Marriage and Mental Illness (Sequel to Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles)

Skinhead Confessions

John's POV

Sherlock and I were called in to help question the Skinhead from the Brixon Mosque, the one who had almost shot me. His name was Jake Tanner, no older than 25. He was barrel-chested with beaded eyes glaring out at us.

Both Sherlock and I were asking questions, but he just sat and glared, hatred rolling off of him in waves. He and Paul Stewart had been placed in cells far away from each other, neither given the information that the other was here.

The entire time I couldn't help but remember the feeling of his gun pressed into my head, hands holding me back. He smiled at me occasionally, as if he knew.

After hours of getting no where with even the most basic of questions, Sherlock eventually sighed and stood. The metal chair scraped harshly against the floor as he turned to me, eyes widening, annoyed. We both exited the room to meet Greg and Mycroft.

"Nothing," Sherlock growled. "Absolutely nothing." Greg grimaced, nodding.

"I half expected as much. Would you mind if Scott had a crack at him? We got good results with him and Stewart." He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall.

Sherlock nodded, waving his hand. "Get him in, it doesn't matter who gets the answers." I raised an eyebrow, vaguley surprised. Sherlock usually liked to be the one to get the essential answers from convicts, he didn't like sharing that with anyone other than me.

Greg nodded and disappeared around the corner to grab him. Mycroft stood, hands stuffed into his pockets as he stared at the floor. His usually neat hair was dishevled, redish tufts sticking out.

"Mycroft," Sherlock started. Mycroft shook his head, sighing.

"No, I haven't been sleeping well, brother mine. But are you really going to tell me you've been sleeping well?"

My eyes widened slightly, watching as Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He shook his head, sighing as Mycroft's mood soured.

"I'll just be glad once we've got a solid location. It won't take long after that o get the organization down, but before then... it's impossible. Every lead is a dead end, brother dear. You know that."

Sherlock bit his lip, hand twitching to reach out and console his brother. I nearly nudged him to do so, but Greg rounded the corner again with Scott.

Scott gave a small nod, lips set into a firm line. His hooked nose flared, and he went in. Sherlock leaned against the wall, eyes falling shut.

I slipped my arm around his middle, hand resting on his waist. "Are you alright?" My lips were by his ear, only letting him hear what I was saying. He nodded his head, eyes not opening.

"How late did you stay up last night when working on samples from the Brixon Mosque?"

The edge of his lips quirked upwards in a small smile. "I'm not telling you that, otherwise you'd get mad, and I don't feel like having that be the case right now."

I chuckled at his reponse, "Well, you should be glad that I don't feel like being mad at you either." He gave a tight lipped smile, eyes never opening. The smile quickly faded, and I kissed his temple.

"I'm trying to make you laugh," I murmured. Sherlock sighed, cracking one eye open. He looked utterly exhausted, eyelids drooping, dark circles lining his eyes.

"I know. I don't feel like laughing right now but thank you." I gave a small smile, kissing the side of his head again before straightening.

Greg and Mycroft were watching Scott and Jake Tanner talk, hands laced together in between them. It wasn't odd to see, just a bit surprising.