A Johnlock before christmas

December 3

Thieves beware (part 2)

John Watson glimpsed over his shoulder to make sure nobody was following him before he slipped through a small wooden door. He entered a dusty room which contained only an old mattress, a wooden box which looked as if it would fall into pieces soon and a hand-me-down kitbag. He shrugged off his jacket and sat down on the mattress. Then he started to pull out his yield of the day and outlaid it in front of him on the floor. A few identity cards and some credit cards were part of his collection.

When he pulled out the loose pounds and the card from the back of his trousers, he frowned. He hadn't looked what type of card it was yet, but had assumed I was a credit card or something like that. But in fact it was a badge from Scotland Yard. As he opened it he chuckled. It was the badge of Detective Inspector Lestrade. John grinned. He had managed to pickpocket a DI. That wasn't something he achieved every day.

Other thieves would maybe chick out now, worrying they'd get caught, but the blond man had no sorrows the like. It wasn't very likely that the policeman would remember him anyway and even if, how on earth did he want to find him? That would need a genius or a psychic. With a smug smile he stored the stolen goods away beneath a lath in the floor. Then he pulled a blanket out of his kitbag and used the latter as a pillow as he laid down onto the mattress to get some sleep.

~~~

Observing everything around him, Sherlock approached the little hut at the end of the alley. His homeless network had looked up the dirty blond pickpocket's the hiding place for him and now he was going to find out who could manage to steal from Sherlock Holmes, the man who noticed everything. He checked quickly if someone was following him and when he was sure he was alone, he slipped into the small wooden room.

It was nearly empty, there was only an old mattress and a dusty kitbag lying around. Nobody was here as Sherlock had assumed. The thief probably was outside doing his business, but the detective calculated that he would return soon. He slid down on the floor right beneath a shattered window, so that he was hidden from the sight of nearing people. There he sat, listening for any noises that would trait the home coming man.

After precisely one hour 12 minutes and 28 seconds he heard footsteps. Someone approached the hut, hesitated a moment in front of the building, probably to check he wasn't followed, and then opened door. A short figure entered the room, his blond hair freckled with snowflakes and he his cheeks and nose were red from the icy wind outside. He didn't notice Sherlock who was still sitting on the floor without moving. The detective waited until the pickpocket stood in the middle of the room before he raised smoothly and made a few steps towards him.

He positioned himself right between the man and the door, as the blond bolted around and raised his arms to fight him down. Though shortly before he hit him, he stopped. "You", he gasped astonished. Sherlock glared at him. "Yes, me. Obviously. What's your name?", he demanded coolly. The thief shortly glanced down at his jacket before answering: "Mike."

The sleuth just quirked his brow a smug smile tugging at his lips. "No."
His counterpart frowned. "No?"

"No, you're not Mike. Even though the credit card in the right pocket of your jacket says so. But you were raised in an orphanage and were abused there. They gave you a big stab into the left shoulder one day. That's when you fled and ended on the street. You don't trust anyone, so you steal instead of going begging, which is also the reason I don't know your name. So, who are you?"

The man's jaw slackened and he stared at Sherlock with wide eyes. "I... What... How?", he breathed, his voice seemingly gone. He shook his head, a confused frown beginning to form on his face. He tilted his head then, staring at the detective and clearly thinking hard about something, before something in his gaze changed. Curiously Sherlock tilted his head. The short pickpocket had just made a decision, he could see it in his eyes. The question left was what it was.

"My name's John. I'm sorry to have stolen from you, Inspector. Well, more sorry for myself than for you, but I have to go now. If you just would let me through that door please?", he asked politely, wearing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Before Sherlock could react in any way, the thief grabbed his kitbag and pushed him out of the way.

AN: And the story goes on... :D It'll continue, don't worry!
- Sadly, I own nothing. If I did, Johnlock would've been canon for a long time.- 
Please tell me in the comments how you think it goes on! ;)
Merry Christmas
~ Allie