Chapter 1
Today I woke up feeling odd. Last night was the first time I had slept in far too long. And that was of course due to the wonderful Sherlock Holmes and his insistence that sleep was dull and unnecessary. Well, maybe for him but I needed my sleep and so I have done my best to catch as much shut eye as I could in between cases.
But today was payback time. I was sick of Sherlock's childish ways and so today was the day he was going to get a taste of his own medicine. I hadn't heard him get up yet, and that could mean one of two things. Either he was still in bed completely blacked out from the lack of sleep or he had sneaked past my room and was doing something suspicious and no doubt dangerous in the name of science. Either way I had decided on the course of action. It may not work but since at the moment Sherlock hadn't got a case, I had his boredom to work with.
I got up, dressed, and headed straight for the sofa normally occupied by Sherlock, picking up an apple for breakfast as I went past the cupboard labelled 'NOT FOR EXPERIMENTS' that I had put there so that there was a little bit of food left for eating as well as for one of Sherlock's ridiculous experiments which funnily enough I never heard the conclusion for.
Munching on my apple I sprawled out on the sofa ready. I then had an idea. I grabbed my gun and started to shoot at the wall. I did feel guilty about Mrs Hudson but she didn't care anymore, the number of times Sherlock had done it it's amazing there's still a wall there! I shot twice, one in each eye of the comical yet menacing smiley face Sherlock had very kindly painted on the wall.
"John? JOHN?!" Sherlock came thundering down the stairs and stopped at my feet as he saw me lying on the sofa. I looked innocently at him.
"Yes?"
He was confused. Brilliant.
"What… what was… I thought I heard… gunshots?"
"Yes," I said matter of factly. "You know you're right."
"I usually am." I tried not to look annoyed at Sherlock's arrogance.
"Shooting the wall is definitely a good way of killing the boredom." I shot the wall again, right between the eyes this time. I half smiled. Still got it. I walked over and stroked the newest hole in the wall with the air of grace that Sherlock so often had when he walked around.
"You shot the wall, why did you shoot the wall?" I gradually raised my voice and enunciated every syllable as I did my Sherlock impression,
"Because I'm bored!" Sherlock looked genuinely shocked.
"I thought you had been shot!" His face was paler than usual. I couldn't help but let a little bit of my personality seep through. I took his face in my hands and looked into his eyes. They were such a nice colour.
"Hey I'm fine. Just passing the time." He pulled his face away; actual human contact was not his favourite thing.
"Breakfast?" he asked, as his face told me he was desperately trying to work out why I was being so odd. I'm sure he thought I had spent far too much time with him.
"No thank you." Although he probably knew I had already eaten at least I sounded a little like Sherlock. He went over and picked up the post.
"There's a letter for you, it's from…"
"Burn it," I stated with venom. The letter was from Harry. I glanced at the post when I had first got up and noticed the ghastly shade of yellow that one of the envelopes had. Harry always used that stationary when she sent me letters, photos etc. She seems to think it's my favourite colour. Its not. My favourite colour is navy blue, I don't know why though. It just seemed like a nice colour, like Sherlock's scarf draped around his neck.
Chapter 2
Sherlock, still in his dressing gown and pyjamas went into the kitchen. I took this opportunity to go outside for a walk. Not to anywhere particular, just for fresh air. The flat was still stagnant from Sherlock's last experiment, which I'm pretty sure had something to do with a hair dryer that I will not be using again. I went quickly and silently down the stairs and out the door just like Sherlock had done to me so many times before. I wondered if he would even notice. He would probably take the advantage to use that hair dryer in another experiment.
I walked to the café where Sherlock had brought me during the pink case. I don't know why it's just where my feet decided to take me. I just ordered a cup of tea and sat at a table in the corner of the room. I avoided the table we sat on last time, there was an awkward conversation held there that day and I didn't want to be reminded of it. Of course I wasn't asking Sherlock out! The world's only consulting detective can't tell that I am straight? I laughed at myself and shook the thought away.
