Fandom Oneshots [Mainly Marvel, Sherlock, and Good Omens, and House MD]

BBC Sherlock: (Johnlock) "Impressed"

"Oi, mate... sorry to interrupt but--"

"What is it?"

"We have a case and--"

"I'll be there."

He scrambled down the stairs, his cane in hand, hailing a taxi with one smooth movement... as smooth as a man using a cane can, of course... 'augh, pathetic,' he grumbled. Swung the cane onto the ground, it gave a tapping sound before he headed into the building, a shake of the head prompting him.

"Hey." He had made into the room and sighed, Lestrade spun around, his arms at his side.

"Hey, mate. Sorry, again. You were the closest to Sherlock, so you probably picked up a few things." He replied, glancing towards Anderson and Donovan.

What makes you think that?" He asked. He only shrugged. 'Very uneasy, doesn't want to hurt me. Great, just bloody wonderous.' The man sighed again.

"Assumptions." Lestrade's strained voice pushed him towards the body, the doctor had gestured for a pair of latex gloves, the cane being a pillar for his tanned hands to hold on to. John had noticed Lestrade's hand was slightly shaking as he handed the gloves to him and retreated quickly, clearly nervous.

Eyes darting to the man, 'around 20, clearly left-handed. His watch on the right hand, a pen in his left hand, his phone was in his left pocket, his lamp was on the left side, to be frank, there was a lot of evidence.' He shook his head, washing his fingers over the man's hoodie, John hummed.

'His hoodie was damp, splotched areas of wetness, the faint smell of chlorine, built just for swimming, not to mention, the soaked tank-top, and thoroughly wet hair. What could have led him to such a rush that he never got to dry himself off?' He pondered, his darting eyes pointing to the phone, picking it up.

"Anderson, shut-- umm." John cleared his throat, glancing towards Philp, who had a strained expression on. "Sorry, er--habitual." John sucked in a breath, continuing his search.

'There were marks of dropping the phone and this was the aftermath of the one time of heavily dropping it, there were some other signs of struggle... the hands were covered in rocks and dirt, not very likely to be seen in an indoor pool. What pools were open? 'He pulled out his own phone and searched up the indoor pools nearby.

It had been ages, time flew out the window faster than the man who captured Mrs. Hudson.

"The man was murdered by a member of a gang, preferably, the one that is--" His ears seemed to block out his current rambling in the spite of the moment, all he saw was the unmoving body and the small black intervals of blinking. After he finished, the room had gone silent. John throat suddenly felt dry before Lestrade blinked.

"Anderson, contact the police station, we need to find the people," Lestrade said with his eyes on John and he cracked a rueful smile. "Wasn't I right?" John felt his hands fall his sides, just noticing his gestures.

"Yeah... thank you... Greg." John smiled, feeling something inside him stir, a new feeling that he had.

Lestrade patted him on the back. "Hey, you don't need to talk, really... just sit and look like you're done with everyone's sh*t," Lestrade told him, John Watson finally cracked another smile as he sat in his designed place, hands placed as Sherlock would place his hands. Lestrade seemed to impress everyone with the sudden information, eyes always flitting to John's suited self and he would hold back a breath.

'Ding'

John growled inaudibly, who dare imitate Sherlock? He had narrowed his eyes, masked to look like confusion. Which worked. 'Idiots.' He thoughts before he had to reel in his cranium's thoughts. 'God, I'm turning into Sherlock.' He thought, still not picking up his phone, which hadn't actually buzzed.

Everyone finally looked up and a woman raised her hand. "Excuse me?" She asked and Lestrade nodded in her direction. "This case was solved by Dr. John Watson, does this mean they were in a relationship? How does he just suddenly know how to solve a murder after Mr. Holmes jumped?" She blabbed, John glanced to the side where a window was, light streamed in and he watched the sun's rays.

"Ahem." John volunteered to answer the question. "I was one of the people with the most contact with Sherlock--" John shifted in his seat, "--picking up things was just a habit at that point--" He continued, his eyes seemed to sparkle as he talked about his dear friend.

It could've been tears, could've.

John plopped down on his chair, a smile crawling up his face, a rueful one, maybe. He rolled his shoulders and pushed the cane next to him, but it still felt like he was right here with him. His eyes seemed to always deceive him.

You proud, Sher?" John felt a familiar sound filled the air as he made tea.

'Of course.' It read and John scrolled up, just seeing the word: 'Right,' written below Sherlock's name. 'Sherlock sent the text...' he thought, his eyes narrowed.

"The he--" He paused as he noticed a tall man sitting on the chair in front of his own chair, a man whose fingers were in a manner John knew oh-so-well. His eyes set on the picture of the man before he poured a cuppa for the other man. "Tea?" He called from the kitchen. His phone rang

'Yes. -SH'

John came back, giving the other man the cuppa and they sat in silence.

"Years, Sherlock," John said, his eyes watching the liquid splash along the edges of the cup like a tsunami, a tsunami that spun like a tornado in the ocean, a hurricane of liquid.

"I... do apologize." Sherlock finally croaked out, his hands falling to his lap. "I'm impressed, let's say that," Sherlock told him.