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A Bit Not Good	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2924 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: We do not own or make any profit on BBC's Sherlock or any of their characters. It's all for fun.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Sherlock knocked on the door, and opened it when he heard Lestrade’s quiet acquiesce to come in. His hands were shoved in his pocket as he came in, and he held the door for John with his toe. Sally Donovan was on the other side of the bed, and her brow was quirked as the two walked in.
“Nice look freak.” she said with a sneer, but it lacked her normal venom. The detective figured his confrontation with her a few days before had actually done some good.
“Joan.” Lestrade took her hand gently and pointed to the two coming through the door, “This is Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson, they have some questions for you.” She nodded and Lestrade placed a hand on Sherlock’s arm, bringing him closer and laying the girl’s slender hand in his. To the side of her bed, he could see a pair of crutches. Cerebral Palsy? he wondered.
“Be nice.” The Detective Inspector hissed in his ear just before allowing him to sit. The younger man threw him a glare before taking his seat and covered the small pale hand with his own equally pale large ones.
“Ms. Wilson,” he started, “What do you remember of your attacker?”
“He was tall, an older gentleman, he had a kind face though.” her voice was small and frightened. She choked down half a sob, wiping her eyes with the hand not strapped into an IV before continuing. “He told me to give you a message...” Everyone in the room seemed to collectively draw a breath.
“Go on.” he said, his eyes narrowing, but his fingers squeezing hers supportively.
“He told me to give you the message, “I gave you their number, I thought you might call...’ Do you know what that means sir? Do you know why he did this to Sh-Sherly and I?” Tears welled in her eyes as she forced out the name of her deceased lover. Sherlock didn’t answer, he looked at her deeply, his eyes flickering over her, trying to find the context.
"Sherlock?" John stepped closer, almost directly behind him, so his words were obviously only meant for the taller man before whispering, "The pool." His body tensed as he thought back to when he'd heard those words spoken before. A sort of innate fear crept into his mind and John had to remind himself that Mycroft had assured them Moriarty was dead. This had to be a copycat, but the thought didn’t quell his fears. Clearly this psychopath was just as volatile as his predecessor.
"How?" His voice was terse. The one word spoke all of Johns questions. Questions he prayed Sherlock had already worked out the answer to.
"Yes." Was all he said as his mind flashed through all possibilities. Vaguely he registered that the girl had asked him a question and answered without really paying attention.
"I'm afraid that you just share our initials and bear a small resemblance to us..." He looked up as if he had just realized what he said. He could imagine what it would have been like if he were in her position, and John had already been there once. "I'm sorry. I promise you I will catch this man, and I will make him pay, but I need you to help me.." His face was intense, but he squeezed her hands again reassuringly.
Fresh tears were streaming down her face, he could tell she wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn't. He wondered if she could see the hurt Moriarty had caused him too?
"Now did he say anything else?" She nodded, wiping away her tears with her free hand, "Good, what did he say?"
"He said that the flirting was over, Daddy's had enough... He said your heart would be bleeding soon enough."
"Bleeding... Lestrade do you have the crime scene photos?"
"Yeah.." Lestrade seemed a bit taken aback, having been caught up in the scene, "back at the precinct..."
"Joan, you've been amazing help." Sherlock leaned forward and kissed her tear stained cheek, "I'll come back to see you soon..." Standing, he shared a pointed look with the doctor and left the room.
John stepped forward, placing a tentative hand over Joan’s. “I am truly sorry for all of this. We won’t let it happen to anyone else I promise.” He found himself fighting off the tears threatening to spill out, and couldn’t help but feel responsible for the poor woman’s fate. Licking his lips he pulled his hand away, stuffing them both deep into the pockets of trousers.
He looked back at Lestrade to give him a curt nod and say, “We’ll meet you back at the precinct.” Before turning and following after Sherlock.
It didn’t take him too long to catch up with the detectives long strides. Grabbing the thin wrist he pulled, forcing Sherlock to stop and face him. John was genuinely frightened now, who ever this was, Moriarty or not, they were a threat.
