Compromises - A Johnlock Fanfiction

Chapter 1 - Marine Biologist

Chapter 1: Marine Biologist

John hopped around on the side lines. Waiting for Sherlock to call him over and analyse the body, John never tired of watching the way Sherlock roamed around picking out the details nobody else saw. He was looking from every angle, picking out every minute clue that could have a lead to the murderer. I admired the way he bounded around the body, it reminded me of the first day I met him. He was so excited and acted like a little kid when Lestrade told him there had been a fourth murder. The way Mrs Hudson told him it wasn't decent and how he just shrugged it off and told her that the game was on. I mean, who calls murder a game?

My eyes flickered over to that very person and examined him. The way he dressed, while smart and attractive, was cold and fitted with the persona Sherlock maintained. Sherlock appeared as threatening, heartless and captivating but he was really a nice man, when he wanted to be and he could be thoughtful and...the truth was was that Sherlock was a complete lunatic and most of the time seemed like he came from a different planet but I guess that just made him endearing and lovable. That's what I tell myself, in all hounest I have no idea why I've stuck around for so long and why I find myself so wrapped up in his world.

Sherlock looks up at me through his eyelashes and for an instant our eyes meet and I'm sure he knows exactly what I'm thinking about but he gives me his crinkled smile and then gets back to what he's doing. I look over at Lestrade who quickly looks away when I catch his eye. I flush, embarrassed because everyone knows I've been staring at Sherlock.

“Okay. I've got everything I need,” Sherlock announces, suddenly standing up and looked at each of us; Me, Lestrade, Anderson, Donovan all waiting for what he had to say. “If you find anything else on the body, send me an e-mail. Come on John.” I look over at Lestrade who is vacantly looking after Sherlock and then looks over at me with such the same look. I wonder what he must be thinking. I don't have long to mull over it as Sherlock is already hailing a taxi.

I run up to the road, not bothering to look back at the crime scene, knowing they would either be watching us which would make me uncomfortable or they would be gathered in a way that made it look like we had never been there. I crossed over the road to where Sherlock had already slid into the back seat of a taxi. I sat myself in the seat next to him and proceeded to look out of the window into the same old London streets we travelled day in day out.

“What was that sigh for?” Sherlock asked in his deep voice which sounded like the deep note on a cello, and when I looked up his full attention was focused on me. His body was turned towards me and his face was open as if he was waiting for a genuine answer, not that he was going to get one.

“The scenery; I haven't been out of London in such a long time. Not since the Hounds of Baskerville case.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, not appreciating the names I gave the cases on my blog. Something then occurred to me; when had Sherlock started wondering why I was sighing? At most he would notice if he had been particularly shut off for a few days but he had never picked up on other human emotions and behaviours. I wondered if I was having more of an affect on Sherlock than I had originally thought.

“Oh right,” he mumbled, momentarily looking out to the scenery I was talking about and then he switched back to the Sherlock I knew “I have several theories about the victim, a few of my ideas are stabs in the dark but have led me to a new source,” I perked up then. When I looked at the body I hadn't picked up much. “He was face down so he must have fallen down when he was struck by the handle of an unknown object,” I felt quite surprised at how he had picked up that the dent in the back of man's head must have been from the handle of something but I continued to listen to Sherlock, hoping he would enlighten me. “He was wearing vaguely casual clothing so he wasn't headed for or coming away from work or some social event. He might have been out shopping but that doesn't suggest why he was down by the Thames. It did occur to me that he might have purposefully come out to a pre-arranged meeting with someone he was comfortable around so it wasn't a business meeting or anything important for example to do with money or anything of value. This then leads us to maybe a friend, or maybe it was an date with someone he had met online.” I blinked in exasperation, how could he so quickly jump to that conclusion.

“That's an almighty stab in the dark--” the bit of paper he pulled out of his pocket stopped me in my tracks. It was crisply clean aside from the coffee ring. “That's a profile of someone from a dating website, yes, but it wasn't on the body or Lestrade would have had it in an evidence bag?” the twitch in one corner of Sherlock's mouth suggested he was pleased I had come to this conclusion myself.

“Of course, I found it in the top of the bin next to the road,” thinking about it, I had seen a bin there. I almost said “Fantastic” or “Amazing” but stopped myself, one of the many changes I had made about myself so that people would stop thinking I was gay. Sherlock was a very attractive man but we were good friends. That's all it would ever be. “The stab in the dark was that the body was discovered minutes after death and so what was in the top of the bin may probably have been left by the killer.” he paused for breath, but had gone back to looking out the window. “The left pocket had been emptied, Lestrade assumed that the killer had emptied and kept the contents but he had not observed.” Sherlock constantly seethed about people looking but not observing, it had been the centre point of many arguments “Everyone had been looking for a reason for him to be there, and he must have been killed by someone. The only way for the killer to leave the site of the murder was by the Thames or on the road.”

Sherlock turned back to me and motioned to the taxi

“They probably got a taxi, we may never find the taxi driver but if they had emptied the pocket, which is almost certainly what happened, then they wouldn't keep it on their person in case the cab driver does come forward to say that they had picked up someone at that place at that time. They needed to dispose of it somewhere that gets emptied regularly and would seem too obvious to be considered an option. The killer was clever, had thought through what they were doing. They had observed.” I frowned, not seeing how this could be so simple if the killer was as “clever” as Sherlock claimed them to be.

“Wouldn't they have dumped the bit of paper in the Thames, it would have gotten lost in the water and ended up in sea. There would have been no chance of it being found at all?” It seemed so simple to me for once. Sherlock chuckled a little,

“That's why Milla Branston, the marine biologist seems like our likely suspect.” I nodded, finally getting it. Of course a marine biologist wouldn't want to pollute the sea when she worked to get it clean. The taxi stopped outside 221B Baker Street and we got out, rushing into the house and hanging up our coats. It was a cold winter and even though it was March already, the weather was not letting up. Mrs Hudson had the heating right up, so the cold didn't touch us in our flat. We ascended the stairs but paused as Mrs Hudson came out of our flat.

“Mrs Hudson, what's going on?” Sherlock asked, proceeding up the stairs, to stand face to face to her. She jumped slightly at our sudden arrival.

“Oh boys, Mycroft popped round,” Sherlock's face visibly darkened, all his features falling and his eyes darkened to match his mood.

“Is he still here?” I asked, knowing Sherlock was getting angry.

“Yes, he's waiting for you in there. I was just wondering if--” but Mrs Hudson trailed off as Sherlock threw open the door and I stormed in after him, not waiting to hear what Mrs Hudson had to say.