beyond the gravestones (sherlock/johnlock fanfic)

Chapter 6

"Black, black, and more black." John said, rifling through Sherlock's clothes in disbelief.

Sherlock pulled out a purple shirt.

"No, not that one. It's..." John trailed off. What was the best, most platonic way to say it looks so good on you that I don't want anyone else to see you in it? He cleared his throat. "Don't you have something a little brighter?"

Sherlock stepped forward, arm accidentally brushing against John's, sending tingles up it. He fumbled around in the wardrobe and the back slid away.

"Your wardrobe has a false back?" asked John, surprised.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Did you think I let you have the bigger room out of the goodness of my heart?" He pulled out a bright red wig. "John, people are rarely so selfless. I needed a place to keep all my disguises." He put the wig on and Rosie squirmed with delight. She had abandoned the skull and was now snuggling comfortably in John's arms.

"Yea, nope, just go with black." John said, "You look good in anything you wear, anyway." Oops. Did I say that out loud? "Where are you meeting her?" he asked quickly.

Sherlock threw the wig back inside and closed his wardrobe. "Angelo's." he said.

"Angelo's. Wait. As in...Angelo's where we had our first stake-out?"

"That one. It's perfect if we don't want to be overheard. I'm surprised you remember it."

How could I forget it? John thought. It's where everything began. He couldn't help feeling slightly chafed that Sherlock was taking Irene there. He'd always somehow thought of it as their place. It doesn't mean anything, he scolded himself. He probably just doesn't know any other good spots. How many dates does the man go on? He turned around and headed out of the room, leaving Sherlock to change.

"John."

John paused in the doorway.

"There is nothing I would rather do right now than find the damn cabbie who hurt you and Rosie." Sherlock said, "But there are no substantial leads. I've tried the taxi company and searched the site of the accident for clues, but I found nothing. It's like he never existed."

The knowledge that Sherlock shared his murderous feelings for the cabbie warmed John's heart. "If someone wanted to kill me, there are easier ways to do it." he said, "What was it really about, then?"

Sherlock turned back to his wardrobe. "Sending a message."

***

John cursed as he tore a thorn out of his shirt for the millionth time. The hedge he was hiding inside was prickly, to say the least. "Damn Sherlock." he muttered to himself, "He gets to sit in a warm, cozy restaurant while I freeze or possibly bleed to death in this hedge."

The nasty voice inside his head snickered. Well, it was your idea to send him off on a date with a beautiful woman. As if on cue, the main door opened and Irene strolled out. John could see that she had put a lot of effort into her appearance, and he cursed again. If his crazy idea actually resulted in Sherlock falling for Irene...wait, that was the point, wasn't it? Sherlock deserved love, and he deserved to be happy. Even if falling in love with someone else was what it took to make him smile, so be it. I can deal with a bit of heartache for his sake, John thought.

As Irene drove away, he scrambled out of the hedge, trying to straighten his clothes and shake the leaves out of his hair. He strolled up to the main door and rang the doorbell, and a red-eyed Mr Oliver opened it. In the living room behind him, John could see a bottle and a half-empty glass resting on the table. Excellent.