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

Back Where My Heart

♪ I've Finally Run Out of Oxygen ♪

Tomorrow came briskly. "Six days!" Holmes chirped, his voice sounding much more pleasant than usual. John noticed the difference between his usual voice – being grim and low, sometimes even growly – and now; his voice was flying slightly higher than usual and had fluctuations like never before.

"Morning." John said, getting into the kitchen past his wired flatmate, putting the kettle on. He was getting used to needing the caffeine injection before listening to Holmes' rants.

"It is, excellent observation John." Holmes said, but without its usual saturation of sarcasm. It almost sounded genuine. John lowered his eyebrows, not saying anything until after the kettle had sung and the tea was strong.

"Another murder; two left, this one's following the pattern as well – shall we?" He asked, holding out John's coat toward him. John stared at it, his cup of tea in hand.

"I thought you'd have left and come back without me – you'd already have the details." John said, frowning at his estranged flatmate.

"I thought you might like to accompany me. Shall we?" He repeated, thrusting the jacket toward him again.

"Right..." John sighed, decided to chug the tea and scorch his throat, preparing himself for a whole day of Holmes's flip-floppiness. It seemed odd the way he worded that. Like he was taking into consideration what John wanted. Usually if he waited it was because he wanted company, not because he thought John wanted it.

They got into a cab and Holmes sat in silence, his hands on his thighs. John watched as neither one twitched, but it was as if, once again, the area around them buzzed with off-put energy.

They pulled in, John getting out just after Holmes. Holmes walked toward the building, John on his heels – with much less effort than usual. Holmes was in a casual stroll, his feet laying smoothly across the concrete with each step. What happened to him?

They got in to see Molly, who had the file on the new victim all typed up and ready for Holmes to peer over, but he quickly handed it to John to look at first. "Tell me what you see." He said, watching John's every move. Molly stood there in shocked silence, seeing what had become of Holmes.

"I... see a murdered man, presumably with... three puncture wounds... maybe one of the older victims – who was actually injected with the stuff earlier, but has died now, in sequence again." John shrugged, reading it over to see that there was deterioration in the bowels and, again, the frontal lobe. The liver seemed very saturated with toxins as well, as was to be expected.

"Right." Holmes said, seemingly wanting to sigh, but he did not. He took the file back once it was passed toward him – not before, like he usually would – and read it over. He nodded and thanked Molly, saying he was going to go call Lestrade to ask him questions about the scene. He left the room, leaving John and Molly together in shocked silence.

"What happened to him?" Molly asked, leaning toward John, her voice hushed. "He seems... off. Too nice – like he suddenly understands human feelings and has compassion or something. Was that harsh?" Molly asked, seeming ashamed of what she'd just said.

"Not at all. He is too nice, and it irks me." John said, crossing his arms. "He said he had talked to Greg and you yesterday, and that's when he started getting all... fluffy." He said, gesturing to where Holmes had just left the room. "He did, didn't he?"

"Well, I didn't hear anything about Greg, but... he did come in to see me."

"What about?" John asked, glancing toward her, double taking as she was looking down at her twiddling thumbs nervously. "What about, Molly?" He repeated, facing her fully now.