JohnLock

((I'm going to make like the Doctor and say oh, aren't you BEAUTIFUL? This is amazing. I love Sherlock showing off for John.))

While John's ears go a little red at "had a little fun on the way in", he smiles to see Sherlock so enthusiastic. Sally looks positively befuddled, as if she's not quite sure if she was insulted or complimented, or even if she heard him right. She shoots him a questioning look regarding their previously joined hands, and he can see her slowly puzzling out "had a little fun". He glances at Lestrade, who looks vaguely embarrassed for having walked in on them, effectively answering any questions he might have had regarding the nature of their hand-holding. John smiles at him apologetically, then returns his attention to Sherlock. The man is in his element, and John loves it.

He loves him.
 
(I'm glad you enjoy it :D Bonus points for slipping in the Doctor Who reference.)

Lestrade shakes his head, and gestures to the opposite end of the pool. "Right, it's over there."
"Good." He nods and walks towards the body, knowing John is following closely behind. He kneels next to the woman
Middle-aged, late 30's. Married, no children however, Cut's made on the chest are identical to that of Sylvia Downing, ligature marks around neck, assailant was left handed, shorter than the victim, lighter as well. Body has been water for- he glances at the chest to see how deflated the lungs are, at least 4 hours. But...dead much longer.
Sherlock looks back up at John, seeing him transfixed. He can't help but let out a little smile. And then he notices the one thing has been staring him in the face.

The bodies are identical completely. Which means that...
"She's not the last one."
"What?" Lestrade looks at him, startled. Sherlock turns to John, "Sylvia Downing, she didn't drown, of course not. Only an amateur would rely on something so unpredictable to kill. And our suspect, she's stronger, lighter and shorter, but much stronger than the average. Perhaps narcotics, but that doesn't matter. Sylvia was strangled, John, look at her, how was this one killed?"
 
John frowns and peers closely at the body, studying it for cause of death. "Strangled," he concludes, then sees what Sherlock is getting at and looks up. "They were killed the same way?" he says questioningly. "So is it definitely the same person, then?" He looks back down at the body. Poor woman. He remembered what it felt like, to think you were about to die. He wouldn't wish that on anybody. He shakes his head slightly to clear it and focuses on Sherlock. Better to focus on catching whoever is doing this than dwell on the dead. Besides, he likes to watch Sherlock work. He thinks back to that first crime scene, to Sally telling him Sherlock "gets off" on crime scenes. Looking at Sherlock, John thinks that maybe he gets off on watching Sherlock in his element- even if that element is ankle-deep in corpses.
 
"Exactly, John! Now, whoever this, we have to assume they enjoy the killing. She's doing it with her bare hands, doesn't mind getting messy. So, if she knew this would be her last kill, the last part of the message, something would be different. She wants to be noticed, wants that message out there for everyone to hear. That means that at the end of the message, the end of the killings, she'll find a way of letting us know. Somehow standout."
As Sherlock speaks, his hands are in the air, he's excited, because this, crude as it may be, is something new. He has his John, he has a case, an oh so clever case, how is he not supposed to be grinning like some madman. But Lestrade and Sally and the rest of the Yard is looking at him confused.
He raises an eyebrow, "Is it really that boring in all of your heads?"
John gives him a look, that now's-not-exactly-a-good-time face. Sherlock frowns, "Not good?"
 
John rolls his eyes. Of course Sherlock's all excited. John can't make heads or tails of it, so Sherlock must be thoroughly enjoying himself. Not that John being confused is anything special. "Bit not good, yeah," he responds, but his lips quirk up momentarily, remembering the first time he said those words. He sees an echoing smile ghost across Sherlock's face and can't help the involuntary grin that spreads across his face.
"Bloody hell, you two," Lestrade says. "Can we focus on the dead woman? Please?" John looks away, abashed, but he can practically feel Sherlock's smugness rolling off of him.
Lestrade looks down at the body and frowns. "Wait, how do you know it's a woman that did this? Or that she wants to be noticed?" he asks, confused.
 