Sipping at my tea I looked around at my fellow strangers. The waiter was a young boy, probably a student trying to pay off his student fees, and drinks by the look of his eyes. There was a girl and a boy sitting on the table opposite him. Somehow the way they were sitting – and the way the girl had just pinched the boy's cheeks – suggested that they weren't a couple. No…"-Well I'm sure that mum didn't mind really, you only got grounded for a week-" Ah brother and sister, that made sense, and the talk of the old days probably means that they hadn't seen each other in a while. And finally the big man sitting on the table on the other side of the room to me. He was busily tapping away on the keys of his Blackbury, definitely a business man of some sort, what kind of business man I couldn't tell, I'm only pretending to be Sherlock for the day. But not a bad day's work of deductions for this imitation Sherlock. I puffed my cheeks out; I had definitely spent too much time with Sherlock.
Chapter 3
Just then my phone buzzed. 'Ah Sherlock go away,' I thought. He had probably followed me and been reading my mind and was texting me to tell me what kind of business that man actually did. I got my phone out, it wasn't Sherlock.
"Hello?" I said. I hadn't recognised the number but I sensed that I probably should have been at home when I received this call.
"Hi, John? It's Dave, David Rathebone. I don't suppose you remember me." A light switched on in my brain.
"Of course, Dave! How are you?! It's been far too long. Are you back from service?" Dave, I had met when I was in the army, a time that felt like light years ago. He was still serving when I was injured.
"Yes, I've got two weeks leave to enjoy civilian life until I'm called back for duty. I'm on the bus home now with a few of the other guys. How about you?" I considered. I hadn't really thought about going back to the army. I couldn't imagine a life without Sherlock. It's odd, I've never met anyone like him, and I knew that I never will, nor did I want to!
"Oh you know." I replied.
"Look, John, I heard that you've been working with a detective, not a normal one, ya know, one that the police use sometimes." Fear had seeped into his voice.
"Yes?" I encouraged him to continue.
"John, I think someone is trying to kill me." That was a bit of a shock. When people think of private detectives they normally assume cheating spouses. John was expecting him to say that he thought his wife was having an affair and that he wants him to find out for certain. "Look can we meet somewhere tomorrow? It's only my first day home and I want to spend it with my wife and daughter." I didn't know he had a daughter; he was always a very private person.
"Yes, yes of course. My address is 221b Baker Street, come whenever you can I'll be there all day."
Chapter 4
I spent the rest of the day tidying, trying to make the flat at least a little bit presentable to guests. Sherlock didn't speak much but the fact that he hadn't changed out of his pyjamas meant he still didn't have a case. The next morning I was sitting in my chair reading a newspaper when Mrs Hudson announced an arrival.
"We're not expecting any one tell them to go away," said Sherlock as he got up and walked into the kitchen to check up on one of his experiments. He was so self-absorbed sometimes, I honestly thought that the fact that I had asked him to at least try and clean up after himself may suggest that I was expecting someone. I quickly intercepted Mrs Hudson before she left.
"No wait, tell them to come up please, he's my guest." She smiled apologetically and went downstairs. A few seconds passed and then an eardrum-bursting screech was heard. Me and Sherlock jumped up. Although he didn't like to show it, Sherlock did care about Mrs Hudson. At the entrance of 221b, lay a very still; a very blood stained David Rathebone.
I had seen so many bodies in my lifetime, but it was always different when it was someone you knew, someone whose hand you had shook and memories you had shared. Sherlock was all over the body with his nifty magnifying glass. I didn't know he kept one in his dressing gown as well as his suits. Gloves then appeared out of this well equipped dressing gown as well. Sherlock looked over the body, checking every pocket. After a moment or two he straightened himself and went up the stairs, two at a time. I wanted to go after him but I thought I should probably stay with the body.
"Sherlock," I yelled up the stairs, "Sherlock, are you going to ring the police?" It seemed like a stupid question really. Sherlock would never do that, it would like saying he needed help. Fortunately Mrs Hudson had, and they soon arrived. Anderson was left downstairs with the body and was forbidden to enter the flat for fear of his life. Me, Sherlock and Lestrade we seated in the living room and were being asked the usual questions.
"From the beginning please Sherlock and don't miss out any details." Sherlock looked at him and shrugged.
"I don't know much." He half smiled; it was an attempt to be modest. It didn't suit him. "His name was David Rathebone according to his ID. He was a military man, middle aged, who had just come back from service. He was in fear of his life but couldn't prove it. It is likely that he suspected there was a mole in his squadron." I took a sharp breath in. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "He was on the doorstep of a consulting detective's flat, which means he couldn't go to the police, he wanted something investigating but he didn't have any proof. Since he was a soldier its unlikely that he would have any particular hobbies that could result in him getting killed, especially as I didn't see any indication of any hobbies on the body. Therefore the suspicion lies within family or work. Since the shot fired was not at close range – no scorch marks – it was an expert marksmen, which suggests the military. What information in the military could cost him his life – there is a mole in his squadron. I want a list of everyone in the squadron and all their files."
