Strange Coincidences: Johnlock AU

Chapter Fourteen

John ran his hand through is hair and blinked blearily. The words on the all-too-bright computer screen started blurring together about two hours ago. Still, he fought back the urge to doze off and clicked on the next website.

He looked over to Sherlock and was slightly cheered that he didn't looked nearly as well put-together as he usually did. His curls were disheveled and his suit had long lost its perfect, crisp form.

"I'm going to make some tea," John said. He shocked himself with his voice, raspy and low. He cleared his throat; he hadn't spoken in a long time.

Sherlock's eyes were still fixed on the screen and he acknowledged John with a grunt.

John got up and stretched, loosening the knots in his back. He made his way to the kitchen, glancing at the clock. He sighed and started the kettle. They'd been at this Moriarty and Magnussen thing for five hours already.

He heard Sherlock mutter a curse, a bad sign, as he always refrained from "reducing himself to the vulgar masses." Sherlock slammed the computer shut and stomped over to the kitchen, where John stood rubbing his eyes and waiting for the kettle.

John felt rather than saw Sherlock lean on the counter close to him. Sherlock crossed his arms and fumed in a silent ball of frustration.

"Nothing," Sherlock hissed. "How is there absolutely NOTHING?!"

John flinched when he shouted the last word. "No need to yell Sherlock, I'm right next to you."

He ignored John completely. "You'd think, with millions of imbeciles spending every second of their pathetic lives on the internet, there'd be something USEFUL on the damned thing. But no, all anyone wants to talk about is who's hooking up with who and how blue is the new black." His voice grew louder and more shrill. He finished in a huff and stomped back to his chair, flopping down.

John tore his eyes away from the kettle, remembering something about water never boiling when you're watching. He made his way over to Sherlock.

"We've barely made a dent," he tried soothing. "There are millions of articles and images and everything out there. You notice everything, sooner or later we'll notice something is amiss and you'll solve the case as always."

Sherlock's eyes light up and he leaped up from his chair. He ran over to the kitchen table and grabbed his phone.

"Sherlock?" John asked hopefully. Maybe he found a clue?

"Lestrade? It's me. I need all the files you have on Charles Augustus Magnussen." Sherlock paused, and rolled his eyes. "No, the circus trainer. Of course I mean the newspaper owner."

John hid his grin.

"Yes, yes. Fax it to me immediately." Sherlock sighed. "No, don't go through it yourself. You'd probably end up sending me everything not of importance."

Sherlock hung up with a huge smile. "I just remembered reading this article. Magnussen had been arrested and fingerprinted a long time ago, something petty like traffic tickets, but nonetheless, the police has his file. Of course the police won't have anything straight forward regarding the connection between Magnussen and Moriarty, but it is very likely there will be something that they never noticed and I'll be able to make the connection."

He went into his bedroom and moments later came out pulling a thick packet of paper. John eyed the stack warily, realizing that he had work tomorrow and it was nearly 4am.

"Is that all on Magnussen?" John asked.

"Yes, of course." Sherlock clapped his hands together and went over to the kitchen, setting the stack of papers down and pouring the cups of tea. "Break's over John, it's time to get to work. We have to read and analyze this whole stack by tomorrow. Mycroft will be sending more files over tomorrow that we'll have to look at."

Despite their determined efforts, they inevitably collapsed around 6am and they both fell asleep. John and Sherlock both ended up sprawled across the couch. John's feet mashed with with Sherlock's leg and they were both snoring loudly. Their arms were flung around, landing on the couch and on each other.

Mrs. Hudson came quietly up the stairs around 8. Upon seeing the two boys tangled up with each other and passed out snoring, she smiled and danced internally. Oh what a story did she have to tell Mrs. Turner next door!