SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

Catch. You. Later

Sherlock scrambled to his feet and waltzed into John’s room. Ignoring his depressed friend, Sherlock threw himself onto the bed and curled up comfortably. His feet hung off the bed and his knees, no matter how close he kept them to his chest, still managed to shove John off the bed.

“Jesus, Sherlock! Find your own room, all right?” John scolded, giving his friend an angered expression.

“This is the only room with a cot, John.” Sherlock replied, nestling further into the pillow. His body relaxed and he allowed himself to drift off to sleep. However, he didn’t get more than a wink before he was grabbed roughly by the shirt collar and thrown to the floor. It was his turn to curse John. “For God’s sake, John Hamish Watson! You almost ripped my scarf! And I’m blind, for God’s sake.”

Practically seething from his small mouth, John growled, “I don’t care. Find your own place. I want this room.”

“Touchy, are we?” Sherlock said, smirking. He stood up and brushed off the front of his clothes. His hands stopped in mid-swiping when he realized something. “Did Alana take my coat?”

“No. I slipped it off earlier. Your coat is fine.” With that, John turned sharply on his heels and made his way to the door.

“We’ve got to get to Lestrade. We can’t stay here,” Sherlock suggested. “I need to post him the envelope. Do we still have that? Or did those investigators get to it?”

Before exiting the room, John replied, “We’ve got it. Made sure we did.”

“I’ll toss.”

“What?”

“Coin toss for who sleeps in the bed. Seems fair,” Sherlock said, taking out a coin. He flipped it into the air, catching it upon its landing.

“I don’t have time for that.”

Sherlock flipped the coin anyway. John watched it hit the ceiling and then followed it to the floor. And unlike landing on either one side or the other, it got stuck upright in a groove.  John lowered his eyelids and pursed his lips.

“How did it fall?” Sherlock asked.

“Don’t worry about it.” John kicked the coin over.

“Come on, John. I know you’re hurting over Alana, I miss the girl, too. But, you’ve got to put that behind you or it’ll be in the way through this entire case. Remember, we’re detectives.” Sherlock took two large steps and stopped when he sensed he was a good distance away from his friend.

“Detectives? Maybe just detective. What use am I to you, Sherlock? Really. Or, am I just like a wall you talk to when you’re bored or whatever.” John’s mouth twitched and he looked away the floor, wondering what exactly his purpose was in the detective’s life.

Sherlock cocked his head. “Oh, John, feeling a bit underestimated, hmmm?” Reaching out, he placed a heavy hand on the doctor’s shoulder. Shaking him lightly, he said, “I know she meant a lot to you, and you’re right, I don’t know anything about love or commitment, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see you hurting.”

John raised an eyebrow and snorted. “Well, that was quite poetic on your part. Thanks, Sherlock.”

“Also, I consider us more like Blood Detectives. We’re hounds, John!” Sherlock’s voice rose into excitement and he clapped his hands together. “We need to post the envelope to Lestrade, he’ll keep it safe until I can see.”

“Why do you need it?” John asked, following Sherlock to the bed. He took a seat and Sherlock followed.

“There’s still more to that envelope—where is it?”