"Well that's not going to be easy but I'll see what I can do," promised Lestrade as he got up to leave.
"Poor Dave," I muttered to myself more than to the others.
"Dave?" Sherlock looked at me questioningly. "Why did you call him Dave? Did you know him? Oh!" his eyes widened. "He was YOUR guest. Why didn't you say so?"
"I didn't really get a chance did I? You so love to take control of the situation!" It was a little harsh but he didn't notice.
"You two should just get married! You certainly act like you are!" We ignored Lestrade's comments and so Lestrade turned to me. I think it was the first time he had actually consulted me for a case. I told them how I knew Dave, the events of yesterday, about the phone call and the meeting planned for today. Sherlock sat silently with his hands pressed against his lips like he does when he is concentrating.
"You say he was on the way home with 'the guys', what guys?"
"I assumed he meant the ones that had returned with him. He said they were on the bus on the way home." Sherlock turned to Lestrade.
"Get a list of the soldiers that were on the bus with Rathebone and get their alibis. One of them did it."
"How can you be sure?" asked Lestrade, almost not wanting to hear the answer.
"Because the killer had to know that Rathebone was coming to see John. They had to of heard the phone call." A look on Lestrade's face said 'obvious, of course, why didn't I see that'.
Chapter 5
Lestrade went and I was left with Sherlock lying silently on the sofa. He had changed now, dressed in a charcoal suit with a purple shirt on, my favourite one. Is it kind of odd to have a favourite outfit on your housemate? No, girls do it so why cant guys?
I was feeling a little impatient. A friend had just been killed, I wanted to be out there getting the guy who did this and yet Sherlock was showing no intention of moving. I cleared my throat two or three times to try and get his attention.
"What?" he said finally. I had clearly interrupted his train of thought because he was slightly annoyed with me.
"So what's the plan of action?" He laughed.
"Plan of action? What are you John superman?" I was slightly hurt at this remark but I had taught myself to get over any insults Sherlock threw my way. "There is no plan of action." I think the expression on my face said it all as Sherlock had to explain, "I need to know who has an alibi and who doesn't so that I do not waste my time interviewing the innocent when I could be catching the guilty. I told Lestrade to find out all the alibis and text them to me before he actually did any of that pointless police work. He will do as he's told but it will take time. In this time I can sit and decide how this is going to go." As it was obvious I wasn't going to be any use to him until he needed me to get his mobile phone and read the text Lestrade will send him, I went to my room and started to write up this adventure as my next blog entry. I considered what I would name it. 'The Battlefield of London' sounded good for now, although I would almost definitely change it. As I discovered Sherlock actually read these things, I tried not to be as harsh as I was with 'The Study in Pink'. I probably shouldn't have mentioned the fact he knew so little about the solar system. And yet it was such simple stuff it was amazing he didn't know!
"JOHN!" I jumped awake. I must have dosed off. "JOHN!" I heard again. I got up and went into the living room. Sherlock hadn't moved.
"Where is it?"
"Pocket." He ever so slightly jolted his head to the right to indicate which one. I put my hand in and pulled out his mobile. 1 new text. I read out loud.
"'There were 5 other soldiers returning home on the bus with Rathebone. Neil Millburn has an alibi, so does Thane Winfield. Their families held big welcome home parties so there are at least 20 people to vouch for both of them. Bart Roberts was at home with his wife, but Owen Tanner and Tanya Walsh don't have alibis. Tanner claimed he was getting ready to go to his mother's. Walsh was at home, she has no family.'" I sighed it was always tragic when you here a soldier had no one to return to. I knew how that felt. Lestrade had left a personal note at the end of the text. "'Please let me know what you are going to do now, don't wonder off! Lestrade.' So what do we do know?" I asked. Sherlock suddenly burst into action, jumping up, grabbing his coat and scarf. He turned to me.
"Coming?"
I picked up my coat and we took a taxi to Scotland Yard. The people at the front desk had learned not to try and stop Sherlock when he was on a war path and just let him wonder through the building as if he worked there. We had soon found Lestrade who had rounded up all the soldiers.
