beyond the gravestones (sherlock/johnlock fanfic)

Chapter 19

Sherlock swung out of bed, all annoyance at being woken up gone, replaced by eagerness and something akin to excitement. He was already half-dressed when he remembered John, who was currently snoring somewhere in the tangle of sheets. For a moment, he considered leaving John be - Rosie was at Molly's and this had to be the first time he was getting a good night's sleep. But he knew John would hate him for leaving him out of the loop, so he gently prodded him.

"Wake up. We have a case."

John slapped his hand away and turned over.

"John, don't be aggravating. Fine. Let's do this the boring way." He leaned down and pecked John on the cheek, but John simply swatted him away again. Huh. His kisses had never been met with that reception before.

He'd have to leave John here, then. He was just turning away to button his shirt when his phone moaned with a text from Irene Adler. John turned over, suddenly wide awake.

"What the hell was that?"

"Get dressed, there's been a break-in. The fourth one."

They both dressed quickly, left the flat and got into a cab.

"Why do you still keep the ringtone?" John asked.

"It gets you all hot and flustered."

"It does not!"

"Yes, it does. No point denying your body's natural stimuli, John."

"Where is she, anyway?"

"Trying to get her old house back. She wants to stay in London until her father's stable again, and probably after. Look, we're here."

They pulled up outside a small suburban home milling with police officers.

"Nicholas Edmund." John read off the nameplate. "So, 'you are ne' something."

"We can worry about that later." Sherlock said, striding into the house. The door was open, and they could see Lestrade and Sally Donovan in the living room, overseeing the forensics team. The French window had been smashed in, and the floor was still littered with tiny shards of glass. The small backyard beyond looked like it had recently been dug up - there were mounds of mud and bags of fertilizer everywhere.

"Nick's dead daughter broke in an hour ago." Lestrade informed them. "He's upstairs and in no state to talk to anyone, but feel free to look around the house. Mycroft got you the required permission."

"Good." Sherlock said, tearing off his scarf and handing it to John. "It's quite stuffy in here. Couldn't you tell the forensics team to clear out? They damage more than they uncover."

But Lestrade and Sally weren't even listening - instead, they were staring at Sherlock's neck.

"Is that a hickey?" Lestrade asked slowly.

Oh. Oh no, Sherlock thought desperately, looking to John for help. To his astonishment, John was smirking.

"You should see the rest of him." John said smugly.

"Are you two...?"

"Yes." said Sherlock, impatient to move on and examine the crime scene.

"How long?"

"Two weeks."

Donovan looked at Lestrade and smirked. "You owe me."

"You've been betting on this?" John asked, amused. Sherlock just sighed and dragged him away, unwilling to waste any more time. If they couldn't talk to the victim, they might as well look around the house. It was the same as all the other crime scenes - no clues, apart from a yellow 2 on the main door.