A Study of Lovers (Johnlock fanfic)

Blank Pages And Faces

Hey guys! Almost to 50 views! Thanks again! Here is the new chapter, enjoy!

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Weeks passed as Sherlock and John swept through case after case, dominating Scotland Yard with their sudden burst of energy from and for each other. But as nobody would notice, they kept their relationship a secret from everybody especially Donovan and Anderson.

After every case, they would retire back to their flat and turn in for the night, John now sleeping in Sherlock's bed almost every night. When Sherlock asked John to move into his room with him, he wasn't really surprised nor fazed by his question but he gladly accepted.

The next morning, after Sherlock asked him to move in, John woke up once again to an empty bed and sighed. He rummaged around the room and to find his robe hanging on the back of the door, he shrugged it onto his shoulders and shuffle out to the kitchen. Sherlock was kneeling in his chair with hands steepled under his chin, eyes closed and breathing steadily. He was looking through his mind palace, his face scrunched and brows furrowed. Even looking like that, John thought looked peaceful and at rest though he really wasn't.

"Morning." Sherlock acknowledging that he knew John just woke up.

"Morning, tea?" John asked as he put on the kettle. Sherlock hummed in agreement, still thinking about something as hard as he could and running through every room in his mind palace.

"What are you doing?" John wrung his hands as he leaned against the counter. Sherlock opened one eye to John then threw him a leather bound notebook, just barely catching it one handed.

"And this is?..."

"Remember the case of the four homicides and one suicide?" Sherlock remained in his crouched position as well as his hands remaining under his chin.

"Yeah." John flipped through the notebook and saw nothing but blank pages, not a name, a scratch, a tear, or anything of that matter.

"That was found at the crime scene not too long ago. Something isn't adding up." Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The tea kettle boiled as John tended to it and handed Sherlock his cup only for him to set it down on the arm of the chair and continue into his thoughts.

"What do you suppose it is?" John drank his tea, not even realizing how scalding hot it was at the time.

"I'm thinking." Sherlock seemed to be a little tense as his face told the exact same story. John didn't know how long it was he was admiring Sherlock until his tea had gone completely cold as so as the detective's. He took the cups back into the kitchen and set them in the sink to go take a shower, soon letting the warm beads of water completely engulf him in their warmth.

He slipped his robe back on and hung the towel around his neck, sitting back into his chair across from Sherlock who was still perched perfectly in his nest of a chair, by then having paper scattered across his feet and around the floor of nothing but the pictures he stole from Lestrade's office and drawings of what John thought what could've been the crime scene.

John picked up the newspaper and let his eyes wander across the pages, trying to look interested in something on the random page he opened.

"Patches." Sherlock's eyes shot open.

"What?" Then John felt his face relax, knowing of what Sherlock spoke of.

"The back of the third cupboard." John pointed behind him. Sherlock bolted for where John said they were and stuck 3 to 4 nicotine patches on his left arm then let the medicine seep into his skin, making a relieved groan of some sort.