Chapter 6
"I want to interview Roberts, Tanner, Walsh and Roberts's wife. Preferably Roberts's wife before Roberts. The other two didn't do it. You can let them go." Instead of arguing Lestrade just held his hands up and took us to the interview rooms. He told a sergeant to get Roberts' wife whilst we interviewed the others.
They were all in a room together. Another sergeant spoke to 2 of them and they left the room, I supposed they were the ones Sherlock had said were innocent. Left in the room was a short, stout man who was sitting very still, ready to be called. There was a young, pretty, woman, Tanya Walsh, talking to the other man, younger, who looked nervous. She was trying to comfort him. She placed her hand on his knee and was trying to look at his face, which he was shying away from her.
Tanner was called first. He was the older man who was sitting ready. He stood up when his name was called, as if he was standing to attention. Lestrade took him into a private room and offered him a seat, Sherlock sat directly opposite him. He eyed up the suspect for a few seconds and then began his questioning.
"How long have you been in the army?"
"16 years sir." He was straight to the point, like a good soldier.
"How well did you know Rathebone?"
"I knew him as a good soldier, sir. I didn't know much about him outside of that. He kept his private life private. But he was a good man, always did his best to protect his country." Sherlock rolled his eyes. He hated patriotism, all this 'die for ones country' lark. He said that people join the army out of rebellion, for the 'excitement' or pure stupidity. That was one area that I could never agree with Sherlock on. It was personal to me and so it was one of those things that we didn't talk about. Sherlock eyed Tanner again and lent forwards. This told me that those questions were meaningless; he was merely trying to sound like a typical inspector so that Tanner would feel at ease.
"Where was everyone sitting on the bus when you came home yesterday?" This took Tanner by surprise. It took us all by surprise.
"Sherlock really, is this necess-" Sherlock put his hand up to stop Lestrade mid sentence. He nodded to Tanner so that he would answer.
"Well sir, Roberts sat next to Rathebone, and me and Walsh were behind them and Neil Millburn and Thane Winfield were on the seats to the left of us across the isle." Sherlock pushed a sheet of paper and a pencil to him and asked him to draw a diagram of it. He did and Sherlock nodded as if to confirm something.
"Thank you. You may go and stay in the waiting room out there and get Tanya Walsh to come in please." Tanner did as he was told and shyly Tanya Walsh entered the room, closing the door behind her. She was quite pretty, not stunning but better than some people you see in the army. She was petite but probably hid a lot of strength in those bones. Sherlock didn't even try with the general questions this time.
"Is this correct for the seating plan when you were on the bus yesterday?" He pushed the paper towards her. She nodded meekly and pushed it back. "Who do you think did this?"
"Oh… oh…. Oh I couldn't say!" She all flustered.
"Well it was either you, Tanner or Roberts," stated Sherlock.
"Oh it wasn't Bart. No he wouldn't do that. He's far too gentle."
"And yet he's in the army." He spat out. "It's unusual. I say you are a suspect and instead of protesting your innocence, you defend a colleague." Walsh went red.
"Yes, well, I know I didn't do it, I just…" She didn't seem able to finish the sentence. She was uncomfortable. "May I go?" Sherlock nodded and she left.
"What are you thinking Sherlock? You hardly questioned her at all." Asked Lestrade from the corner of the small room.
"She's protecting him. Why is she protecting him?"
"She's in love with him." Lestrade and Sherlock looked at me. Proud of the fact I had noticed something they hadn't, I expanded. "Roberts was sitting out there all nervous. Walsh was sitting next to him trying to console him. She was showing all the signs."
"What signs?" Clearly Sherlock had never considered that fact that noticing who was in love with who would be important. Maybe it was because he didn't own the emotion 'love'.
"Well, she had put her hands on his face and legs. She was showing him that she cared. Roberts did keep pulling away from her so I expect he has noticed and was trying to reject her politely. When he looked at her she started fiddling with her hair. I have no doubt that it was Roberts she went straight to after she left this room."
"And she is a soldier with no family, it is unlikely that she was going to fall in love with anyone outside of the army," interjected Sherlock, desperate to redeem himself.
"It's a shame he is married," said Lestrade. "She seems nice."
"Can you go and see if Roberts' wife is here. I want to talk to her next." Lestrade left the room and returned moments later with an ugly, angry looking woman.