“Sherlock... Sherlock! Talk to me. What the hell is going on here? What’s in the crime scene photo’s?” John’s jaw was set defiantly, he was not letting Sherlock take off on this one. Not with what he had just heard.
Sherlock carded his hand through curls that were no longer there, and tried to avoid John’s gaze. He dropped his arms finally, when he realized John was not going to let him by without an explanation.
“I’m not sure what’s in those photos John, that’s why I want to look at them. But I think he left a clue about the next victim somewhere in the crime scene. His original words were, ‘I gave you my number, I thought you might call.’ why change it? Why say their? He could be referring to the next victims or something else entirely, but I want to see those photos and check over everything.” He started to pace back and forth, his hands jammed down in his pockets, “Also, his original words to me were that he was going to burn the heart out of me. He never said anything about blood. Why would he now?”
When he finally stopped and looked back up at the doctor, his eyes were cold and hard. “One thing I do know for sure John, this is no copycat. I think you and I at least need to start accepting that Rich Brooke, the man that died on the roof that day, was not in fact the real Moriarty.” He reached out and touched John’s shoulder, needing the moment of reassurance to ground himself, “I’m afraid my three years away may have been for naught. It makes me wonder how many of them I actually caught and how many were ordered to let themselves be. It makes me feel ill...”he sighed.
“Can we go get the photos now?”
Still bursting with questions John nodded and began started off down the hall, feeling a little sick himself. They were almost outside by the time he had organized his thoughts enough to begin interrogating Sherlock for more information.
“Okay. How do we know she didn’t just get his words mixed up? And if this is the real Moriarty then why the hell would Rich Brooke, or whoever he was, kill himself that day? I mean he’s the one that controlled everything, right? It could still be like your brother said, he just left enough information with someone to pick up where he left off if you came back.” John was desperately rambling on, trying to find some sort of explanation that didn’t leave them with the fact that Moriarty was alive or that everything Sherlock had done, everything they had gone through, had been a waste.
Standing on the edge of the pavement, waiting for a taxi to hail, John ran a nervous hand through his hair before looking back up at Sherlock.
His expression was grave. Lips were pulled down into an tired frown, and his eyes were half closed as he was running over the crime scenes in his mind. Information on the second was sorely lacking due to his breakdown. He'd have to study the photos carefully. The detective wasn't sure he was going to answer John until the man turned to look at him, eyes alight with worry and a small amount of fear. He let his own eyes fall closed as he drew nearer to the doctor, letting the closeness sharpen his mind.
"She didn't get the words wrong John. Nothing with Moriarty is left to chance. Plus with the amount of pain he inflicted on her, I'm sure those words were burned into her mind. Rich Brooke is easy. I've overestimated the way Moriarty has gotten to people so many times, I'm sure if we delve deeper, we would find Richard had someone or something he needed to protect. It's how this spider works. I know copycats John. Something would be amiss, someone would do something just a little bit wrong. These deviations, they’re deliberate. I can feel it. They are so glaringly obvious John. "
He opened his eyes slowly and turned to look down at his partner, "I need you to believe me. It's a lot to ask of you, trust is a lot for me to ask after everything that I’ve put you through, but I don't think I can do it alone this time." His eyes practically begged, but his face remained emotionless, not willing to let John know just how much he needed him. Not yet.
The last sentence did John in. Placing a hand against Sherlock’s forearm John nodded. Honestly he wanted to reach down and intertwine his fingers with Sherlock’s, show him that he wasn’t going to have to do this alone, not again. But he didn’t. Giving Sherlock’s arm a small squeeze and meeting his gaze he assured him, “I do. We’ll figure this out Sherlock.”
Sherlock nodded, his lips pursing together against the swell of gratitude for this man. He didn't know what he had ever done right to deserve John Hamish Watson limping into his life. Whatever it was, he found himself hoping they didn't find out it had been a mistake as he lifted his hand to signal an oncoming taxi.
