Nothing But Flowers (Johnlock)

Chapter 11

"Oscar recognized the man in our picture."

The words seemed to hang in mid air for a minute or two, until their full meaning hit John.

"He knows the attacker? Who is he?" John rolled Sherlock onto his back, scrambling over him to pin him down. The berk has kept this to himself all night. John wasn't going to let him up until he heard everything.

Sherlock was chuckling, clearly the information was what had put him in such a good mood since they left the gallery. He got so excited over leads, it was infectious. His green eyes seemed to glow, his lips pulling into a small pleased smile.

"Well, he didn't know his name, but I could tell right away he recognized him. He zoomed up the pictures, looking at them all closely while I talked with Felicity." Sherlock said, looking quite proud of himself. The risk of going to the gallery had been worth it.

John let out a frustrated huff. "Sherlock! Fucking tell me what he said already!"

"What will you give me to tell you?" Sherlock still prevaricated.

Rolling his eyes, John tried to keep calm. "You're going the right way for a smart bottom."

The comment made Sherlock chuckle, but John couldn't miss the spark of interest in his eyes as well. "Oh really?"

Sherlock, when in a good mood, was simply irresistible. John loved it when he was playful like this. So fucking sexy.

He leaned down, kissing the man until he was pulling against John's restraining hands. Stopping only to pull back a little, John gave Sherlock an exasperated look. "What?"

The berk pouted a little. "Let go of my wrists. I want to touch you."

"Tell me what Oscar said, and I will." John shot back with a smile.

Sherlock's eyes went to John's mouth, groaning. "Blackmail."

"Bargaining." John corrected.

With a curt nod, Sherlock met his gaze. "It took him a while to place him, but he's pretty sure the guy is a cousin of Paolo's. Someone he had met in passing a time or two, years ago. Can't remember his name though."

John gave him a quick kiss, releasing him to roll over on his back, staring at the ceiling as he thought about it. A cousin. Paolo was 34 when he died. From the fight, John's impression was that the attacker's age was around the same or slightly younger. Mid-twenties to low-thirties. His face and colouring were similar to Paolo's, likely Italian as well, so it fit that they could be related. He hadn't spoken, so John didn't know if he had an accent. Paolo had been born in England so he didn't, but his mother still had a light one.

"Well, there's a 50/50 chance his last name is Baresi as well, then." John sighed. "How many men from 25-35 years old have that surname in the UK? In London?"

Sherlock nodded. "It's a place to start. Felicity also mentioned that they had a traditional funeral for Paolo at the Italian church, St. Peter's, the day before the memorial service. That's the one his extended family and the Italian community went to."

"Traditional funeral? Like open casket after he had an autopsy? Is that possible?" John mused aloud.

Sherlock shrugged. "But it's possible this cousin could have travelled to come to the funeral and still been around the next day to attack you."

John nodded. "I can't remember his clothes that clearly. Not a suit, and not something really casual either, like jeans or athletic wear. I think he was in dress trousers and a button up shirt. He could have worn it to the memorial service."