"What am I doing here? I haven't done anything to anyone!" Sherlock said nothing but indicated the seat in front of him. Begrudgingly she took it.
"All I want to know, Mrs Roberts, is if it was possible that your husband could leave the house without you knowing." She leant back in her chair and considered.
"Well, he was downstairs and I was cleaning the house, you know." No, Sherlock did not know how to clean a house. But I thought it unnecessary to bring it up. "I tidied up, dusted, hoovered, unpacked his things that sort of thing."
"And how long did it take you to hoover the upstairs?" She frowned, she couldn't see the relevance. To be fair neither did I.
"20 minutes? Give or take a few minutes. I don't know I don't time myself." Sherlock sighed. She wasn't going to be any more help so he said she could go and asked her to bring in her husband.
Bart Roberts was a young, nervous looking chap. He was ringing his hands and was looking at his lap so that his blonde hair flapped downwards slightly. Again Sherlock asked if the seating plan was correct and Roberts said it was.
"You sat next to Rathebone then." Said Sherlock. Roberts nodded. "Did you see him make a telephone call during the journey?"
"Yes sir. To someone named John I think. I asked him about it when he hung up. I thought it was his wife, to tell her that he had nearly arrived but he had said that his life was in danger and I was worried. He said that it was a friend and that he hadn't told his wife he was coming home today and that his life was in danger when she found out he had been keeping it a secret." One of Sherlock's eyebrows rose. It was quite a funny expression.
"You say you were at home with your wife but she has confirmed it was possible for you to leave the house whilst she was hoovering upstairs. You could have entered and left the house without her hearing the door shut." This rattled him.
"But I didn't, I didn't sir." After giving him a good long stare Sherlock said he could go. His face relaxed completely as he got up and left the room.
"Well. What does that tell us?" Sherlock smirked. It made me smile too.
He got up and led us to the room where everyone was waiting. He stood in front of Owen Tanner and looked down his nose at him. "Here is your murderer," he turned to Lestrade, "and your mole," he added as if he had just won bonus points. With spluttered excuses Owen Tanner tried to express his innocence but gave up as Lestrade read him his rights.
A few days later me and Sherlock had an unexpected guest. A Lt. Gibbs had come to thank and congratulate Sherlock on his good work. Sherlock was polite and completely un-modest.
"But you only interviewed them once you say? But you were still able to work it all out? Incredible. But from what I heard it was looking like Roberts."
"It couldn't possibly have been him. David Rathebone wouldn't have made the phone call to John if he was sitting next to the man he was afraid of. And the hole in his alibi was far too risky. His wife could have come downstairs at any minute to find her husband missing. No. It was Tanner. He had been in the army for 16 years and still only a soldier. He must have been even a little bit bitter about that. Plus over those 16 years he had time to gain the trust of other officers to gain information which he could then sell on, as well as get to the level needed for such a good shot at Rathebone. He was sitting behind Rathebone when he made the phone call so although Rathebone thought the call was confidential, Tanner heard Roberts questioning him about what he had heard about his life being in danger and became rattled. He followed him to the address of a consulting detective which then confirmed his suspicions and so he shot him." I looked away, it was so horrible. Rathebone was a good man.
"And to think Tanya in love with a married man! I wouldn't have dreamt that of her!"
"Yes well we cant help who we fall in love with," I said.
"Yes I suppose so. Well, thank you again Mr Holmes for what you have done for me and for your country." Sherlock looked at me. I knew what he was thinking and I smiled a laugh at him. The Lt. got up and Mrs Hudson showed him the way out, chatting to him about how she admired the army and what nice uniforms they had.
I sat in my arm chair and picked up the newspaper to see what I had missed that day.
"So, the signs of love, tell me about them." I looked at him.
"You think you may need them?" He tilted his head to the side as if to say he accepted that it was information missing from his hard drive. "Well." This was awkward; talking to Sherlock Holmes about love was not an easy thing to do. "Lots of eye contact, lack of eye contact, lots of touchy feely, or being afraid to touch them at all. Talking to them a lot, understanding them really well, almost like best friends I suppose. Wanting to smile when they smile, and wanting to make them smile when they don't. Fiddling with your hair is common with girls, girls also often hint at wanting to go out like if they said, 'oh I really want to go and see this but no one wants to go with me' inviting you to say 'I'll go with you' and all of a sudden you have a date without you realising." I smiled as I thought back to when a girl did that to me when I was 16. That was a mistake I never made again.
