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After their first meeting, John had asked Mycroft to be re-assigned, and he was almost suspicious at how quickly Mycroft agreed to it.
"I can't promise to make him take less risks, but I'll be there whenever he does."
"Please," Mycroft scoffed. "You are one of my best agents, but you are not a miracle worker."
There hadn't been any protest from Sherlock either. He simply introduced John to Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, and showed him to the upstairs bedroom.
And that, John supposed, was that.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
John was watching a late night show on the telly when he caught a glimpse of long, pale legs. He turned to stare, not even trying to hide it and not feeling any ounce of shame for it either. Why would he when Sherlock himself was the one encouraging it?
Sherlock had deduced John's attraction to long legs, especially pale and unblemished ones like his, and would sometimes walk around the flat just with his boxers on after John helped him with something, whether it be an experiment or an errand he couldn't be bothered to do himself.
He claimed it was a reward for John. John felt like he should be insulted at possibly being treated like a dog, but decided to just take it at face value and enjoy his reward.
After he had his fill, he brought his gaze up and immediately frowned at the long hair cascading down Sherlock's shoulders. He had on the same wig he wore when they first met and it always meant Sherlock was looking for trouble.
John leaned back in the armchair and heaved a deep sigh. He better be allowed to ogle for at least five minutes for his trouble.
"Where are you going?"
"Out," Sherlock said as he picked up the fur-lined jacket and put it on. He went to the bathroom and pulled out his makeup kit and began putting on some light makeup.
"Where are you going?" John asked again, firmer this time.
Sherlock gave him an annoyed look, which was somewhat undermined by the fact he was in the process of applying lipstick.
"Out," Sherlock repeated.
The two stared at each other, not backing down, and John finally heaved another deep sigh, adding another five minutes into his mental tally, then turned the telly off.
Sherlock watched him suspiciously as John stood up and went to get his jumper. "Where are you going?"
"Out."
Sherlock scowled and John lifted a brow in challenge. They were once again caught in a staring match, but it was Sherlock who sighed this time.
"I'm conducting an experiment," he said.
John's brow raised even higher. He stared at Sherlock's ensemble; a little black dress and the jacket. "On what?" he asked. He wanted to make some outlandish guesses, but the detective's glare made him hold his tongue. The last time he annoyed Sherlock, Sherlock had taken to playing the violin loudly every night after midnight, and he really didn't want a repeat of that.
"You read the papers yesterday."
John hummed, thinking back to the articles he read. Most of them were not memorable, but there was one that Sherlock's clothes reminded him of.
"The woman hit by a car," he said. "Are you suspecting it could be murder?"
There had been a crash at a busy road the night before. The driver who had run the woman over called for the ambulance and had assisted the police with questioning, although it was more as a witness than a suspect. The drivers behind him confirmed that the woman had run onto the road suddenly, which led to the crash. The coroner was still trying to confirm whether she was under any influence when she was hit.
"No," Sherlock said. "Well, I don't think it's a premeditated murder, at least, but there must be something. People don't just run into traffic."
"Right," John said. "So what's the experiment about?"
"I was talking to Molly earlier," Sherlock said as he finished putting on his makeup. "She said that maybe the victim was chased by someone, or at least she felt like she was. Something about women being hyperaware of their surroundings when they're out and about by themselves at night. The victim was walking home by herself through a shortcut, after all."
"Uh huh," John said. "So you're, what, trying to understand women's psychology by putting yourself in the same position?"
Sherlock shrugged and walked towards the front door, opening the shoe rack and considering which footwear to put on.
"I'm coming."
"No," Sherlock said easily as he grabbed his boots and started putting them on.
"What do you mean 'no'?"
"The whole point of this experiment is to see if I would feel anxious, probably the same way she was. You being there would make it pointless."
John opened his mouth to protest, claiming that Sherlock usually asked for his help in experiments instead, but went through what Sherlock said again and snorted.
"I still can't let you go by yourself," he said. "But fine, I won't go with you. I'll just wait somewhere near the crash site, alright?"
"No," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "But you're not going to listen to me, are you?"
"Mm, not like you ever listen to me either."
"Fine."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Really, what was it with these men and being overprotective? First Mycroft, then Gary, and now John too.
It didn't take long for him to arrive at the alley the woman walked through. It wasn't particularly long, but the noise from the road could drown the noise of whatever happened in there, which probably made it even more dangerous.
As he was walking towards the alley, he glanced back again at the man who was walking behind him. He couldn't be sure yet if he was tailed or if it was just a coincidence.
Think. What did Molly say about this kind of situation?
He made sure they were in a well-lit area and slowed down his pace, moving to the left to let the man overtake him. The alarm bell in his head started ringing when the man slowed his pace down as well, matching his own. He turned into the alley and picked up his pace, and the man did the same.
Not a coincidence then.
He was halfway through the alley when he heard the man break into a run, and suddenly someone was grabbing his arm, pulling him backwards. He turned and swung his handbag, which was thankfully held in his other hand, hitting the man's head hard with it. The man let go of his arm to clutch his own head and Sherlock took the chance to run.
As he ran towards the road, where it was brighter and more crowded, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity. Pity for the woman who ended up in an accident when she tried to be safe.
Pity that she didn't have her John.
He could hear the man curse and run after him again, trying to catch him before he reached the roadside. The next moment, there was a loud thud and a crack that nearly made him wince. He stopped running and turned back around.
"Lestrade or Mycroft?" he asked as he walked over towards John who was kneeling on the man's back.
"I'll call Lestrade," John said. "He fell down hard on his face. Might have broken his jaw and probably lost some teeth, but eh, he'll live."
Sherlock nodded and sat down on the unconscious man's back to keep him in place while John went to the side to call Lestrade. As he watched John, he sighed and thought about what a waste that experiment was.
He was right, after all. Even as he ran, he didn't feel anxious at all, knowing John was there waiting for him.
In an ideal world, everyone would have their John.
It wasn't one, however, and that was why there were many cases for him to solve.
"Alright?"
"Hm?"
"You alright?" John asked. "Greg's on his way. Should be here soon."
"He didn't actually do anything," Sherlock shrugged. "It wasn't premeditated murder, after all."
"So you were baiting him?"
"No. I wasn't certain there was someone to bait."
"But you must have suspected something."
"Well, that's why I let you come."
"..."
"What?"
"I'm going to blame all my gray hair and ulcers on you."
"And yet you're still here, so what does that say about you?"
"Either I'm a masochist, or the eye candy is too good to pass on."
"Get your fill while we wait for Gary to come then."
"Greg."
"That's what I said."