Strange Coincidences: Johnlock AU

Chapter Fifteen

John woke up the next morning, his mouth full of Sherlock’s mob of wild curls. He coughed the hair out and sat up quickly, the blood rushing to his head.

Sherlock was stretched out like a spider on the couch. He looked like he was nineteen, so innocent. John’s never actually seen him asleep; every time he saw Sherlock close his eyes, he’d either stuck in his mind palace or thinking about some deduction. Now, the detective looked serene. Enchanting.

John felt a pang in his heart. Longing.

He resisted the urge to go over and brush the curls from his eyes and then press a very inappropriate kiss to his forehead. John sucked in a breath and turned to make some tea.

Once the kettle boiled, John heard some shuffling behind him. A sleepy Sherlock stumbled towards the kitchen. He glanced at the kettle and nodded at John before going into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, John was sitting at the table and eating a couple biscuits when Sherlock popped out of the bathroom, all traces of sleep gone. His eyes were bright and his suit was perfectly crisp.

Sherlock beamed at John and jumped over to his cup of tea, gulping it down.

“I have to go to Barts. I have an idea,” Sherlock informed John as he threw on his coat.

Before John could ask to go with him, Sherlock was out the door.

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He paced. And paced. And paced. John was worried to death. He looked at the clock again. Sherlock had been gone for more than 14 hours now. He tried calling him. Texting. Everything.

John knew it was just him being paranoid, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something went wrong. Usually Sherlock would send at least a quick, perfunctory response as a way of stopping John from sending him loads of texts. Today, he received nothing. No form of communication since Sherlock stepped outside that door.

He called Molly, she hasn’t seen him. It served to ratchet his worries even more. She’s always at Barts.

Right before he was about to resort to calling Mycroft, his phone rang. He looked down and saw the caller ID. John’s shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled. The relief was heady.

“Sherlock? Where the hell have you been?”

There wasn’t a reply from the phone.

“Sherlock?”

“John,” Sherlock said quietly.

John frowned. Something sounded off.

“What’s going on?”

“Go to my desk.”

“Why?”

“Please, will you just do this for me.” Sherlock’s voice grew urgent.

A sneaking suspicion threatened to crawl into John’s brain. He refused to let it.

He walked over to Sherlock’s desk. He opened the drawers and pulled out a white envelope. Expensive stationary. Sherlock’s spidery handwriting was on it, addressing it to John.

“Sherlock, what’s going on. Tell me!”

A faint shuffle came from the phone. “Open it John.”

“Tell me what the fuck is going on Sherlock!”

“Good-bye John.”

The click of the phone. Horror.

His fingers shook as he broke the elegant red seal of the envelop. There was a folded letter inside.

His heart stopped when he saw the words.