"What about guys? What do they do?"
"Often they are shy and so try to hide the fact they like someone, but they overcompensate and so tend to insult them. They also try and find out if the girl has a boyfriend-"
"Like you did to me." I didn't feel that statement was worth an answer so I just went back to my newspaper.
"John, I'm sorry. Come sit next to me, I'm learning." He took his feet off of the sofa and patted the space next to him with his hand. I obeyed. "So if you liked someone what would you do?"
"Act upon it I suppose. Find out if the feeling is reciprocated, and if it is, ask them out."
"And how do you find out?"
"Well if they are single it's a good sign. I suppose just ask them out to dinner or a date of some sort. And if they make an excuse I know they don't feel the same way." He mulled over this new information with his eyes shut and his face leaning into his hands as I went back to my newspaper. After finding nothing interesting in the day's events I got up.
"Dinner?" Sherlock didn't reply. I nudged him and his face fell off of him hands which jolted him awake.
"Hmm?"
"Come on lets get you to bed. I don't think you've slept properly all week." I helped him up and to his room where he collapsed onto his bed. I helped him under the duvet and tucked him in. As I brought the duvet up Sherlock brought his arms around my chest and hugged my like I was a teddy bear. I struggled a little but didn't want to wake him up so I shrugged and laid down next to him. If Sherlock was going to keep me captive I might was well get a few hours rest whilst I could.
Electric. That was how to describe it. Electric. That was how I felt as I put my head to the pillow and Sherlock whispered in my ear,
"Love you."
The next morning I woke up lost. It took me a few minutes to remember why I was not in my room. Then of course I remembered those words. I wasn't sure if it was a dream but the thought had brought shivers down my spine. Did Sherlock love me? Or was he in love with someone else and had spoken something in a dream. I hoped not. I hoped he loved me. No wait, what am I saying? Why would I want Sherlock to love me? I thought about all the things I had said yesterday, all the signs of love. It was true, a lot of things did happen between him and Sherlock but surely that was because they were good friends, nothing more. I got up; deciding to pretend nothing happened and bumped into Sherlock who was half way up the stairs holding a cup of tea. It went all over the jumper I had been wearing since yesterday.
"Oh not the jumper!" Muttered Sherlock as he tried to brush it off with his hand. Realising what an awkward situation this was he retreated down the stairs to the living room and said, "I'll get Mrs Hudson to sort it out. I hope it doesn't stain, that's my favourite jumper." I gave Sherlock an embarrassed smile, I didn't know that. He gave me one in return. "I woke up this morning to find a second being in my bed. John, why were you there?"
"You wouldn't let me go!" I said in my defence. "I put you into bed and then you pinned me down like a teddy bear. I would have gone if I could." Embarrassed, Sherlock looked away. I couldn't leave it there; I had to know, so I asked him, "Sherlock, why did you tell me that you loved me last night?" His eyes looked at me, alert, and then started to dart around the room as if he was searching for a plausible answer.
"I meant it to show what a good friend you are, putting up with me and all." He trailed off; I don't think it sounded reasonable even to him, where anything is possible. But I accepted it and walked into the kitchen. As I gazed into the cupboard and considered what I would have for breakfast, a hand turned me around and a pair of soft, delicate lips were pressed against mine. Out of shock I immediately pulled away, trying to get hold of the situation.
"I told you I'm no good at this love thing!" he yelled, angry at himself. "What you said, all the signs, it describes us, all we do and say. It makes sense." I couldn't say anything; my mind was still 3 minutes behind. "And you kissed me back." This revelation was yet another shock. I was surprised I had time to kiss him back. And yet, as he said it, all I wanted to do was to kiss him again. He was right. Finally the last few months, the failed relationship with Sarah, it all made sense with that single kiss. We were looking at each other, waiting for the other one to make the next move. Sherlock glided away into the living room, picking up the tea stained jumper and holding it to his chest as he sat in my arm chair, with his legs folded under him.
"If you get my jumper, I want your dressing gown." I smiled. The corner of his mouth turned upwards.
"You have to get it off me first." I took this as an invitation as I grabbed both of Sherlock's wrists and pulled him up. In seconds I had managed to rip the dressing gown off of him. But my hands didn't stop there. Again Sherlock's lips pressed against mine, harder this time. Again that feeling I had had before.
Electricity.
