Fic: Another blink in time - (3/9)

[anarion]

Third chapter of 'Another blink in time'. Finally there is Sherlock! :) Have fun reading!


Title: Another blink in time
Author: anarion
Words: 2150
Warnings: none
Pairings : Sherlock/John eventually
Beta: the wonderful and ever so patient verityburns
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters are not mine and no money is made (that would be sooo cool!).


Chapter 2 here



Chapter 3

The next day, John met Sherlock at 221B Baker Street and immediately got into another perfectly strange conversation with the man, this time regarding his landlady’s husband’s death.

The flat was a mess, but otherwise very nice. The landlady, a charming older woman called Mrs Hudson, chirped that there was another bedroom if they needed one, and John again had the feeling of being in an alternate universe.
Things did not get better when Mrs Hudson asked Sherlock if he was interested in some suicides. John was not sure he wanted to know why he possibly would be.

His thoughts were interrupted by a man running up the stairs and asking Sherlock to come to a crime scene. John stared at Sherlock. Seriously, what was this man? He clearly was not police, maybe a psychological consultant? The way he was able to read people and things was probably really handy at solving a crime.
Sherlock seemed unhappy with the assistant offered by the police but reluctantly agreed to go.

John watched the police man leave and tried to imagine if and how he, John Watson, would fit into all of this.


And then it happened.


Sherlock suddenly beamed and jumped in the air like a very happy child. John’s heart skipped a beat and he could only stare. Because in that moment, when Sherlock allowed his emotions to show – though one could debate if such a display of joy over suicides was appropriate – John was able to look behind the cold mask and what he saw made him tingle all over. He saw another person shine through, as if a curtain had been ripped away, a person John felt oddly familiar with.

Could it be? Could the soul, the being, he was looking for be living inside of this rather strange man? John wasn’t sure if he dared to hope, because hadn’t that been too easy? But then everything that happened since he left the flat yesterday led him exactly to this point. Maybe there was fate after all?

John’s thoughts were in chaos while he watched Sherlock grab his coat and leave the flat like a whirlwind. He desperately wanted to follow him, his heart screamed, “Take me with you!”

Then again he urgently needed to think, which was a rather difficult task with Mrs Hudson constantly chatting about her husband, her hip and his leg. His stupid leg! John suddenly got very angry, because without his injured leg he could have dashed out with Sherlock, could have been close to him and found out if he really was the one. He was sorry a few seconds later and hid behind the newspaper to sort out his thoughts.

Now what? He needed to find out for sure, but how was he supposed to do that? First of all it seemed a good idea to move in here. This would give him the opportunity to get to know the man and find out if he truly was who John was so desperately trying to find. And even if Sherlock wasn’t the one, John was pretty sure that he at least wouldn't be bored while his search continued.

The deep voice from behind nearly made him jump. John’s heart started to beat a little too fast and he had difficulty following Sherlock's questions. Why was he asking about his experience as an army doctor?

Oh! Sherlock wanted him to come along. John felt ridiculously happy at that thought and his response might have been a little too enthusiastic. Then again, John mused, probably not to a man who kissed his landlady out of joy over four suicides and a note.
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Sitting in the cab, John really wanted to find out more about this man, but wasn’t sure where to begin. When Sherlock started the conversation and explained how he knew all those things about him, John was in awe. He wasn’t one to praise others lightly, but these ‘deductions’, as Sherlock called them, were amazing and he said so. Sherlock answered that the normal reaction to him doing his thing was ‘piss off’ and they looked at each other and smiled. John suddenly had a warm and fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

They arrived at the crime scene while John was still busy trying to figure out what he was supposed to do here and observe Sherlock at the same time. He watched in amusement how Sherlock fussed about not getting that Harry was his sister and in slight horror how Sherlock interacted with other people – he was clearly lacking social and communication skills, as well as a conscience. John squirmed and thought that he preferred the man he shared a cab with.

The next minutes were a little blurry. They were shown the body and Sherlock seemed to look through everything in seconds. The brain of that man was truly amazing. It also appeared to shut down John’s own brain, because he was adoring Sherlock a little too blatantly.

The subject of John’s admiration then apparently had an epiphany and dashed off, leaving John behind, making him feel very alone all of a sudden.

On his way out the female officer, who seemed to be Sherlock’s special friend, warned him again about the ‘freak’ and ‘psychopath’. John could see how she might have hated Sherlock, but that seemed a little harsh. Maybe she was afraid of him? He appeared to be slightly terrifying after all.

John went in search of a cab, still not sure how he managed to get into this situation.

And then the evening got even stranger.

He noticed the public phones that started to ring as soon as he got close after a few minutes. He tried to ignore them, but finally curiosity won out and he went into a phone booth. The man on the other end threatened him into a car and John started to get angry. He was a very straight forward type of man and did not like to be threatened or manipulated.

They arrived at an empty hangar and John got out of the car. The man standing there leaning on his umbrella looked rather ridiculous, but John felt the power the man had, emanating like heat waves from a fire. He was not to be taken lightly.

