Strange Coincidences: Johnlock AU

Chapter Twelve

John paced outside Mycroft’s office, images of the dead woman resurfacing in his mind. Why did she have to look so much like my sister?

  

He didn’t hear any screaming or shouting from the inside, but that didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t arguing; the whole office was probably sound proof. John found the whole situation with Mycroft unsettling; Sherlock would rather go bite off his tongue than talk to Mycroft.

Before John could drive himself crazy by dwelling on his suspicious, the wooden doors slammed open and a brooding Sherlock slouched out.

John was about to ask him what was wrong when Sherlock shot him a dark look. John shut his mouth and followed after Sherlock, wondering what the hell happened in there.

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“Remind me, why are we going to Hyde park at this un-godly hour?” John huffed, trotting after Sherlock as he raced out of the flat. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and watched warily as Sherlock tried to hail a cab.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Stop whining.”

“Its bloody midnight!”

Sherlock shrugged and proceeded to do the hand wave that always made cabs skid to a stop. John watched his feat with some amazement and irritation; stupid git always managed to get cabs instantly, whereas he had to holler around for five minutes before a cab noticed him.

“Has there being a murder or something?” The cab driver turned and looked at them with alarm. Ignoring this, John continued. “Did you get a call from Lestrade?”

“Nope.”

John stared at him, waiting for an answer. When it became apparent that none would come, John crossed his arms and stared out the window. It may have been midnight but London was as lit up as ever.

Some of his frustration melted away as they got closer to Hyde Park. Whatever this crazy half-hatched plan of Sherlock’s may be, John could at least appreciate the scenery. The pathway was barely illuminated, showing the shadowy outline of trees. The Ferris Wheel stood tall and proud, glimmering as they got closer to their destination.

John shivered as a blast of cool air hit him. Not having expected Sherlock’s impulse, he quickly threw on a short, light jacket. He wrapped himself tighter together, trying to stay warm despite the chilling London wind.

Through the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock look at him. His eyes flashed with something as he observed John’s shivering. Sherlock hesitated for a moment and then unwound his signature blue scarp from his neck and handed it to John.

John’s mouth dropped slightly open. Sherlock shrugged and walked faster, a feeble attempt at nonchalance. Lagging several steps behind him, John smiled and put on the scarf. The heavy cloth, smelling like Sherlock’s cinnamon scent, warmed him instantly, though John suspected it was more because of the sheer intimacy of the scarf than the actual thing.

“My coat’s warm enough,” John protested half-heartedly, whilst clutching the scarf and adjusting it on his neck.