Soldier holding his Detective

Chapter 8

A/N** I'm sure you get it by now, TW marked as (***). This is the last chapter in the series. Hope you enjoyed!!

They had kept an eye on Joseph. Tracking what he did, where he went. They didn't have enough to pull him in. All they had was that he was a creep that liked to see crime scenes. Even with the surveillance, the killer continued. Each death was horrific. John and Sherlock had shown up to a few, but others they just gave a miss. Tension was running high through Lestrade's team. John hadn't even introduced himself properly and he had already threatened them. Not to mention the man could give them nightmares. Sherlock had a nightmare - that night, after he recognised the hooded man. He dreamt he had relapsed and John left him. They held each other through the night. John stroked Sherlock's hair as he cried. Sherlock couldn't be near the man for too long. It didn't sit right with him. The man would always watch Sherlock. Did he recognise him from the alley? The killings happened at any point in the day. There was no pattern. He just killed when the mood struck, it seemed. John didn't even need his cane anymore. His pain medication was hardly used. Only when they went outside. Apart from London being scared of some random killer, everything seemed normal. Nothing could be taken from the crime scenes. They were all the same methods, just different instruments.

It was less than a week until Christmas. It didn't really feel like it. Mrs Hudson had put a small tree on their table. They had a few cards which sat on the mantle. The gifts they brought were from online. Next day delivery. Saves time and effort. Although, they shared gifts. One to Mycroft and Greg from the both of them, one to Harry from the both of them, and one to Mrs Hudson from the both of them. Then one each. All sloppily wrapped and scattered somewhere near the tabletop tree. Everyone was invited to Christmas dinner. If they wanted it, that was. John even got a message from Bill and Sami. He was sitting on the sofa with Sherlock when it came through.

"I didn't know you sent me another care package." Sherlock looked up at him and gave a sheepish smile. "I sent it early so it would arrive for Christmas." John leant towards Sherlock and kissed him deeply. "I love you. It's just arrived at base. Sami and Bill just told me." Sherlock looked at the message in John's hand then took the phone,

You can keep it. I sent plenty to share. I've got something better. Although, I did send a letter with pictures. So, unless you want pictures of John and I, just throw it. Happy Christmas - SH

It was Christmas eve and the boys had been making cookies. Mrs Hudson had given them an easy recipe to follow and even the ingredients. She said it was tradition or something. Sherlock wasn't listening. He was just glad to be with John. So far, there hadn't been a single murder in almost three days. John had exclaimed, "Told you, even crazy killers need a quiet holiday at home." The day had been perfect. The smell of cookies filled the flat. John had to keep batting Sherlock's hands away. In the end, he proposed they go for a walk.

They walked together without direction. Just wherever their feet took them. John had taken his pain medication and Sherlock had bundled them up to fight off the winter chill. They walked with their hands clasped and their noses pink. They laughed about nothing as they walked through the empty London streets. Sherlock thought about turning back when he noticed where they had ended up. He was back where he first saw the hooded man. That, Joseph . He kept walking. Holding tighter to John's hand. If John noticed, he didn't comment.

They were on the opposite side this time. The side he had seen the man. He no longer had the safety of a road between them, but he did have John. That made him feel a little bit better. It was a happy time. They had spent a great day together, don't let your past ruin the moment . Sherlock felt his body tense with each step towards the alley opening they took. John was still talking about something. Sherlock was half-listening. Their hands tight between them. Sherlock kept his eyes forward as they neared the alley. Determined not to make a deal of it. Just keep looking forward and everything will be fine. As they passed, a gruff voice could be heard from the alley, "Hello, Sherlock."

