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Hacked	By : SoftPurpleSherlockian Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 4354 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters and am making no money off of this story.

Chapter List
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The evening of the art show was upon them. John was busy getting into the suit that Sherlock insisted he wear when he heard his phone vibrate against the bedside table it lay on. Pulling the zip up on his trousers, he walked across the room to retrieve it, half expecting the alert to be a text from Harry. It had been several days since Sherlock had sent him a new e-mail, but John’s breath still hitched every time the device signalled a new alert.
Sherlock had been locked away in his room for most of the night, giving him ample time to compose a message pertaining to the evening’s festivities. The doctor had been anxiously waiting for the next message, and now that it was in his hand, he felt giddy. There, just at the bottom, was the little blue and white icon with a number one that made John’s heart flutter as he looked at it.
He took a deep breath, not fully knowing what to expect as he tapped the icon and brought up the screen with his inbox. Would it be a harsh and fast request? Or would it be a softer plea, filled with the whisper of soft promises that went unspoken, never being acknowledged out loud, but that lingered just below the surface? John brought his finger up and clicked the message that had been sent less than two minutes ago given the time stamp next to the subject line.
Skimming the contents, a smile played at his lips as he closed the app and set to finish getting dressed. Tonight held all the promise in the world, and was just the opportunity that John needed to finally get things moving along. True, he had been dropping little hints here and there, but tonight he pulled out the big guns. Part of him was elated, the other part was so anxious that he wanted to vomit. This is going to happen, he thought and walked out of his bedroom before he could change his mind.
Sherlock was waiting for him in the sitting room, and John had to will himself to look anywhere except the man on the sofa as he focused on making it down the stairs without falling on his face. The detective was wearing a well-tailored suit that fit him like a glove. It was solid black and worn over a crisp white shirt with black buttons, and the outfit was completed with a matching ebony bow tie which, of course, was tied perfectly.
“Ah, good. You’re ready.” Sherlock rose without a word from John and made his way to the front door without so much as a backwards glance.
“Sherlock?” John didn’t wait for the detective to acknowledge his question, instead he continued right along. “Are we going to… I mean, do we have to… Shit. Are you and I together tonight?”
“Of course we’re together, we’re going, arriving, and leaving in each other’s company, are we not?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
Sherlock turned to look at John who was wearing an amused smile as he waited for the detective to respond, “yes, people are still under the assumption that you and I are romantically involved.”
“Right. Good. Just making sure so I know how to behave.” John had opted for ‘behave’ rather than ‘act’ because for him it wasn’t, and tonight Sherlock would realise that. “Should we be off?”
*

*

*
The event was in full swing by the time the duo arrived. It was an elegant affair, far more so than John was expecting given it was merely an art show. However, if there was one thing he was sure about it was that when people had money to spend, they liked their extravagant parties and excuses to parade around all but shouting 'look at me, see how wealthy I am?'
John was still out of his depth when it came to things like this, but had attended enough of Mycroft’s events with Sherlock to feel like he at least knew how to behave without making a complete arse of himself.
Lost in thought, the doctor realised that Sherlock was no longer at his side and had a split second of panic. It wasn’t that John needed him, he just felt more comfortable knowing where his friend was, however, John had long since accepted that Sherlock was going to be Sherlock. This included dashing off without a second thought to those around him.
It wasn’t difficult to spot him; he stood a good head above most of the crowd. John quietly watched his friend, very much in his element, chatting with one of the servers balancing a tray of champagne. Sherlock laughed at something the man said as he plucked two glasses off of the tray then started making his way back where John stood waiting. About half way across the room, the two locked eyes and Sherlock gave a smile that reached his eyes and made them crinkle - It was one of the smiles that very few people were privy to, and one that John had been on the receiving end of more often than not. This bit of knowledge made the doctor’s heart leap and return the smile in kind.
“Thanks,” John said, as he plucked one of the glasses from Sherlock’s hand. “So, have you cracked the case then?”
The detective just stared down at John with an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not quite. I was able to find out that Hance uses the same company to cater all of these events, and pays everyone in cash at the end of the night.”
“Right. The bloke over there tell you that?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Nothing more needed to be said and John looked up at the detective and murmured behind his glass. “Showoff.”
“Of course,” the detective said, raising his own glass to taste the champagne. “This is good.” He did not look pleased about that.
“I thought you of all people would appreciate a high quality drink.” John was thoroughly confused.
“Don’t you get it? This is very good.” Sherlock spit out the last word as if it were insulting him. “Don’t you see?”
“Yeah, sorry. No.”
Sherlock’s mouth formed a straight line and he grabbed John by the arm, “never mind, come on.”
The doctor allowed himself to be dragged across the room where the detective’s painting was displayed. If any part of this had actually been real, John would have been immensely proud of Sherlock in that moment.
A young woman started walking toward the pair and John instinctively wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist. Rather than tense up at the contact, the detective leaned into it. The pressure of his prominent hip digging into John’s side assured him that he was doing the right thing.
The woman sashayed past them, wearing a red dress so tight it looked as if it were painted on itself, and purred a “hello” at the gentleman behind them.
Sherlock turned his head slightly, and John knew that the detective was focused solely on the conversation taking place between the woman and man she approached.
“See anything you like?”
John couldn’t hear the man’s answer, but given the fact that the bloke appeared to be a red blooded male, he was able to guess the answer had been a yes.
Sherlock lead John to the painting, when the two were right in front of it, the doctor leaned closer to get a better look at the tag next to the piece.

