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“—John, the window!”
They were mere feet behind their killer, but he was still too close to escape for comfort. With a final burst of speed, John shot past, tackling their quarry. He struggled violently for a few moments, before a deep, resonating voice stilled all parties in the room.
“This is a little far for a Gotham thug…”
Startled, three sets of eyes looked up (soon becoming two, as John used the surprise to implement a well-timed sleeper hold while his catch was distracted) and noticed… a man in fancy dress. All that was visible under the closed cape and cowl were two piercing eyes and the mouth area of his face. John shifted back slightly, still pinning their murderer in case he had feigned unconsciousness or woke, but ready to move if needed.
“Who-“, Sherlock started sharply, then paused, looking the man over intently. “Ah. Wayne.”
What could be seen of the newcomer’s face remained impassive, but the eyes widened slightly, and an observant party might notice a slight increase of respiration in reaction.
John startled slightly, looking between both men, and then settling mostly on Sherlock. “You mean—“, his lips started to form ‘Bruce’ but he stilled, obviously thinking better of it. You could never be sure who would overhear you.
“Sherlock”, he said instead, taking the other man’s silence for shock or confirmation, “Don’t just go outing peoples secret identities like that. It’s rude.”
He was saved the obligation to respond by sirens in the near-distance. “That will be Lestrade. Late as always, but dogged in his eventual arrival.” Sherlock’s gaze flicked up to the caped man, with a slight smirk. “You may want to clear off. Unless you would like a look at New Scotland Yard, that is…”
Between fishing out a ziptie (so John could stop sitting on their perp’s back) and looking back up, the other man was gone.
“I see you’re not the only one to do that”, John muttered to the room at large, unimpressed. As if it had been timed, he glanced over to note Sherlock was no longer there, but nearly out the door, attention on his mobile. He sighed, leaning back on his heels. “Exactly.”
~*~
Boring necessities of a collar behind them (and John suspected, some measure of them had been dismissed out of hand to accost them later at a likely much more inconvenient time) they made their way back into their flat for what had every indication of being a relaxing evening to decompress and enjoy their success. Or would have been…
Sherlock stopped just inside the door, suddenly tense. “John.” The tone was low, quiet – barely a breath of sound – and faintly urgent.
Stilling immediately, he followed Sherlock’s gaze to the open sitting room window. ‘Company, then.’ He nodded in Sherlock’s peripheral vision – carefully pulled out his sidearm and scanned the room for anything out of place as he edged his way in front of the other man. It wouldn’t be the first time they returned from catching one criminal only to find out they had left a very unhappy associate behind.
The cautious check didn’t take long; moments after it began, they discovered a bat in what had been the darker recesses of their kitchen. It would have been a visually striking ‘entrance’ when the lights were flipped on, but for John’s exposure to Sherlock’s dramatic tendencies, and the general weirdness that followed them.
He didn’t even blink. He did raise an eyebrow.
‘At least this one isn’t in the fridge’, he thought wryly, taking in the slightly bat-like profile as he sighted in the intruder; ready, but leaving his finger off the trigger for the moment. They could afford to be cautious; if rumor was to be believed, their uninvited guest was a ‘good guy’.
Regardless, he made an impressive figure in their kitchen, of all places, and John thought that was really rather unfair, because he should have looked absurd. He certainly didn’t seem startled, or overly concerned to be staring down the barrel of a gun, however. More disgusted, than anything.
“That’s illegal here, isn’t it?”
“So is housebreaking.”
Hooded eyes narrowed, shifting to Sherlock. “How did you know?”
“We spend enough time with the MET.” John responded flippantly, only to have his answer met by silence.
“It was a fairly obvious deduction, really”, Sherlock cut in after a moment, sounding every inch as smug as he usually did at the start of a reveal; it fell slightly flat at the lack of response, however. Sighing his most put upon sigh, he eventually continued with an almost dismissive air, “I’ve seen the news – same body size and type, same facial structure; when you do speak, your accent and syntax match your counterpart’s exactly, whether or not your register does.” He waved a hand, flicking his fingers as if dismissing the information as being anything but obvious.