Oh, John. My fantastic John, don't you dare hold back. He still smiles, because that was just perfect. Seeing John smile like that...
He turns to Lestrade and rolls his eyes, "Pay attention, Lestrade. Look at the way the marks are around her neck, she had to reach up to grab her. Haley is in heels, so the assailant was probably slightly less that average in height. She probably uses narcotics, steroids or something stronger, so that she can kill like this. And do you see that, the red dust on the skin, I bet that's some sort of nail laquer, chipped off while she was strangling Haley. "
"Then there is the message, the motive, it's everything. The reason she chose to dump the bodies at an apartment pool, the reason that the two victims initials say SH. Sherlock Holmes. She knows who I am, who Moriarty is, she has known it from the start and-"
He laughs out loud, because he has been so, so stupid. How could he not have seen this first?
"It's not for me. Not just for me. Who ever this woman is, she want's Moriarty to see too, and she's not going to stop until we get her entire message. And she will kill for it."
 
John goes cold at Sherlock's words, and that feeling combined with the smell of chlorine reminds him so strongly of that day, that horrible day at the pool, that it momentarily throws him off. He's back getting kidnapped; watching the horrible look in Sherlock's eyes when he was forced to say those words, the ones that made him sound like Moriarty; Moriarty saying "I'll burn the heart out of you," and Sherlock looking at John; being unable to save Sherlock's life even when he tried to give up his own, and Moriarty saying "You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson," and knowing that he had failed, that he would lose Sherlock forever...
He forces himself back to the present, swallowing and wearing his soldier face to prevent Sherlock from seeing his fear. Sherlock is so excited about this new game, the possibility of going up against Moriarty as well as this killer, that he won't understand why John wants to take him and hide him as far away as possible. "Moriarty?" he asks. "She's trying to make Moriarty notice her as well? Why?"
 
He turns back to John, seeing a slight quiver in his lip and an all too forced straight face. John's worried about something, he doesn't like that, not one bit. Sherlock just wants to pull him in and hold him and tell him it's alright. No matter what he's afraid of.
He settles for taking John's hand again, squeezing it tightly and running his thumb along the skin in a comforting fashion. That was comforting right? Sherlock was a bit too inexperienced in these things to know for sure.
"Maybe she wants to be his new Sebastian Moran or have him commit a crime for her, though that seems unlikely since she just killed two women in cold blood. Or she wants to play a game. The only way to know for sure is to find the rest of the message."
 
John nods stiffly, but gives Sherlock a small, grateful smile for the reassurance of their hands clasped together. He suspects Sherlock doesn't know the reason for his fear, but it's nice that he's trying to be comforting anyway. Sally, Lestrade, and half the Yard are openly staring at them now, some of them whispering amongst themselves. John raises his chin ever so slightly and tries to ignore them. "So," he muses aloud, "is there a way to get to her before she kills again? Or get the message without more deaths?"
 
"We should start at the beginning then, see if perhaps we can figure it out from there."
He ignores all those unwanted looks, its not as if he cares what they think. If they said any word against John however, he would be glad to point out more than a few of the many flaws in their life. Instead, he stares at Lestrade, "Sylvia Downing's body, is it still with Molly?"
"Yes, but Sherloc-"
He doesn't wait for any other affirmations, instead he walks out of the crime scene, tugging John along behind him. Sherlock of course has more than a few reasons for leaving.
 
i apologize i wrote "Sally" instead of Sylvia. I feel like a twat, cause Sally's not dead, I'm so silly. I'm not Moffat I wouldn't do that.
 