__________________________________
John watched from the side as Sherlock poured over stacks of photographs from the warehouse where the girl was found. He had tried helping, but after pointing out two useless pieces of information it had become evident that he was there for moral support, not for expertise. They had taken over one of the conference rooms, the table was covered in photos as if Sherlock was trying to recreate the scene.
He could see Lestrade come on to the floor in a rush, and Anderson point him towards the conference room. When the DI came in the room John wandered over to meet him. He spoke in a hushed tone, Sherlock would surely hear him, but he’d also let John deal with explaining what was going on as long as he was preoccupied.
“He says we’re not dealing with a copycat.”
"How does he know? It can't be anything but that... We found Moriarty dead on top of Bart's that day." He kept his voice down as well as he looked to the genius who was pouring himself over the crime scene photos like they held the secrets of the world.
Leaning towards the detective John attempted to explain, “All of the clues, it’s all too perfect. If it was a copycat, there would be deviations. Sherlock’s sure it’s him. Which means the man from Bart’s wasn’t the real Moriarty, just some poor sod that got ringed into all of this.” It was a difficult thought for John to process, given that poor sod had kidnaped him, strapped bombs to his body and used him as bait. All the same they needed everyone on their side, lest Moriarty try and turn the public against Sherlock again.
Sherlock didn't bother acknowledging Greg. He knew John would take care of his lack of socializing, it was why they made such a good team, they made up for what the other lacked. The detective was rubbing a hand over his face in frustration at the photos when he noticed the scratchy texture. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and he supposed it would do well with his new look to continue not to. He sighed and dropped his hand to the table. His mind was distracting itself from the problem at hand. He needed to regroup.
"Okay the clues that were given... I gave you their number. I thought you might call, flirting’s over, daddy's had enough, and your heart would be bleeding soon enough..." He tapped each quote on the whiteboard as he rattled them off under his breath, "call... their...." He looked back at the photos squinting. He started moving closer, his face screwed up in a determined expression.
"Dammit what am I missing?!" He cried out, slamming his hands down on the table and shoving several photos together. His head was hung for a moment as he took a deep breath calming himself. When he looked back up to move them back his eyes widened. Seeing the reaction instantly, John took a few steps forward hoping to see what epiphany Sherlock had just had.
"Oh you sneaky devilish dog!!" He cried moving some photos around so that the were overlapping, "but there aren’t enough numbers..." he looked at it again and snapped his fingers at himself, "This wasn’t the only crime scene... How could I not have seen this!?!? Quick I need a pen and paper and the photos from the first crime scene as well.."
Lestrade just stood staring at Sherlock like he'd gone mad. John just shook his head, the obvious excitement emanating from the other man was slightly intoxicating, but John couldn’t let the fact that he too enjoyed the chase slip, not in front of Lestrade.
"NOW!" Sherlock bellowed, spurring the DI into action as he frantically arranged the photos on the table.
As Lestrade stalked from the room in search of the other crime scene photos John moved to Sherlock’s side. He understood now what Sherlock was seeing. When they had found Joan there had been blood splattered all around her, but now it looked as though it wasn’t by accident. Lines of blood against the concrete floor were placed in such away that they made roman numerals, Sherlock had lined up the photos from the crime scene so four number’s were clearly visible.
“You think the other numbers were at the first crime scene?” John tried to pull up the memory of the girl’s flat, but his visual memory had nothing on Sherlock’s. He remembered the girl, little bits about their apartment, but no numbers.
"It has to be. There are four numbers here, at the second crime scene. The other seven will be hidden in the first I'm sure...."
Just about then, Lestrade returned with the requested photos and a pen with a small pad that boasted the yard's insignia.
Sherlock took the photos and moved to the smaller table in the conference room. Where the blood lay around her head he could see three numbers almost instantly now that he knew what he was looking for, but as he started laying out the other photos he began to worry. He had the area code and the last four numbers... Now he needed the ones in the middle. John stood to the side of the table, his arms crossed against his chest, waiting for Sherlock to find what he needed.
