A rose in London

7. Arrested

The officers moved in quickly, promptly arresting John and Sherlock on sight. You had been questioned and witnessing kept you out of it, seeming as you really hadn't done anything at all. You tried to explain what had happened, but no one was taking any notice. You watched the two men be whisked away, Sherlock looking your way before he lost sight of you.

You sighed, annoyed.

You spent all night awake worried for the two. You needed to go and help them, bail them out, anything. You couldn't rest.

Meanwhile, John and Sherlock were bickering in the yard, surrounded by other problematic people who had been arrested. John complained about his lack of sleep and the fact they he missed his appointment with Mary and her family, he was annoyed that Sherlock wasn't at all fazed by this. He concluded he was going mad and Sherlock was the cause of it. Why else would he go along with everything? Running around with Sherlock was bound to get him into trouble. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen this before.

"You haven't complained about my methods before." Sherlock looked at him, not at all amused by John's wittering. At this point it sounded more like an excuse for John to have a reason for things turning out this way.

"I'm not complaining."

"You're not?" Sherlock arched a brow. "What do you call this then?"

"How am I complaining?" John frowned. "I never complain, when do I complain about you practising the violin at three in the morning? Or your mess? Your general lack of hygiene! Or the fact you steal my clothes? When do I complain about you setting fire to my rooms?"

"Our rooms."

"The rooms. When do I complain that you experiment on my dog?" John continued.

"Our dog."

"On THE dog!"

"He's our dog."

"On THE DOG. Where I do take issue is your campaign to sabotage my relationship with Mary." John lowered his voice once again.

Sherlock fell silent for a moment, then muttered, "I understand."

"Do you?"

"I do."

"I don't think you do." John narrowed his gaze at him, not at all convinced with the words he was saying. How could Sherlock understand? His brain didn't work like any other. It seemed to John that Sherlock was just saying what he thought he wanted to hear, which really didn't the situation any better at all.

"You're overtired."

"Yes."

"You're feeling a bit sensitive.

"I'm not sensitive." John defended.

"What you need is rest. My brother, Mycroft, has a small estate near Chestershire. Beautiful grounds. There's a folly. We could throw a lamb on the spit." Sherlock suggested.

"We? Holmes, if I were to go to the country, it would be with my future wife."

"Well, I say if we must."

"No, not YOU." John was getting agitated again. "Mary and I. You are not-"

"What? Invited?" Sherlock's voice raised. "Why would I not be invited to my own brother's country home, Watson? Now you're not making any sense."

"No! You're not human!" John growled. "God, I feel so sorry for Y/N." He muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

"Whatever for?"