John calls out hasty apologies and goodbyes as they leave, letting Sherlock tug him out without too much protest. He can hear the conversations breaking out behind them as the door swings shut, louder now that they're out of the room. "Did you see that-" "Were they HOLDING HANDS?" "Did you see how the freak looked at-" "Who called the nearest day? I think it was-" "No, it was me, pay up-" "Who had-" "What'd the winnings come to?"
Suddenly John realizes that there was a BETTING POOL going on based on his and Sherlock's relationship! He blinks, surprised, and cracks a smile at Sherlock. "Hope Lestrade won," he says, gesturing with his head at the door behind them. Then he frowns, confused. "Where are we going, anyway?"

((It was too good. I couldn't resist. XD))
 
(That, my dear, was excellent! I applaud you!)

"Yes. well, apparently they find it amusing or something. I think Lestrade may have mentioned it once after I pick-pocketed him."

He lifts John's hand to his lips kissing it softly before he answers, "We're going to St Barts, to see if there is any clues on Sylvia's body. Like you said, we should try and find what the killer wants before she does this again." And then Sherlock's nose crinkles as he frowns slightly at John, that worried expression he had displayed moments ago.
"So do you want to tell me what scared you now or in the cab?"
 
((Thank you, thank you.))

John blinks, momentarily distracted by the way Sherlock kissed his hand. That was such a sweet gesture, something so soft and COUPLEY, that he hadn't expected it from Sherlock... but he likes it. He really likes it.
Sherlock's question, though, he likes less.
"I wasn't-" he starts defensively, but the look on Sherlock's face says "don't be an idiot, John," so he allows the soldier face to drop. "Cab," he says shortly, striding ahead. He doesn't want to tell Sherlock why he was afraid. He doesn't want to tell him he wishes he wouldn't go anywhere near Moriarty ever again. He doesn't want to have the fight he's sure will ensue. Not now. Not when he just got him. What if Sherlock realizes the couple thing really ISN'T for him when he finds out how much being with John would hold him back?
He doesn't think he could take that.
 
"Alright." He doesn't like this, the postponing of something Sherlock deduces is important. Because John isn't usually scared, or at least visibly. He wants to be able to protect his John
They walk back down the corridor, and Sherlock pulls open the wooden door he had been snogging John quite furiously at minutes ago.
Of course Anderson's been waiting, probably planning some mediocre retort. Sherlock doesn't have time for him and his stupidity though. He has a case and he has John to take care of.
"Well, then Sherlock, your really are so-"
Sherlock rolls his eyes and interrupts him with an annoyed tone, "Yes, yes, I'm sure that was going to end up very clever, but not right now. Save it though, I can always throw it back in your face later."
He strides away , holding John's hand as if to show off how proud he is to be with John, how he doesn't give a damn what Scotland Yard cares to say or bet upon.
 
John looks up at Sherlock, at the expression of pride on his face, and it makes him reel to think that only, what, two hours ago, he had no idea that Sherlock would be holding his hand, would be PROUD to hold his hand in front of everyone they know. They haven't even been on a proper DATE yet, although he supposes that considering how often they have done date-like things prior to... to this, whatever this is, that doesn't matter in the slightest. He squeezes Sherlock's hand affectionately, giving him a small smile. Now that he has this, he doesn't intend to let it go. He just hopes, as the cab rolls up, that Sherlock feels the same.
 
He pulls open the door, sliding in first and pulling John in after him so that there's little space between them as they sit.
John leans in to the cabbie to tell him where to go and once sitting down again, Sherlock slips his arm around John's stocky shoulders. He tugs his John a bit closer so he can whisper into his ear.
"So tell me. Please."
Because I want to protect you, John.
 
((I'm hooooooome~! Therefore posts will resume some semblance of regularity. Huzzah!))

John tentatively slides down just a bit so that he can tuck his head under Sherlock's chin, letting it rest on his shoulder, and slips his arms around the detective's waist. If he's going to do this, he's going to at least do it while doing something he's dreamed about for years. Just in case something happens and he doesn't get the chance again. Plus, it's much easier to say it when Sherlock can't see his face, and he can't see Sherlock's.

For a soldier, John really can be a coward sometimes.