He started laying the photos out more, scouring them all in minute detail until he let out a frustrated cry. The numbers weren’t anywhere that he could see. How was he supposed to figure out the numbers if he couldn’t see them. Something snapped and he spread out the photos once more.
"Lestrade...I’ll need to see the victim’s body. Tell Molly to contact me once she’s retrieved the body. I’m sure that the body has been released already." He said stonily. The DI nodded and trotted off to comply.
John waited until he heard door click behind him before speaking, his tone hushed but feverish, “So what happens when you find these numbers? We just ring up them up and say what?,” His voice took on a falsetto tone, “Oh hiya, could you please tell us a little about yourselves? A raging lunatic might be out to kill you just to get our bloody attention?” His voice had risen towards the end and he was leaning towards the taller man, his breath ragged with a hint of the gripping fear slipping through his bitter sarcasm.
His defensive stance only lasted a few moments before he turned away, combing a hand through his hair. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, none of this. Sherlock had only just come back, he needed time to recover, to get over all of the demons that haunted them. They just needed time, John thought bitterly as he turned to face Sherlock again, the facade had broken.
He met Sherlock’s impossible gaze long enough to show that he was terrified, before it faltered and fell. One hand came to his face to pull at his lips nervously before nodding resolutely, the soldier returning.
“Alright, yeah sorry. What’s the plan?” Sherlock always had the plan, it was John’s job to make sure they’d live through whatever insanity the detective came up with.
"We tell them the truth and we try to protect them. Isn't that the best idea? Make them aware of what is coming for them so they can protect themselves until we get there." The momentary slip in John's facade had killed him, but he wasn't about to let both of them break down.
"I'm sorry I dragged you into all of this John." His face was expressionless as he stared down at the photos. Thankfully Lestrade strode back in, before John had a chance to reply.
“Good news, Molly said she hadn’t released the body yet. She said she’d been waiting for you to show up to take a look. She said she would pull it out for you now.”
“Thank you Lestrade.” he said quietly, “I’ll head that way presently.” The DI nodded and sensing there was something that he was intruding on he left them alone. Sherlock guided John by a hand on the shoulder out into the lobby and towards the elevator. He needed to go see Molly alone. He needed to speak with her about things John wasn’t ready to hear yet.
“You don’t need to appologise you know.” He spoke under his breath, keeping their conversation out of the ears of Lestrade’s team, but he knew Sherlock would hear him. “Just because I want things to be different doesn’t mean I blame you for all of this.” Back in control of his emotions they walked in silence until they were outside of the precinct. “I needed you back Sherlock, whatever the hell is going on you’re not going to face it alone, not again.”
Sherlock was surprised by the admission at first but he merely waved John’s words away, knowing there was no way the man could understand the turmoil rolling around in his mind from the entire situation.
“I’ll be going to see Molly alone. I need you to return home. However don’t get too comfortable, I could need you to go at a moment’s notice.” He knew John would argue but they didn’t have time.
Before the blonde could however, a cab pulled in beside them, and he slid inside. “Just trust me John.” He pleaded before closing the door and allowing the cab to pull him away from the only person that could keep him grounded. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he decided to finally acknowledge John’s statement. It was easier without John in front of him, and he sighed as he typed out the short message.
You should -SH
John ground his teeth bitterly as the black taxi pulled away from the curb. The text came through as he hailed his own cab. Shaking his head he shot directions to 221b at the cabbie before responding.
You didn't cause any of this. -JW
Sending the message John kept his phone out, his fingers tapping impatiently against the screen as he waited.
The detective felt his phone go off and looked at the text with a bored expression. John was so ignorant, he inwardly sighed and decided to grace the other with a piece of the guilt that was running through his mind.
