Johnlock - Oneshots

Fall in Love Tonight Inside the Backseat

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(Just thought I'd give a bit of a warning that I do describe a murder here, there isn't too much detail but if you are uncomfortable with it feel free to skip the first paragraph or the whole story) 

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John sat in the backseat of the cab beside his best friend Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective, the worlds only consulting detective (as he liked to inform anyone he interacted with). Although he was incredibly brilliant, as John had spent the last twenty minutes of the drive telling him. They had just solved a case, and by "they" he meant Sherlock. Detective Inspector Lestrade had made them drive almost two hours out of London to solve a case that had stumped Scotland Yards finest for over a week. It was a triple homicide, the police couldn't identify a link between the victims, they seemingly had nothing in common, apart from the way they died. Each victim had been tied by their feet, hanging suspended within their own homes, each wrist was slit, allowing them to bleed out for a prolonged period of time before their throats were cut, the final cause of death. That was easily enough to deduce, even John could identify that. What was amazing about Sherlock is that it took him less than ten minutes with each of the bodies to identify what linked them together. They had all known a young man by the name of Eobard Robinson. The first victum, an elderly school teacher, had taught him in his later years of high school. The second was a boy, twenty or so, he wasn't in the first victims class, but he did share several with Robinson. Number three was a pretty, young girl, the same age as the second victim, maybe a year or two younger. The police arrived at the scene just before she died, they were unable to revive her but she did say one final word: "Eoba..." which was passed on to Lestrade and the other detectives. It made absolutely no sense to anyone, except Sherlock obviously, who used that tiny fragment of a name to price together a connection between the victims and uncover our suspect. He had informed Lestrade and all of Scotland Yard had raced off to Eobard Robinson's last known location, also courtesy of Sherlock. 

They had left Sherlock and John alone to make their own way back to Baker Street, and now here they were, sitting in the backseat of what might possibly be the most expensive cab ride of John Watson's life. Not only was it the most expensive, it was also the most awkward cab ride he and Sherlock had ever shared. Usually, when they were in London, their cab ride would be just short enough that John could spend the entire time complimenting Sherlock without it being seen as weird or creepy. But after twenty minutes he was beginning to think he might be overdoing it. He thought about changing the subject, maybe opting for finding out how Sherlock had figured it out so quickly, or what exactly the young man's motive was for killing those people, but he knew the explanation wouldn't bring the same smile to Sherlock's face as John's compliments. He loved the way his face would light up whenever he called him brilliant, or spectacular, or amazing. He loved Sherlock's smile and knowing that he was he cause of it. But then again... twenty minutes? There are only so many synonyms in the English language for astonishing. 

Instead he opted for silence. 

The silence continued for much longer than John would have liked, it wasn't quite as awkward as he had expected, although he still wished they were talking, or laughing, or even just looking at each other. Well half of that was true at least, John was looking a Sherlock, infact he hadn't taken his eyes off him the whole trip. He hadn't really realized that he was staring until just then, but he wasn't going to look away, he didn't want to. Besides, Sherlock wasn't paying any attention to him, his eyes engrossed in something out the window, or maybe he had retreated into his mind palace, either way he hadn't noticed John's staring, so there seemed no reason to stop now. 

As if hearing John's innermost thoughts, Sherlock turned to look at him. "What is it John? You've been staring at me for ten minutes straight."

Shit. So much for not being caught.