A Study In Blink (A Wholock Crossover)

Chapter four

"Sherlock I swear there was angel statue back there!" John hurried after Sherlock as they got off the cab.

"No rhyme intended I hope," Sherlock muttered.

"Sherlock." He said, grabbing his arm and pulling him around to face him. "I am serious, I saw an angel statue one moment and it was gone the next."

Sherlock stared with as much defiance as John, all traces of a stubborn bastard shown apparently on his face, he spoke however, in a completely different tone.

"You're showing it you know."

"Showing what?"

"Clear signs, everywhere. You haven't eaten a proper meal in several days, you've been pacing around 221B for hours on end and there is an outrageous amount of brown hair in the bathroom."

"Oh so these are apparently signs for going mad?"

Sherlock exhaled and patted John's hand off of his coat, "no John, they're symptoms for stress."

John exaggerated a look of surprise, "oh so you think I'm under stress? From what exactly?"

Sherlock turned away, though the talking persisted.

"Several possible explanations, first, from your disastrous attempts of being a boyfriend. Might I add that you have, dated, about six women in role starting with that Sarah. Second and more probably due to me and -"

"Sorry, what?" John said, feeling a sense of annoyance bubble up from his jumbled emotions.

"My work," he continued without the slightest inkling that he'd just been interrupted, "there hasn't been a lot of interesting cases and Lestrade had phone once this week. John don't pretend you don't love it as the mystery deepens and your blood boils and you feel like Christmas has come early."

My blood's boiling now. John thought, and he fantasized again putting his fist deliberately in Sherlock's face.

"I am not under stress Sherlock," he spoke each word slowly making sure the detective heard each one. "I am not under stress and my eyes are not playing tricks on me."

Sherlock looked unimpressed as they reached 221B, his gaze fell onto the door, and it was already ajar.

"What the-"John started, but was cut off short by Sherlock rushing into their apartment.

"Mrs. Hudson?" He shouted, starling John, "Mrs. Hudson are you there?"

This definite add of sentiment was clearly shown in Sherlock in the past few weeks, for about a month ago, Mrs. Hudson was kidnapped and threatened by those Americans. Sherlock would deny it of course, but care for the old land lady has been quite apparent.

John heard heavy footsteps and his hand stretched into his left pocket, fingering the gun. Sherlock in the mean time stood quite still, awaiting their guest.

A shadow loomed over the staircase, and the figure, whoever it is, made his way down the stairs.

"Who's there?" Sherlock asked, voice sharp over the heavy thumping of feet meeting stairs.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Show yourself!" This time his voice echoed in the narrow space, threatening.

For a brief second, John thought he saw the faintest outline of Jim Moriaty and his heart skipped a beat. Then the man spoke.

"Keep this up and you're going to get lung cancer."

"What?"

Lestrade spoke again, "we were looking for you Sherlock, you didn't answer your phone."

"Oh so you just decided to bust your way in?"

"We didn't bust our way in," Lastrade said, waving his arms about, "we knocked."

"Where's Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked, looking around as if expecting to find her just around a corner.

"Oh we persuaded her to take a walk outside," Lastrade said grimly.

"So you basically kicked her out in the middle of the night?" There was no emotion in his voice, as if care for the old lady had vanished as abruptly as it had started.

Lestrade looked at John, face set in a forced grimace, "we need to talk."