Not directly. But this is all because of me - SH
Moriarty would have always been the criminal he is. You're just clever enough to pose a threat. What might he have done if you weren't here to stop him? -JW
Your faith in me is astounding John Watson. I'm not sure what I've done to warrant it... -SH
Sherlock put his phone away, ignoring the vibration in his pocket. He was done talking about the matter, anything said after that was pointless and would only serve to put him in a worse mood. The ride to the morgue was uneventful once he stopped texting, and before he knew it he was smiling as he pushed open the doors of the morgue. Molly was standing in front of the examination table, a look of excitement and nervousness playing across her features.
“Welcome back Sherlock.” She said meekly, her smile seeming to light up finding his matching one in place.
“Molly.” he replied a little softly, striding forward and placing a soft kiss on her cheek, “It’s been too long.” She blushed a bit and lifted a hand to her cheek before turning to the corpse on the table.
“We all missed you.” Sherlock took the few moments he’d been able to look at her face, and now with her attention on the corpse to make a few deductions. New perfume. A necklace she couldn’t afford on her salary. Healthy glow to her cheeks. Although nervous, her normal awkward uncomfort seems neutralized.
“Molly my dear, how long have you had a boyfriend? Six months? I do hope he’s better than your last.” he said, his smile growing just a tad. She whipped around to face the detective, surprised at first, but her smile returned quickly.
“Eight months.” She corrected, “His name is Derek and he’s absolutely wonderful Sherlock.” She ignored his joke about Jim, and he took it in stride.
“I’m very happy for you.” She smiled at him for a moment before acknowledging the body of Sherly once more.
“She died from blood loss.” she informed him, “I have a sample prepared for you. We found a strange substance in her blood. I figured you’d want to take a look at it.”
For a moment Sherlock was torn between taking a quick look at the offered samples and scouring Sherly’s body for the missing numbers. He was opening his mouth to ask for the samples when John’s voice echoed down the hallways of his mind palace.
‘There are peoples lives at stake!’ An echo of a memory from one of their many ‘not good’ arguments on social behavior. With a heavy sigh he turned instead. “Unfortunately I don’t have time to look, I have to find these numbers. However, tell me what you’ve found on your own.”
Molly looked surprised for the second time, but began speaking as Sherlock scoured Sherly’s body for numbers, “Well it’s an organic substance. It has traces of a foliage that only grows in Columbia. It looks like it shares some common ingredients with minor sedatives, but that’s all I could find... I’m sorry what exactly are you looking for?” She asked as Sherlock began prodding at different folds of Sherly’s skin to see every inch of it.
“Numbers that could aid in our investigation.” He said lifting the dead woman’s small breast with a pair of forceps to peer at the area underneath.
“You mean like the ones on her foot?” Sherlock looked up suddenly and came to stand beside Molly at the corpse’s feet. There in the arch of her left foot was the three missing numbers written in ballpoint ink.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?!” Sherlock asked, typing a quick message to Lestrade with the full number, demanding an address.
“I only found it just before you came in, and I thought it was a tattoo or something.” Moly said, her cheeks flushing brightly.
“Impossible, the fading isn’t consistent with a tattoo.”He dialed the number and put the phone up to his ear, ignoring the prompt it gave him that he had two new messages from John. Molly held her breath, the intensity of the moment making her nervous all over again.
The phone rang twelve times befor the answer phone picked up, “You’ve reached Sheldon and Josiah! We can’t-” Sherlock ended the call. Twelve o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon, they could be working, but it was better to be safe and check it out. His phone pinged, the address from Lestrade.
“Everything alright Sherlock?”
“I believe we’ve found the next victim, Lestrade’s just sent me the address, I’m afraid I must be off. We’ll catch up soon.” He smiled at her then, and turned to go, practically feeling her smile on his back. At the doors, he turned back to see her moving to put the body away and cleared his throat lightly to get her attention.
“Thank you Molly... for everything. I know it wasn’t easy what I asked you to do...” Molly stopped him by lifting a hand.
