We'll be counting stars

Off to the Crime Scene

chapter dedicated to @Fhinn360 thanks for reading!!

flashback:

Sherlock had soon finished his breakfast sitting across from John at the table, no clutter just tidy and neat, like John himself, Sherlock still felt like he had butterflies when ever John brushed past him or even made eye contact, except it didn't feel like butterflies, it felt like a disturbed nest of wasp leaving Sherlock buzzing and agitated unsure how to behave so as to not give himself away, he didn't want to lose this friendship by risking it with something that might not be reciprocated. so he chose to ignore the buzzing, the swarm that clouded his usual fog free mind and waited for himself to recover, back to the cases that would take his mind off John, away from John and into the safety of a crime scene, huge irony really.

Sherlock healed well, his ribs practically mended, maybe only a few more days till they were completely healed. the cuts were scabs and the bruises had faded, he had a single strip of scar tissue just above his brow from when he had first tried to escape John and fell to the pavement.

John was true to his word and he healed considerably with no hospitals, and Mycroft finally managed to bring Sherlock his own clothes from where he had been living at Mycroft's, nothing much just two rucksacks full of everything he owned. he was able to walk unaided, his ribs stopped aching and he was soon back to his old self. John was impressed by his recovery time, but Sherlock was persistent and keen and he never let simple things slow him down before.

Sherlock managed to also get his laptop back and was keen to see for any new cases that Lestrade may have sent him, anything above a seven preferably, below that was not worth his time. he scrolled through his emails and noticed a new one he had only received yesterday, woman and man dead, child left behind with no other family, orphaned, no weapons found on the scene so complicating things as to how they both had bullet wounds through the sides of their heads, they were found facing each other lying on the concrete floor. Their deaths were definitely at the crime scene due to the blood being a lot more than if they had been moved their, there was no sign of a struggle. Sherlock was fascinated.

So it seemed Sherlock was going to be heading to the crime scene, out of ten it was an eight so Sherlock dressed into his navy shirt and pulled on his jacket, leaving the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He wore some dark blue skinny jeans and some purple converse that he tucked the laces into the sides of his shoes once they were tied. Sherlock called Lestrade saying he was coming over to the crime scene and explained very quickly how he had been injured and had been recovering from their last case only a short while. Once he'd cut the call and slipped his phone into his jeans back pocket he went to unhook his coat that had found its place on the bannister of the stairs up to the flat.

"where are you off to?" John asked with a smile, Sherlock considered for a moment, he could use a acquaintance, someone who didn't mind his eccentric character.

"crime scene" Sherlock answered simply, but John didn't miss the excited gleam in his eyes, the burning embers of those green blue oceans. "Care to join me Doctor Watson?"

John loved the danger, he always had, he craved the pulse of adrenalin that pumped through his veins when challenged with fear, when facing your demons that had been biding their time for the perfect moment, when they thought you weren't strong, at your most vulnerable, john Watson was a lot of things but weak and vulnerable were not one of them. As John had been daydreaming he was brought back to earth by the swish of his coat going out towards the landing and the quick steps that raced down the stairs.

"dammit!" John muttered racing out the door and pulling it closed, "off out Mrs Hudson!"

"both of you?"

"there's a new case! Mrs Hudson the game is on!" Sherlock called whilst opening up the front door and leading out, fully aware of the young doctor following behind.

Sherlock flagged down a cab and it pulled over instantly, almost as if he was a well known member of authority and cabbies for one were willing to please. Sherlock climbed in and moved to the other side of the cab leaving the door open for John to climb in behind him, leaving the seat in the middle unoccupied. 

the cab rumbled through the London traffic, taking shortcuts and alleys to speed up its journey, Sherlock held onto the yellow bar in front of him and john sat with his hands folded in his lap, looking around curiously, his face filled with excitement, adrenalin already beginning to flow. the cabbie pulled up outside a bunch of flats and they climbed out, standing next to each other as the cab silently drove away, the diesel engine purring quietly.