(***)

They stopped in their tracks. Fight or flight instincts kicking in. For Sherlock, it was flight. John held tighter to his hand as he turned to peer into the alley. There, sitting on the floor was Joseph Hewitt. His legs crossed, head cocked, hands resting in his lap. He looked like the picture of innocence if it wasn't for all the blood that covered him and the two dead bodies to his side. Sherlock fumbled for his phone, eyes fixed on the man. His blood ran cold. The bodies hadn't just been killed, they had been slaughtered. The tools resting beside him. The scissors, the hammer, the knife - all painted red. The shine glistening in the low light. He didn't move. He just sat. Watching them with his unblinking, dead eyes. John had taken the fighter position just in case. Sherlock's fingers were stabbing at his phone. He still had his hand clasped firmly in John's. He sent Lestrade a text. He wasn't sure what. Something about finding the killer he hoped. Mycroft would send location. Joseph looked up at them, "Would you like to see how I did it? It was easy. I can show you if you like." No one moved. All fixed to the spot. Joseph broke the stillness eventually, prompting John to shift slightly and tighten his grip on Sherlock further. "Oh, I won't hurt him." Hewitt said as he reached towards the closest body. The neck had been slit, like the others. His hand ran along the cut, blood covering his hand. He brought his hand up to the light and inspected it. He looked away from the bloodsoaked hand and turned to look straight into Sherlock's eyes. Without breaking eye contact, his tongue swept over his hand. Licking off all the blood. John and Sherlock watched on in horror. Transfixed. He bent down to collect some more. Repeating the process.

(***)

Distantly, they heard the sirens. Then the sounds of cars pulling up behind. Orders sounding over the sound of bodies moving. Lestrade's curse as he steps beside them. Mycroft's voice in the distance. The sound of Joseph's laugh. Mycroft throwing up. Police chatter on the radio. Then it all went silent. Sherlock could finally tear his eyes away. John had wrapped him in a hug. All sound gone. Sherlock was only left with the mantra that escaped John's lips, "It's okay. We're fine."

Sherlock doesn't know how he got home. He doesn't know why he's on the sofa, curled into John's lap. He doesn't know why Mycroft and Lestrade are sitting across from him. He turns on the sofa and buries his face in John's stomach. Need to process.

It must have taken him longer than expected to process. It was pitch black in the room. His face was still pressed into John's jumper clad stomach. Familiar fingers carding through his hair. The sound of a film on in the background. Sherlock sat up to look John in the face. "Hey," John's voice was soft, his hand moving to hold Sherlock. "You okay?" Sherlock looked at him for a few moments, then he nodded. He stood and held his hand out for John to take. They climbed into bed, wrapping around each other in the dark. "That's the alley I saw him for the first time." Nothing more was said. Nothing needed to be said.

They had slept in the next day. Not like it mattered. Greg probably wouldn't be able to get away from the yard for quite some time. Harry would never have shown up. Mycroft and Mrs Hudson just let themselves in and go about their business. They had decided on a quiet day. John had told Mycroft the day before. Said it would be for the best. For everyone. Apparently he had arranged for new years.

"Can I give you your present in bed?" Sherlock asked as he looked up at the amused smile on John's face. "Of course you can love. As long as I can give mine." With that, Sherlock sprung from the bed. He ran through to the small tree and ran back, pressing his cold toes to John's warm skin as he climbed back in bed. They both had brought similar sized presents. Sherlock handed John a box with wrapping paper falling off and taped within an inch of its life. A messily scrawled John spread across the small sticker on top. Sherlock held in his hand a perfectly wrapped gift. The edges crisp and the paper straight. Sherlock resting on top in John's handwriting.

They both ripped open the gifts like excited children. Identical black velvet boxes hidden underneath. Both men struggled to breathe. Lifting the lids to find a ring each. John reached forward and took the box from Sherlock's grasp, thrusting the other box into his now empty hands. "Is that a yes?" John's voice cracked as he spoke. Tears falling from their eyes. "I might have to think about it." Sherlock wiped a tear and tried to laugh at his terrible attempt at humour. He opened his mouth to speak again, only to find his words had been replaced with tear filled chokes. He settled for a firm nod of his head and reached for John's hand.

They would announce the news to their makeshift family during the new year's festivities. Right now, they hold onto each other. Sharing kisses with their new Fiancé.