Maintaining a Personal Life

Chapter Thirteen

John drummed his fingers on the table in a back corner of the little café where he'd arranged by text to meet 'Nate'. He wasn't remotely nervous, but rather impatient to be getting on with things. Nathaniel Richards barely registered on John's scale of dangerous criminals—sure, he was a double murderer, but he was a poncey tosser who strangled malnourished, drug-addled young women with scarves. John was pretty sure he wouldn't even need the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans to neutralize this wanker, if it even came to that.

There had, of course, been a minor disagreement between John and Sherlock on whether John actually needed to be here at all: John felt it was the best way to ensure that Sherlock got plenty of time to search the flat and find the evidence he needed, while Sherlock seemed fairly confident that he could find what he was looking for in the five minutes it took the man to hail a taxi. Sherlock also seemed to feel that John was a 'rubbish actor' who wouldn't be able to hide his desire to break Richards' face the moment he clapped eyes on him. This wasn't untrue, but it hardly mattered since Sherlock would have his evidence by the time their suspect realized the ruse, even if it was fairly quickly. If John ended up having to 'break his face' out of necessity, well, then that was a crying shame.

In the end, John won the dispute easily. He wasn't above exploiting his newfound ability to silence Sherlock with his mouth, and he fully intended to play dirty to win any arguments in the future for as long as this tactic still worked.

John had strategically placed himself with a clear view of the front door, so he noticed the moment a rather tall man with a scruffy goatee walked through it. He really did look like a bit of a twat—John's only excuse was that the bar where they initially met had been dimly lit and John had a few pints on-board already when this guy approached him. To be honest, John had been looking for an excuse to pull a bloke for a while and 'Nate' had made it very easy. Too easy, really—which made John feel especially stupid in retrospect. With Moriarty and his ilk out of the picture, John had let his guard down too much lately and had wilfully forgotten that being companion to the famous Sherlock Holmes made him a prime target for all kinds of twisted bullshit.

The man sought out John quickly, and John did his best to slap on a mild expression instead of narrowing his eyes as he gave a nod of acknowledgement.

"I'm glad you called, John," Richards said as he pulled out a chair and sat down. His long legs pressed up against John's in the cramped space under the table, and John forced himself not to recoil. "I didn't think you would."

"Yeah, well. I've been—thinking about you. Quite a lot, actually." John bared his teeth in what he hoped passed for a smile as he met Richards' gaze, folding his hands tightly on the table-top in front of him. Even knowing what this man had done, it was still difficult to see past his mild façade. John liked to think that he'd developed a knack over the years of being able to read violence in another man's eyes and demeanour, but Richards came across like a harmless, soft-spoken hipster who was barely capable of inflicting so much as a paper cut.

"Have you?" Richards smiled as though he was genuinely pleased and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. It was all John could do not to lean backwards in return, itching to keep distance between them. He was sure his posture was stiff and unnatural, but it didn't matter. Richards was here, and talking to him, and Sherlock would text him as soon as he was finished searching the flat. "I'm flattered. Especially considering that boyfriend of yours. He's really something."

"Sherlock?" John asked, slightly thrown by the reference before he remembered that Richards and Sherlock had in fact crossed paths briefly. Sherlock had neglected to fill John in on the particulars of that interaction, but John was fairly certain it hadn't been especially friendly. He almost denied the label of 'boyfriend' out of habit, before realizing with a start that there was a strong possibility that it was now fairly accurate. Instead John cleared his throat, casting about awkwardly for the first thread of conversation that popped into his mind. "About that. I guess I should apologize if he made you feel—you know. Uncomfortable or anything."