John still wondered what was going on, when a comment about his and Sherlock’s relationship caught his attention, which rose together with his eyebrows when the man introduced himself as Sherlock’s arch-enemy. John tried to feel behind the mask of intellect and boastfulness, to see if this might be their evil counterpart, already battling with Sherlock. But, though the man clearly posed a threat, John did not recognize the soul.

By now he was really fed up with arrogant men in expensive suits who were apparently able to read his mind! And the offer of bribery did nothing to better his mood. He decided to leave after the suit warned him to stay away from Sherlock, because this conversation was clearly going nowhere and John already knew that there was nothing that would make him walk away from Sherlock until he was sure.
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John was still thinking about the strange encounter and the umbrella guy on the way back. He seemed even worse than Sherlock, because aside from reading minds he obviously had access to John’s medical files and the notes of his therapist. And that was somewhat disturbing. The only thing that made John feel better was the fact that he hadn’t known everything and had been wrong about his hand just like everyone else. Though his explanation came closer to the truth insofar as the bodily reactions resulted from John missing something, rather than fearing it. Of course it wasn’t the war he was missing.

He decided to drop the matter for the time being and focus on the problem at hand. Which, of course, was Sherlock.

The last text John got from Sherlock, though not indicating any immediate danger, made him take a detour to his flat and collect his gun. There he paused and wondered for a moment how he had gone from being a normal army doctor to someone in search of his soulmate, whom he seemed to have found in a brilliant but disturbing adrenaline junkie jumping from crime scene to crime scene.
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John arrived at 221B and found his new flatmate sprawled on the sofa, indulging in a little nicotine high. Wonderful.

Sherlock complained about not being able to smoke in London and John suddenly had a very vivid image in his mind of Sherlock standing somewhere, looking ridiculously good in his coat, and rolling a cigarette with his pale, slender fingers. Then lifting the fag to his lips, flicking on a lighter and drawing in the smoke while the glow dances across his face.

Wow, where did that come from?

John snapped out of his reverie and stared at Sherlock. No, staring was not a good idea. John cleared his throat and asked why he was there – maybe a little more briskly than was strictly necessary. The answer was not what he had expected. That man really could be infuriating! He wanted him to send a text? A text?

Maybe it was just a diversion and in reality he just wanted John to be there? That sounded ridiculous even in John’s head, so he decided to drop the subject and stepped to the window.

Sherlock’s reaction to John’s statement about the umbrella guy made John’s heart clench, how could a man be irritated by the term friend but ask ‘which one’ when you mention his enemies? It got worse when Sherlock showed him the pink case and felt the need to clarify that he didn’t kill her. What kind of life did he live? It appeared to be very lonely.

Maybe that was the fate of people with great minds? John started to fear that it might be rather difficult to get closer to Sherlock. He appeared to like John in his own way though, as he invited him along again, albeit hiding behind complaining that Mrs Hudson took his usual companion, the skull.
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Walking alongside Sherlock through the streets of London felt surprisingly good and the time till they reached the restaurant passed a little too fast. Not that sitting in a restaurant with him wasn't good, but John liked watching him and that was much easier on the street. Plus he wore that incredible coat. And twirled.

At the restaurant, John decided to find out if the woman from the lab was Sherlock’s girlfriend, as he recalled from previous lives that retrieving the past was more difficult when someone was already in a relationship. Sherlock’s denial of that and the remark that girlfriends were not his area, made John’s heart jump and he desperately tried to keep the pleased smile hidden. Even if Sherlock wasn’t the one, there was no denying that John felt attracted to him. And he had no boyfriend either. By now John seriously had to struggle with his smile.

It got a little awkward when Sherlock figured him out – of course he did – but John denied any advances in order to not freak Sherlock out. Luckily at the same moment the murderer decided to make an appearance and saved John from further explanations.

What followed was a crazy chase through Soho that ended with them annoying a tourist in his taxi and nearly getting arrested for it. John had not had this much fun in a long while and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so alive.

They ended up side by side in the hallway at Baker Street, giggling like schoolboys. John was amazed how easy it was for him to be himself with Sherlock and how close he already felt, given the short time they knew each other. That had to be a sign, right?

And then Sherlock shocked him by stating that he wanted to prove a fact, the fact being that John would - in Sherlock’s conviction - take the room upstairs. John’s heart was hammering somewhere in his throat, though he was pretty sure that was not the place where a heart was supposed to be.

Did Sherlock know? How could he know? Did that mean that he was the other one? And did he know John was? God, what was he supposed to do?

He was saved by a knock on the door. Outside was Angelo with his cane. The cane John completely forgot about while chasing through town with Sherlock. Another sign?

John turned to look at Sherlock, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. And when he gazed into those eyes, still sparkling with laughter and filled with joy about healing something in John, whatever it was, he knew. In that moment John Watson was absolutely sure that Sherlock Holmes was the one who would make him complete.

Next chapter


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