Rules on the Fridge [A BBC Sherlock Holmes Fanfiction] (Completed)

Under The Shade

♪ You Can't Rush Something You Want to Last Forever ♪

How does one sleep soundly when there's inconsistent music coming from downstairs and a thunderous storm raging outside one's window? Watson sure knew how. He'd slept through many things, and this was nothing by comparison.

He woke up the next morning rather refreshed, only to be startled fully awake when he saw Sherlock, the swelling on his face having gone down slightly, but the bruising having doubled in darkness.

"Good God, Sherlock!" He cried, freezing as he stared at his face. "You need to get something on that, you iced it, right?" He asked, not having realized Sherlock had been up all night on his violin, thinking about the case.

He was slowly sipping away at a cup of tea that Watson was sure Sherlock didn't make for himself – he wasn't sure where it came from. But he decided not to question it.

"Sherlock? Are you listening to me?" Watson asked, his voice calmer now that he'd gotten used to the black-and-blue faced Sherlock in his white dress shirt and black dress pants. And no socks or shoes to be seen.

"If the killer wanted so badly not to be caught you'd think he'd have perfected the serum so it wouldn't show on the outside – I only caught it because of irritation of the skin before cell death..." He rambled aloud now that Watson was there to hear it.

"Did you get any sleep at all?" Watson asked, suddenly seeing that, aside from his bruised face, his eyes looked dry and bloodshot on both sides – a dark circle surrounding his right eye from lack of sleep and left eye from heavy bruising.

"No. Of course not. Too much to think about." He said, looking at Watson as if he was the stupidest person on Earth for a mere moment before softening his gaze once more to fixate on the wall.

"If such a man wanted to do that then why wouldn't he cover his tracks?" Watson recapped, realizing Sherlock wouldn't stop until he got some resolve.

"Exactly." Sherlock nodded, his fingers steepled under his nose. "I don't understand why you wouldn't make sure..."

"How exactly would he make sure? With another victim? Maybe this was the test." Watson sighed, walking into the kitchen – maybe some food magically appeared overnight.

"No, too risky, this one's too smart." Sherlock said, shaking his head as he stood and started pacing back and forth through the lounge. "He cornered the victim without him trying too hard to escape, hence the lack of external damage to his body. In a "flight" scenario you temporarily lose any thought or care about your physical well-being due to adrenaline. So, there's no way he could've possibly had that response – or he'd at least have a bruised face like mine."

"So, fight?" Watson asked, but once again Sherlock shook his head.

"No, freeze. He froze on the spot, but why?" He asked, pacing once more after a brief pause. "What was so frightening to him that he froze? Had no reaction at all? Or was it just traumatic enough that he couldn't react one way or the other – something from his past?"

"Like if I saw my mother back from the dead," Watson said as an example, making Sherlock pause.

"Yes, quite. You'd want to run because you know she's dead – being logical. Or fight, because you know it can't be her and someone's just pissing you off."

Watson nodded, closing the cupboard. He started thinking about tea from the smell of Sherlock's - it smelled quite good. Maybe that'd make a good breakfast.

"I boiled water for your tea." Sherlock said, making Watson raise his eyebrows. He went to the kitchen and poured it over a teabag, figuring it not worth it to question his timing, letting it steep as Sherlock continued.