Deductions: A Johnlock Fanfic

Chapter Eight

Hey my ducklings! This is a bit of a short one. Sorry it's been so long since I updated, everything's been so busy and stressful, I've sort of pushed it to the side. I found myself with the inspiration to write this short chapter, so I hope you like it! And I hope that the next update is longer, more exciting, and written far quicker than this was :P

xox

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John felt his phone vibrate as he climbed into the taxi. He dug around in his pocket and pulled it out, only to groan in dismay. 8 missed calls from Taylor. 3 voice messages. 11 text messages. "Shit," he muttered, quickly dialling her back.

Sherlock observed him with raised eyebrows as John placed a finger to his lips, a signal that Sherlock should stay quiet.

She answered almost immediately. "John! Where on earth have you been?! I've been trying to call you for hours!"

John winced, "I'm so sorry. There's ... Really bad reception in the hospital."

"You've been in the hospital all this time?" she asked incredulously.

"Well, no, see, I stepped out for lunch with Harry," he lied, trying to think on his feet. "I'm just on my way home now."

"Excellent, I'll meet you there," she chirped.

"Sorry, what?"

"Well, since I figured you'd be upset about your uncle, I planned a little surprise for you. I'll pick you up at your house."

John bit his lip. No, no, no! Taylor's house was much closer to Bakers Street than they were. She'd arrive long before them. She'd see him get out of the cab with Sherlock. She'd know he'd lied. It would all be over.

"Oh no, don't worry about picking me up," he tried, "I'll need time to get ready anyway-"

"That's no problem, I can wait," she replied cheerily. "It'll be good for me to spend some time with that friend of yours anyway, get to know him."

"I really don't think that's the best idea," he interjected.

"Why ever not?" she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

"Why not?" repeated John, buying some time. "Because ... Because Sherlock is sick. Terribly ill. Vomiting everywhere, it's disgusting."

"But you said you were on a case last night?"

"He came down ever so suddenly. I'd hate for you to catch it. So why don't you wait till ... Say ... Four o'clock, to pick me up? Is that too late?"

He could hear the defeat in her tone, "Not at all. I'll see you then John."

"Alright, excellent. I can't wait!"

"Bye Honey, I love you," she cooed through the phone.

"Love you too," replied John, hanging up with a sigh.

He looked over at Sherlock, who watched him with a curious expression.

"What's that face for?" asked John, defensively.

"Nothing, nothing," said Sherlock, evasively. "People are just fascinating."

John frowned but said nothing. He hated it when Sherlock 'analysed' him, like he could see straight through him with an X-ray; all his private thoughts and feelings left raw and exposed. "Let's just hurry and get home," he muttered crossly, only to earn a grumpy retort from the cabby.

"Mate, I am driving as fast as is legal, so lay off!"

Once home, John tossed away all thoughts of Chloe Nelson and her untimely demise. Instead, he showered quickly, dressed into his best trousers and a nice pale pink shirt Taylor had given him as a present. Dabbing on some cologne, he stepped into the living room to find Sherlock playing his violin and gazing out the window. "How do I look?" he asked awkwardly.

Sherlock halted his piece abruptly and turned to look at John. His eyes swept him up and down, and finally he replied. "Your optic nerve plays a primary role in your ability to see."

John groaned. "You know what I mean!"

A smile played across Sherlock's lips. "You look very nice. Rather dapper. Although I can't say that colour suits you."

John grimaced. "I have to wear it at least once when I'm with her, or else she'll think I never wear it."

"But you don't ever wear it," pointed out Sherlock.

"And that is our secret," said John, pointedly looking at Sherlock as the doorbell rang below. "That'll be her. Now. Play nice, okay?"

Sherlock said nothing, taking out his phone instead, just as the soft footsteps crossed the landing.

There was a sharp knock and the door swung open, revealing both Taylor and Mrs Hudson.

"Here you are dear," smiled Mrs Hudson. "It's so nice to meet one of John's young friends. I've worried for long that he'd never find a girl and settle down-"

"Thank you Mrs Hudson," interrupted John with a nervous chuckle.

Despite looking a little put out, she took the hint and disappeared down the stair, muttering something about the ungratefulness and the state of the room.

"So," smiled Taylor, batting her eyelid that were thick with mascara. She wore a short, midnight blue dress and stilettos that didn't stick comfortably on her feet. She looked up at John, leaning in slowly with her mouth lifted to his. John panicked for a moment, and then calmed himself. /Don't be ridiculous, this is your girlfriend. Of course you can kiss her./

Their lips were an inch apart when the phone rang from Sherlock's direction. He stood smoothly. "Don't mind me," he said, without looking at the couple. "Just making a phone call, shouldn't be more than a few minutes, you carry on."

John and Taylor separated, John clearing his throat a little awkwardly. "Taylor, you've met Sherlock," he tried as an introduction. They'd met briefly on a few occasions. None had been too successful.

Taylor frowned in confusion. "Aren't you awfully sick?"

Sherlock blinked and fixed that icy stare on her. "I recovered."

"Oh," she replied uncertainly. "Well, that is ... Good."

John cleared his throat again. "Anyway, this was nice, but we should go, for whatever this little surprise is," insisted John, trying to step towards the door.

Whoever Sherlock was ringing, he had them on speaker phone, probably for John's benefit. The call was answered and a male voice answered.

"Hello, this is Graham."

"Graham Russet, I presume?"

Taylor looked over with interest. "Are you investigating a case now?"

John shook his head, "No. Well, yes. Sort of. Sherlock is. Not me. I'm not involved. I have a job."

Taylor beamed at him. "That's so responsible of you John."

Sherlock was still talking to Graham, "I'd love to meet up sometime, to discuss the matter with you. Say ... Half an hour from now? There's a fair on next to the Thames tonight, perhaps we could meet there?"

John's brow furrowed. That was such a strange place to meet with someone for a case. Beside him, Taylor gave a sharp intake of breath. "That's where we're going tonight," she breathed.

John looked to Sherlock, a frown growing. "Of course it is."

"What an incredible coincidence," shrugged Taylor, turning to leave the apartment.

"Yeah," growled John, following behind her. "Incredible."

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