“Sherlock, I will never regret helping you. You saved lives that day. But I don’t talk to John. Lying to him was easier than it should have been, but I didn’t have to see him again after your funeral. You should be thanking your brother. I can’t imagine having to watch John fall apart like that. It was hard enough watching what they played on the news. It was all I could do not to run and tell him you were alright just to see him smile again.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, and Molly’s eyes fell to the floor, a bit saddened.
“Just promise me one thing Sherlock. Don’t do something like this to him again. He won’t survive it. I’m sure you know that by now, with how smart you are, but I’m serious, and I want you to know that I’m not exaggerating. If you leave him to think you’re dead like that again... you might as well be putting the gun in his hand.” Her eyes were uncharacteristically hard when they lifted to his once more., and the detective found himself nodding in assent.
“I know.” Came his soft reply, “I’ll see you soon Molly.” With that he slipped out the door, raising his mobile to his ear once more, his chest wrenching as it rang.
---------------------------------------------------
The flat felt ominous without Sherlock’s presence, the memory of his life before the detectives return loomed over him darkly. John blindly made his way to the bed he’d been sharing with the detective, falling back into it without a second thought. He was knocked from his nostalgia as he took in the smell of the fresh sheets. They no longer smell like dust, a reminder of how empty the room had been. A new mingled scent filled his senses as his head hit the pillow. Clean sheets, tea, sweat, and something unidentifiable but completely theirs.
A weight seemed to fall off his shoulders as he let out a deep breath. It was the first time he’d been alone since Sherlock’s return, and suddenly it felt as if everything was going to be alright. He knew they weren’t out of the woods yet, even if it that knowledge was buried deep in the recesses of his mind. For now, Sherlock was back and they were okay, or as well as they could be. That being said it was a little nice to have a moment away from the brooding detective without worrying what it was he was doing. Sherlock had a right to talk to Molly alone, he could only imagine how she was going to take his reappearance.
Be nice. JW
He shot the text off to Sherlock quickly, although he was sure Sherlock had already made it to the morgue, just to ensure he remembered to tread carefully with Molly. They were all over the newspaper and the news already so hopefully she wouldn’t be too shocked by his sudden reappearance.
John considered fetching his laptop to see just how bad the damage was, how the public was taking the sudden reappearance of his flatmate, that was until another idea struck. It was the first time Sherlock hadn’t been by his side or rushing him out the door in three days. Three long, emotionally draining days.
Sherlock had said not to get too comfortable, but it wouldn’t take long. Besides, to say he was pent up was an understatement. Trying to block out everything else John closed his eyes, running one hand down the front of his button down shirt slowly undoing the clasps, pushing his shirt open as he went until his fingers brushed the buckle of his belt. He palmed himself through his new jeans, not bothering to muffle the soft moan the simple touch drew from him. Arousal was quickly coursing through him, his jeans growing considerably tighter.
Undoing his belt and trouser he pushed them, along with his pants, low on his hips, just enough to free his throbbing member. He moved slowly, wanting to enjoy the bit of time he had. His fingers ghosted over his glans, gasping at the delicate touch. Foregoing lube or lotion in a sudden haste John wrapped his right hand around himself, a habit from his war wound leaving his left hand incapable for so long.
A reel of images soared through Johns mind. His memory was far from eidetic, so the flashes of images and remembered sensations were short and sporadic. A mixture of past experiences and bad porn. Soft curves, fingers carding through his hair, a feminine voice asking for more, deeper, harder. John’s hips thrust up from the bed as his hand worked up and down his shaft in bursts, quickly growing erratic. His left hand twisted into the sheets of his bed, their bed.
Before John could stop his mind from straying it was stealing images from years ago. Sherlock’s face flush with the chase, chest heaving, sweat rolling down his sharp cheekbones. The image was painfully clear, all dark curls and his voice. A part of him said stop, stop before you let this happen, but he was too far gone. Eyes pressed closed tightly, the scent of their sheets filled him as he came across his stomach with Sherlock’s name on his lips.