“Five thousand pounds?!” John hissed up at Sherlock, not hiding the surprise in his voice.
The detective didn’t even bother to peer down, he simply shhh’d John and studied the pair who were now talking in hushed whispers.
“Oh this is clever.” Sherlock unwound his arms from around John and produced his mobile from his pocket.
Before the detective had a chance to fire off a message, John looked up at him and asked “What is? What’d I miss?”
An annoyed huff escaped Sherlock’s nose and he grabbed John’s hand and pulled him toward the bathroom.
Inside the confides of the small room Sherlock showed the full extent of his excitement. John watched, mesmerised, as Sherlock threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t you see? They’re not buying the art.” The detective spat out the last word. “They’re buying the women standing near the pieces. Oh this is brilliant!”
“The women?”
“Honestly John, did you not notice that every single painting in this gallery has a woman in a red dress standing in the near vicinity of it?”
John started putting the pieces together as Sherlock stood and patiently waited for the doctor to get on the same page. “Prostitution? This is a prostitution ring?”
“Obviously. Hance is our murderer. Jean Alexander figured out what was going on and threatened to expose him. He used a can of paint that was lying nearby to bludgeon Alexander when the confrontation escalated.”
“You- I- Amazing.” John watched the smug smile spread across Sherlock’s face. Here in the small room, the energy the detective was emitting was contagious. John only calculated it for a split second before he committed. Reaching his hand up, he grabbed a fist full of the detective’s curls and pulled his face down so it was level with his own.
Their mouths came together with all of the heat and excitement that usually went along with solving a case. John melded their lips together with a crushing force, not giving Sherlock any time to process what was happening before he took the detective’s lower lip between his teeth and gave it a firm bite which produced a low growl from the man in front of him that went straight to John’s cock.
“You. Are. Bloody. Brilliant,” the doctor said as he trailed his tongue along the length of Sherlock’s neck, stopping to nip at his ear.
“John,” Sherlock rasped out, and it sounded like a plea. The detective rocked his hips forward and John could feel him hardening in his trousers as his length pressed into the shorter man’s stomach.
This was it, John had been waiting for an opportunity to present itself all evening and it was finally here. Recalling the e-mail he had read hours before, it depicted a scenario very similar to the one the two were in and John went for it. “Maybe I’ll make you come, maybe I won’t.” John whispered in his ear, not caring that he had to stand on his toes to do so. He was prepared for Sherlock to give in, to beg and plead with John just like the doctor knew he wanted to do. What he was not prepared for however, was the shove backwards he received and the scrutinising glare he was now under.
In hind sight, John probably shouldn’t have used words so similar to those in the e-mail; he knew that now as he stared up at the confused face of the detective. True it wasn’t word-for-word, but it was close enough to trigger warning bells in Sherlock’s head. John had wanted to let Sherlock know he was on board with this, not clue him in to the fact that he had been reading the detective’s very private e-mails.
“How?” The question was soft, but full of fear and Sherlock’s eyes were wild, resembling that of a scared cat, ready to run the second you got too close.

John was embarrassed and shifted his weight from foot to foot while looking down.
“I, um… your e-mails.” Raising his head slightly, John was met with a stare that made him wish the ground would swallow him up. “Sherlock…” he started, but the words died on his tongue. Sherlock what? Sherlock, I’m sorry I invaded your privacy? Sherlock, I’m a prat. Sherlock, please forgive me? Sherlock, you’re bloody perfect?
“Don’t.” The detective straightened his back, raising to his full height. “Call Lestrade and fill him in.”
Sherlock’s voice was so emotionless it physically pained John to hear him speak. The detective turned and was out of the loo before John even processed he was standing alone. Chasing after him was something John was used to, but this was so different and he was desperate to reach the detective before he made it out into the streets of London.
At the front of the building, John made out the tumble of ebony curls briskly walking toward the door. Not caring about etiquette John shouted after him, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to catch up with Sherlock before he made his way outside.
It was futile, and John could do nothing except watch him open the door and turn into the street.
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