"When you mentioned that it had something to do with Moriarty, in there," he begins, slowly, quietly, not wanting to say it, "it reminded me of the pool." He knows Sherlock will know what he means. "I was remembering trying to save you, and Moriarty saying 'You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson'..." He sighs. "I think he knew, even then, how much I care about you. Somehow even before you did." He swallows, not wanting to say the next bit, the memories flashing through his head. "And even then, I couldn't save you... and I thought..." His voice drops to a mumble. "I thought I was going to lose you." He's quiet for a moment, but before Sherlock can speak, John finishes in a rush. "Every time you go up against Moriarty, someone gets hurt, and I don't want that someone to be you."

He knows Sherlock will read what he really means in that: "I don't want you to go after him." He knows he'll hate that. He'll feel smothered, stifled, restricted, and realize that being with John was a bad idea. And then John will lose him. The fear is paralyzing. He turns his face into Sherlock's chest to hide it.

He just hopes that Sherlock can also tell that the end of that mental statement is, "But I'll let you if you want to." Because he will. Because there's no one else who can catch Moriarty, because Moriarty has to be taken down, but most importantly, because Sherlock wants to. And John won't hold him back.
 
(Woot, your news pleases me! And I'm off tomorow so i'll try to keep my supply of replies constant as well :D)

He can't help but cling to John in silence for a few moments, hold him tightly, because he can feel John shake from how much this affects him. Sherlock doesn't want John to be afraid, doesn't want him to have to worry every time they go out on a case like this.
Wasn't he thinking about this earlier when Lestrade came over? That if people knew, that if the thing between John and him got out, all his enemies would be able to use that against him. And John could get hurt.
All of a sudden this heavyset guilt forms within him, because it's almost as bad as if they went on the news and announced.
The Yard knows, and they've already been proven untrustworthy. So he has to assume the worst. Which means he can't leave this case now, though he was contemplating it, because he hates to see John in such a state. He couldn't bare to lose John, even if it stopped him from a clever case. But now, his hand is up.
"John, I am so sorry. I messed up, I messed up very badly." he can't help the slight quiver in his voice, "I can't stop, not until He's dead. Because he knows now, I can feel it. I'm not in as much danger as you are. Moriarty will use you to get to me."
 
John sits up quickly, feeling the need to check Sherlock's expression. It's... anguished. John hates that. He can't take it. "I don't care about that!" he says, insistent. "I don't care about my own safety, Sherlock, it doesn't matter to me if I'm in danger. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right by your side, because unless I'm with you I can't protect you. And that is all I care about, Sherlock. Making sure you're safe." He swallows down the lump in his throat, putting one hand gently on Sherlock's cheek. "I cannot lose you now," he says, and his voice started out strong, but at the end it comes out almost broken, and damn it, that's not right, that's not right, he is not supposed to be weak like that. Especially not when they don't even know if Moriarty is actually involved or not.

He takes a deep breath. He's supposed to be making Sherlock feel better, not making him feel guilty. He tries again. "He knew already, Sherlock, of course he did. Remember? You said you didn't have a heart and he said 'We both know that's not quite true.'" He can't help the somewhat scornful tone his voice takes on when talking about the supposed lack of Sherlock's heart. Sherlock has a perfectly functional heart, and John has always known that. "He just didn't know we were actually together. We're in exactly the same position as before, but it's just confirmed now," he explains. He grips the sides of Sherlock's face with both hands now, at his jaw. "This changes nothing, understand?" he says fiercely. "We're still going after him, I'm still not going anywhere, and I still love you."

His eyes widen and his hands fall away from Sherlock's face as he realizes what he just said aloud. "I- I mean-" Bollocks, less than two hours into their relationship and he's already broken out the three little words? Talk about jumping the gun. He can feel his face going red, and his head is screaming NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO PANIC. What had he just done?!

((OH MY GOD, I swear, this RP, ALL THE FEELZ, WHAT THE CRAP. HOW CAN SOMETHING BE THIS AMAZING.))