Against The Most Feared - Johnlock Fanfiction (1 of 3)

Chapter Three - I Could Never Tell Him

Sherlock and John had deducted very little. They had figured out that the victims were people of very high status and highly significant power with influence over some percent of the population. They could’ve been murdered because of their popularity. They were easy targets and ones that the murderer could have numerous reasons to kill. Or they could’ve all uncovered some highly dangerous secret that could affect the murderer in a somewhat big way and was killed for knowing too much. And that the victims weren’t killed in the places that they were found. The lack of blood proved this much. But that was just about it.

Sherlock had laid out a map of London, circling where the victims were killed. They were all about thirteen miles or so away from each other. And it was in a circle. But that didn’t crop any ideas at the time.

To stretch their legs and to get away from the apartment for a few hours, they visited the sites where the victims were found. They found nothing, to their disappointment. John had suggested that they were stripped where they were murdered, so there was no evidence.

‘Possibly, John, possibly.’ Sherlock looked around at the surrounding buildings. They were at the site where the broadcasting boss was found, just across the road from a primary school.

John glanced over to the primary school. It was recess time and some of the kids were watching John and Sherlock, but they didn’t mind.

Sherlock looked over to the road. He realised that every victim was found at a place very close to the road. ‘A car.’

‘What was that?’ John asked, returning his gaze to Sherlock’s face.

‘They were driven here. By some sort of van or car. That would explain the lack of evidence and the fact that they weren’t killed here. They were killed, stripped and then driven to be dumped somewhere close to the road.’

‘To ensure a quick getaway if they were seen.’ John commented, catching on with Sherlock’s theory.  Sherlock nodded. ‘Well done, John. Let’s go.’

‘Where are we going?’ John asked. Sherlock walked to the edge of the road and hailed a cab. ‘We’re going to the station, then to Saint Bart’s. I have to get that bullet off of Lestrade.’

‘But the biolistic team have already gone through with all the tests. There wasn’t even a fingerprint.’ John said as a cab pulled up by them. Sherlock and John climbed in and Sherlock told the cab driver where they needed to go.

‘Yes, I know, but I also know that the biolistic team are very quick to determine a diagnosis, and rush through things sometimes. I just want to double-check.’ And the cab drove away from the crime scene, with the kids watching.

Sherlock sat at his desk in Saint Bart’s hospital in the chemistry lab where he does most of his chemical related experiments and his own biolistic work. He was equipped with just about anything a scientist would need to conduct experiments with the added help of computers. John had no idea what most of the equipment did, so he just sat on a stool away from anything that he could knock over.

Sherlock was looking through his microscope at the bullet that Lestrade handed over, with some long and arduous convincing. But Sherlock was able to get it off his hands. He saw the smooth surface of the brass bullet, and nothing else. Sherlock had conducted many of his own tests on the bullet, and all of his efforts were exhausted. Nothing came up on the monitors. Nothing. Damn! Sherlock thought. This guy’s smart.

John sighed and took a deep breath through his teeth. Sherlock looked up from his microscope. ‘John, if you have something to say, do so. The tension in the air is distracting me.’

John immediately jumped off his stool and approached Sherlock. ‘You know, you may be absolutely brilliant, but you’re such an arse.’

Sherlock’s eyes went large with surprise. Then he frowned and turned to face a rather angry John Watson. ‘What do you mean?’

John straightened himself. ‘You are an arse. You think that you’re better than everybody else because you’re the only consulting detective in the world. Well, that doesn’t cut it!’ Sherlock was taken back by the sudden ferocity that John was approaching with. What did I do now? Sherlock stood, standing in front of John, ready to take the full blow of John’s angry insight on Sherlock’s own actions that he hadn’t realised that he had done. ‘Continue, John.’

John took a breath. ‘You can be absolutely brilliant, but sometimes I think that God made you ignorant and a complete arse just to level it out.’

‘John, please-‘ But John wouldn’t listen.

‘You think that no one other than you is superior because you have such knowledge. Hell, you don’t know that the Earth revolves around the Sun!’ Oh, that old chestnut again.

‘John, you must realise that I can’t see and realise my actions and emotions like you. That’s what makes you more human than what I could never be.’

‘I don’t care, Sherlock!’ John was beyond calming down now. John felt so mad that he couldn’t control it. He could feel his fist curl up into a ball and swing out at Sherlock’s face. John hit Sherlock and he stumbled away from John. ‘That’s for being a selfish bastard!’ That’s when Sherlock retaliated.

All past memories and feelings had disappeared. It was all replaced by the familiar anger when CIA agents came and held Mrs Hudson hostage. Sherlock’s fist curled too and Sherlock lashed out at John, punching him in the cheek. ‘That’s for hitting me!’

The commotion could be heard from outside, and Molly Hooper, one of Sherlock’s associates at the hospital, came running down the hall and into Sherlock’s lab just to see John hit Sherlock for the second time. ‘And that’s for every time I had to save your arse!’

Molly gasped and raised her hands to her mouth. She had never seen John or Sherlock like this. She had never seen Sherlock punch someone, so she was surprised when he hit John back and said: ‘And that’s for being so DAMN SEXY!’

There was instant silence in the lab. Molly’s mouth hanged open and John held his cheek, the surprisement on his face could’ve stunned an elephant. Sherlock stood trying to retrieve his breath again. The he realised what he had said.

‘Oh, God, John….I didn’t….I mean….’ Sherlock had no idea what to say. Then he saw Molly. John followed Sherlock’s gaze to Molly’s flabbergasted face.

‘I was just…I heard…’ Molly also had no idea what to say. She was still processing what Sherlock had done and said. Was the secret love of her life really in love with John instead?

John returned his burning gaze to Sherlock. Sherlock looked at John. Again, Sherlock let his emotions rule over him. That was the problem with feelings. They get in the way. When John looked back at Sherlock, anger and lust was replaced with fear and a burning adrenaline rush to run away. And that’s exactly what he did.

Sherlock grabbed his coat and ran. He ran. For the first time in his life, he ran away. He pushed past Molly, through the hallway, down the stairs, through the doors and out to the street. He looked for somewhere to run. An alleyway was ahead of him. He quickly slip on his coat and quickly jogged into the alleyway. Little did he know that John was watching him from the window of the lab on the fifth level of the hospital.

Molly had quickly grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and wrapped in paper towel and stood by John as he gazed out to the street, watching Sherlock jog away into a nearby alleyway.

‘John?’ Molly extended her hand with the ice pack and John looked behind him at Molly’s face. A tear fell from his eye as he took the ice pack from Molly and applied it the spot where Sherlock had punched him.

Little did Sherlock know that when Sherlock disappeared from view, as the rain started to fall, John started sobbing and Molly hugged John, his face at the crook of her neck. John had never admitted that he also had feelings for Sherlock. Very strong feelings.