It was a few blissful moments before the world crashed back into focus around John, and when it did he almost wished it hadn’t. He sat up a bit, looking down at the mess he’d made in shame. He’d just wanked to Sherlock Bloody Holmes, in his own bed no less. Throwing his head back into the pillows in anguish he let out a defeated groan.
He supposed there was no denying it now, he wanted more from Sherlock than he believed the detective was capable of wanting, let alone giving. What was it anyways? Grabbing a forgotten flannel from the side table John wiped himself clean and tossed the evidence into the hamper as he thought the question over.
What was it? What did he want from Sherlock? It frightened John a bit that he couldn’t pin down his own desires, he was supposed to be the emotionally stable one between the two of them. Tucking himself back into his trousers and fixing his clothes John ticked off his options.
Attraction? Well considering what had just happened that was an obvious given. He was attracted to the lunatic, that was for sure. Generally he leaned towards women when he thought about attraction, but that didn’t mean he’d never appreciated the solid planes of a man’s body. He’d long since accepted the fact that sexuality isn't black and white thanks to Harry.
Infatuation? Possibly. He loved Sherlock, he had for some time, but defining that love was easier said than done. He was Sherlock’s friend, his only friend, and he loved him in that way of course, but with his mind still pleasantly filled with a post orgasmic haze he couldn’t help but consider the idea that he was now attached to Sherlock in a much deeper way now.
Then of course, he had to ask himself how misplaced his feelings for the detective were. He had avoided any meaningful relationships since Sherlocks departure, and even before then he hadn’t had an actual long term relationship since university. Was he simply searching for intimacy from the person closest to his heart. And if he was, was that wrong?
The last of the ease his release had granted him was quickly fading away and a dark voice in the back of his said the one thing he was avoiding. Losing Sherlock before had almost killed him, and he was fairly certain if he accepted these feelings he wouldn’t be able to handle the detectives loss again. No, that would be the end of John. Part of him couldn’t trust Sherlock with that power, not so soon.
John had been so lost in his own mind when his phone began to vibrate violently on the side table that he almost fell from edge of the bed. Fumbling for his phone he realized it was Sherlock. The case. Trying to pull himself together enough that he didn’t totally give away the war waging in his mind John answered the phone.
“Sherlock. Hi. uhm.. The numbers, you find them?” John pinched his brow between his fingers as he stumbled over his words, his voice cracking slightly as he repeated the name he moaned out barely minutes before.
“Yes...” the detective trailed off for a moment before relaying the address, “I’ll need you to meet me there. And I do hope you didn’t make a mess in the bed John. That would be very uncomfortable to sleep in.”
John choked on a laugh that somehow ripped from his chest. Leave it to Sherlock to have already worked out what he’d been up to with absolutely zero tact. Luckily for John’s sanity, Sherlock’s present company did not cross his mind as he threw back a retort. “Oh shove it. We don’t all consider our bodies transport, alright? Are Lestrade and his team already on their way?”
He was already out the door, slipping on his jacket as he stepped out to the curb to hail a cab. His mind quickly fell back to the victims and the new address. He’d promised Joan they wouldn’t let this happen again, and god, he desperately hoped he could keep that promise.
“Yes, with paramedics. Meet you there.” Sherlock hung up the phone and slid into a cab of his own, relaying the address for a second time, and assuring the cabbie he would have a hefty bonus the quicker he arrived.

A/N: Okay guys.. So we gave you three chapters this week becuase we love ya all sooo much and we were overwhelmed by everyone's support. There are only two more chapters before our hiatus. During our hiatus we will be working on editing part two and part three (A Bit Worse and A Bit Better) and we will be doing a 'meet the authors' you tube video. We will answer your questions about us, the story, our favorite pie, whatever.. Send us your questions in comments or messages and we will add them to the video. <3 Thank you again for all the support.
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A Bit Not Good