“Batman”, he added with a certain, faint derision; whether at the name, the person himself, or the tendency of solving crimes while hiding behind a mask, was unclear, “would also have to be significantly wealthy to operate in the manner and with the tools, vehicles, and general assumption of the lack of a day job, to continue in the method he has. Bruce Wayne has the wealth and means to manage this double lifestyle, and while in your own locality it would be a guess without more investigation – in London? You are visiting on an apparent whim at the same time your superhero alter ego arrives – during a spate of corporate espionage that would normally require at least the impression of personal attention on the home front. Rather more than a coincidence, isn’t it?”
John flicked a brief, quizzical look towards Sherlock, though his eyes never fully left their intruder. “So, you know who Batman – who, I might add, does not get much press in London – is, but heliocen—“
“John. Not now.”
He couldn’t help smirking, just a little. Their uninvited guest ignored the aside, continuing to stare menacingly at Sherlock. The doctor suspected he was underestimating his opponent in this staring contest.
Finally, their intruder spoke again. “Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective just this side of the law. You help the police when it suits your purposes – ostensibly when the crimes are ‘interesting’ enough to occupy you, but have no problem breaking other laws as you see fit; concealing evidence, lying to the police, breaking and entering. You’ve spent the last five years actively pursuing this… calling, and have gotten bolder with the liberties you take the longer you do it.“
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Hooded eyes narrowed back in condemnation, and John could almost hear Donovan’s voice that first time, saying some day it wouldn’t be enough. There will be a body, and he’ll be the one who put it there…
“I’ll be keeping my eye on you.” He continued, gravely – threateningly – like Sherlock were a criminal to be kept in place.
And, that was enough of that. “Right. No, that’s my job, thank you”, John stated firmly, muscling into the ocular battle of the decade with a gaze that brooked no argument.
~*~
Something in John’s attitude shifted with Wayne’s last badly concealed threat - not that that was surprising, John could be amazingly… defensive – but this particular shift was far less subtle than it had been in many previous instances. The man was, after all, so often overlooked for his generally unassuming nature.
Sherlock’s eyes widened a fraction when it registered, then he smiled very, very slightly. The army doctor looked their intruder over again, then handed his weapon to Sherlock and stalked abruptly into the kitchen with every indication that there would be appropriate behavior or else. “Tea?”, he asked shortly, as he filled the kettle.
Sherlock could almost laugh at the perplexed, if well hidden reaction that garnered. John could be so full of surprises. His doctor was tense – ready for a fight as soon as he entered the other man’s space, but still remained coolly polite; diffusing the tension in the room with brisk efficiency. He watched the other man study John as he set out three cups and retrieved the tea, then sharp eyes made their way back to the man actually holding the weapon. The momentary shift in priorities was interesting to watch. Their intruder shifted slightly, muscles loosening almost imperceptibly beneath the concealing cape. ‘Recognizing his procedural disadvantage’, he noted, ‘tends to rely on intimidation, not force; can fight, but doesn’t start engagements. Must be offsetting when the quarry won’t be cowed or goaded into attack.’ He almost smirked; his own tendencies aside, he could not imagine anyone ‘cowing’ one John Watson.
“What are your intentions?”, he finally asked, but the answer came from the mid-ground almost immediately, as John piped up with confident nonchalance, “He hasn’t got any, on this.”
Sherlock watched him tense again, attention turning back to the doctor.
“He won’t have any interest in you now that you’re not a mystery to be solved”, John added, as if he could feel the look on the back of his neck, “unless you start committing interesting crimes, anyway.” He looked over his shoulder, “You haven’t committed any locked room murders or anything similarly interesting, have you?”
There was a pause, then John chuckled, and Sherlock wished he could fully see the other man’s face when he continued, “Oh don’t give me that look; I’ve been stalked, threatened and kidnapped by ‘The British Government’ and a Chinese smuggling ring; you are not that intimidating. Milk or sugar?”
~
And that is how Batman had a surprisingly pleasant (if unsettling) tea with one Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.