My Doctor, Watson

Chapter V

Sherlock's feet stomped heavily on the factory's floor. Each step told a story of a man walking away from another man's grave. One step after the other, closer to the light.

"What the bloody hell was that about, Sherlock?" John asked while they both moved towards the door, leaving Moriarty's body grow cold and utterly lifeless.

Sherlock stopped abruptly and turned to John. "What was what about? You act as if i'd killed a man."

John couldn't believe what Sherlock had just said. "You practically did! And here you are, walking away with your mysterious collar popped up and your black trench coat flying behind you."

"John, please never attempt poetry it would cause us all so much pain." He responded.

"I could've killed you!"

"But you didn't." Sherlock answered with a matter of urgency.

"Did you even bother to call the c-" John stumbled off, because when they got outside, the whole department was there.

Greg Lestrade walked over and asked John if he could take a moment, so John told Sherlock to wait and then left him standing in the cold, with all of the reinforcements that annoyed him.

"So, do you mind telling me what happened in there before we go find evidence that makes Sherlock the murderer."

"Well, it was much of a blur, but Sherlock faked his death and Moriarty killed himself over it. That pretty much sums it up."

"Why would a mastermind criminal kill himself over Sherlock?"

"I don't know, ask him."

"Very well, John. That's it. Oh, and I want to thank you."

"Thank me? For what?"

"Ever since you and Sherlock were requited, he's become more human. He's still a bloody psychopath, but he has shown more.. emotions. Which is a big deal for him."

"Well I have been with him for about a year so it is possible I could've influenced him somehow. But I doubt a man like me could change a man like him." John responded. Lestrade said his goodbyes and then walked away from John, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

John hadn't noticed a change in Sherlock since they've been friends. Sure, there were little acts here and there that John pondered for hours among hours, but in total, he was still an arse.

John walked to the area where Sherlock was angrily saying something to Anderson. He turned to John and he could tell he'd been waiting for an escape. Without another word he grabbed John's hand and dragged him over to where a cab was located.

They got into the car and sped off towards Baker Street, the unanswered questions left behind.

"Should I ask about this situation?" John said.

"The situation in which we are in a cab and going to our flat? That doesn't strike peculiar to me but feel free to ask." Sherlock responded.

"No, I mean the situation with Moriarty. How did you know where he was? How did you know he would kill himself?"

"Isn't it obvious? When he came over, he made a mistake. He mentioned an encounter. A fall. When he spoke, he looked East. He leaned on the right side of his body, his foot was pointed East. He thinks he could get something past me that easily. I knew he would be in that abandoned warehouse because you could see grime under his finger nails, if you looked passed the tuxedo. Dust collected on the lines on his hands and on subtle places on his face, dictating that that he had been staying in a place that was empty and old. The dirt wouldn't be from labor, it was in a distinct pattern, as if he were moving something, like boxes. I don't doubt that he was planning something great, but we stopped him. As for the exact location, you said it yourself, John. It's the only abandoned area in that spot of town."