offers hoping that will satisfy John's concern for him. "Oh. Home Right." John responds and Sherlock catches a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Why should he be disappointed? I will sleep. At home.

Wait - home. That's the part that bothered John. Why should that bother him?

That's where I always sleep. No. Wrong.

Sleeping in cabs more frequently. Not sleeping. Pretense.

On couch though. Sleeping next to John. Waking up with John.

Close contact. Cabs. Pretense. Cuddle. Kiss.

Oh.

And suddenly it all clicks together like lead against flint lighting a spark.

Exasperated with his own idiocy he growls in frustration. It's so obvious.
How could he have missed it? Why hadn't he acted on it?
"To hell with pretense!" he snaps for his sake more than John's since John's has no idea what he means by it. He slides across the cab to John's side and possessively wraps his arms around him; dropping his head against him with a resolute huff.

"Uh-Sherlock?" "Yes John?" "What are you doing?" "I believe it's commonly referred to as cuddling. Also know as snuggling -" "I know. I mean - um - why?" "Because I want to. It's a common way to show affection isn't it?" "Show affection?" "Yes John." "And you're showing me affection because?" "Oh come on John. Even you aren't that slow. It's obvious I care for you and it's obvious you care for me." "Care for - Wait. So you're saying -" "That I want us to cuddle. Like a proper couple. I want to be a proper couple. Boyfriends. Or whatever label you prefer" Sherlock finishes for him.

And Johns actually laughs. From relief mainly.
"What?" Sherlock demands at his amusement.
"Nothing it's just - God I'm an idiot." "Not that I'm disagreeing but what prompted that statement?"  "I've been worrying over all this; my attraction to you, the cuddling in cabs and then waking up together that morning. Just running myself ragged worrying over every possible outcome. And wondering if I should tell you; what I would say. What you would say. And here we are. Cuddling and talking about being in a couple like it's a common average thing. Like brewing a cup of tea."

"Relationships are common John. And so is tea." Sherlock reminds him. "Yeah. I suppose. Unless you have to brew it while dodging body parts." John chuckles.
Sherlock smiles at the analogy saying "I suppose that's how our relationship will be. Common like brewing tea but dodging a few body parts and experiments along the way."
John grins. "Careful Sherlock. That was bordering sentimental." Sherlock can't help the wicked grin that overtakes his face when he quips "Body parts and experiments are sentimental? I was making an offer."

It takes John a few moments to process and understand Sherlock's veiled innuendo.
"Oh" is all he can say in the end.
Not because that was the end of his sentence though.
It's just his mouth suddenly becomes rather occupied. In both meanings of the word.