Painting Murders - (A Sherlock fanfic)

Walking, Wallet and Watson

As I walked down the empty street I kept my head down and my hands thrust deep in my pockets. I was aware of John walking beside me, his presence like a lingering shadow.

I felt rotten that, since Sherlock had buggered off to go wherever, I hadn't spoken to John at all. I hadn't even made an attempt to start up a conversation with him. Eventually the need for it had worn off once we'd realised that neither of us wanted to talk and couldn't be bothered doing so.

But now it just felt awkward.

I lifted my head and flicked some hair from my eyes, concluding the internal debate I'd been having with myself about what I should say. Words had been on the tip of my tongue for ages now but my confidence to say them had become less and less.

"So . . ." I began, and then realised I didn't have anything to say after that, so chewed my lip, looking at the floor again until something came t mind.

"You're a blogger, aren't you?" I turned to him to see if it was a comment worthy of a response.

"Yeah," He answered shortly.

I sighed realising there was something I would have to get off my chest before we could proceed with out acquaintance. It was possibly the reason why there was so much hostile tension between us - or at least radiating from John.

"Look I'm sorry if you think I'm a horrible criminal who intentionally steals money sorely because I'm a bad person but honestly I'm not. If anything I do it because I'm desperate! We're desperate! And I didn't hack computers with criminal intent either." I tried to explain.

I was glad I'd got it off my chest, if anything. It felt like I'd deflated a massive balloon inside my lungs and now I could breathe properly.

John just gave me a look of sympathy as if . . . as if he felt sorry for me.

I looked quickly away almost scared by his unexpected reaction. Did he understand? Was he just pretending to understand?

I dug into my pocket for my keys as we reached my battered my front door.

Pushing it open; I listened for a moment to see if Dad was home. Nothing, No sound at all.

"Dad?" I called out, just in case he was asleep but I got no response so proceeded not the house.

I walked down the hallway, leaving John with the option of either entering the house or waiting on the step outside.

On the kitchen table was the morning paper with the front page showcasing the headline news of the murders in bold. There was an empty coffee cup and a small scribbled note:

Gone for a walk in park, need inspiration. Love you xxx

I snatched the note up and shoved it in my pocket, as I had a habit of doing. I jumped as John lightly tapped the kitchen door as if he needed to be invited into the room.

"Who are you exactly?" I asked abruptly. The question had been lingering on my tongue since I'd met him. Who was John Watson?

"I didn't know Sherlock had any friends. Now he has a flat ate and a blogger? I mean, who - or rather what - does that make you?" I asked, moving to the place on the floor where I had left my backpack.

"I'm just a friend." John said, standing in the doorway like he didn't know what to do with himself. "And I help him pay the rent." He seemed to think for a second longer before quickly adding, "And I blog about his cases."

I cocked an eyebrow before ushering him out of the door way so I could get past.

"Ah, the famous blog," I marvelled as I climbed the stairs, "I've heard all about that. Do you post his unsolved cases too?"

Obviously I had never read the blog for myself due to my being banned from computers, but I was quite interested in what people had said about it.

John smiled, "Oh course, people like to be assured that he's human."

I snorted, "Human?" Then I reconsidered, "Then again I'd class him as the more human of the two Holmes brothers."

I grabbed my ipod from my room along with a note book, pencil, and a small packet of screwdrivers. I turned to find John had followed me up the stairs.

"You've met Mycroft?" He asked. I shivered in response to the question.

"Yeah, he's . . . well . . . yeah." I tried to describe Mycroft in the nicest possible way and failed. I really didn't want to admit to knowing Mycroft.

John seemed to understand.

"You've met him too?" I asked as he nodded slowly.

"Yes, he kind of met me in a secret location after kidnapping me and offered me money to spy on Sherlock." He summed up for me.

I smiled, I couldn't help it. It all sounded very much like something Mycroft would do.

"Did you take the offer?" I asked curiously.

John looked appalled, "No of course not."

I continued to smile, "Good for you. Loyalty is a good personality trait." I admitted to him. It was nice to think Sherlock had someone to lookout for him against his brother.

John mumbled something as I opened one of my bedside draws rummaging amongst the papers and random rubbish I hoarded in there until I found John's wallet. I threw it to him lightly and he caught it against his chest. I watched as he looked through the contents before looking up.

"You didn't take anything?" He questioned, looking surprised. I bit my lip slightly.

"Yeah well, like I said, I'm not a criminal. I do have a heart you know. And to be honest, I walked around the whole of London with that thing looking for you to give it back." Guilt clenched my stomach tightly.

"Thanks." John said as he pocketed the wallet.

I tried to ignore the chill I felt by breaking eye contact with him and pushing briskly past him before running down the stairs, my heavy footsteps thudding all the way to the bottom.

I stood in the threshold of the front door, looking up the stairs at John.

"Are we leaving, Dr Watson? Wouldn't want to keep the psychopath detective waiting, he might hurt someone." I giggled. He might have been crazy but I doubted Sherlock would actually hurt anyone.

As John walked out I could have sworn he hissed, "He's not a psychopath."