Sherlock (but from a Johnlock POV){ON HOLD}

SIP: ✨Six✨

When Sherlock had left, John found himself feeling unusually upset and alone. He had struggled down the stairs himself (repeatedly getting bumped by various police officers on their way to clean up the crime scene), finally getting to the ground floor.

He paused for a moment, leaning all his weight on his cane, then took off the coverall, placing it on the table with the rest, and put his jacket back on.

John limped out the door, looking around. No sign of Sherlock. He felt his heart sink, and a sense of dread about having to walk all the way back to either Baker Street or his one-room apartment.

Maybe Sherlock was just not in immediate sight, so, spirits lifting a bit in hope, John hobbled to the police tape - not noticing Sally Donovan still standing there, watching. He kept looking around for the consulting detective.

"He's gone," Donovan said as he drew nearer to the tape.

John jolted slightly when she spoke, but relaxed a bit when he recognized her as the one who'd apparently had an affair with Anderson. "Who, Sherlock Holmes?" he asked, to clarify. He also realized she was the same officer who'd been rude to Sherlock.

"Yeah, he just took off." She paused for a moment, then added disdainfully, "he does that."

John felt his hopes die and that sense of dread flood back into him. "Is he coming back?"

"Didn't look like it."

"...Right." John glanced around as Donovan returned her attention away from him, unsure what to do, unsure of, well, even where he was. "Right, yes... sorry, where am I?" he asked.

"Brixton," Donovan replied.

John nodded slightly. "Right. Erm, d'you know where I could get a cab? It's just, er... well..." He awkwardly looked down at his limp. His psychosomatic limp. "My leg."

Donovan winced. "Uh..." She stepped over to the tape and held it up for him. "Try the main road."

John ducked under the tape. "Thanks," he said, and began to walk away.

"But you're not his friend," Donovan called after him. John stopped moving. "He doesn't have friends. So who are you?"

John turned back around to face her. "I'm ... I'm nobody. I just met him." He shrugged a little bit.

"Okay, bit of advice then - stay away from that guy." Donovan's voice was serious, and quite stern.

John quirked his head so he was looking at her sideways. "Why?"

Donovan stared at him, making eye contact. "You know why he's here?" she asked.

John could tell it was a rhetorical question, so he stayed silent.

"He's not paid or anything," she continued. "He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there."

John gazed at her in disbelief. Why was she saying all this? "Why would he do that?"

"Because he's a psychopath," Donovan said, matter-of-factly. "And psychopaths get bored."

John frowned, still staring at her with confusion, disbelief, and now annoyance. Maybe something more intense than annoyance. He didn't like bullies. Bullies were the ones who called someone like Sherlock a psychopath, just because he was smart.

"Donovan!" came Lestrade's voice from the house entrance.

"Coming!" she called back, and started walking over. She turned back around as she walked to yell out one last thing to John: "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes," then disappeared into the house.