Toy (Sherlock Phoenix x John Hamish Watson)

John shuddered at Sherlock's touch on his chin, snapping him out of his daydream. He took hold of the fake ID and stared at it a moment. He really couldn't imagine this working and was about to ask a question when he noticed Sherlock already striding towards the blue police tape that blocked off the crime scene.

"Shit..." he muttered and picked up the pace, realizing he had no choice but to follow him. John approached the tape, his heart pounding with adrenalin, and casually flashed his ID. To his amazement it worked, and he was allowed straight in. He rsn to catch up with Sherlock and they entered the building to be faced with the sight of a dead woman lying face down on the floor.

John stood back as Sherlock examined the body, initially at a loss of what to do. Sherlock inspected the girl or about two minutes, then stood up instantly able to tell John a whole bunch of facts about her he could never have imagined.

"How the hell do you do that?" John asked, amazed.

Sherlock was deep in thought when John spoke, and for a moment he did not respond in any way. His eyes were moving in the room, looking for something.
"Where's the suitcase?" He mumbled under his breath.

Then he noticed John's amazed expression, and for a moment he thought he was blushing. "I am just observing things, John," he said, and trailed off to explain some of his reasoning.

"And deducing, going back from the result to the causes," he moved to stand closer to him. "Criminals never do anything new, it's all been done before, and I know everything that has been done before."

"Can you tell me the cause and time of death?" He asked with an excited grin.

John shook his head in astonishment, unable to hide the fact that he was impressed with Sherlock's "deducing". He stepped a little closer to the body and crouched down beside it, nervously offering his medical opinion.

"I'd say she's been dead 24 hours or less," he began cautiously. "No clear cause of death of signs of a struggle. Can't smell an alchohol. Poison perhaps?" he suggested cautiously, glancing up at Sherlock for approval.

Just then a man burst into the room and demanded to know who they were and what they were doing there. He was obviously someone in an official position, plain clothes, long coat. John reckoned he was probably an inspector, and hoped he wouldn't be recognized.

Sherlock grinned at John when he spoke his mind about the body, "Just as I thought," he muttered, jumping slightly when he heard the steps coming towards the door. By the time the tall man came in though, his composure was impeccable, one would never guess he didn't belong there.

"We are just helping out," he said dryly, running his eyes down the other's frame in a way that looked rather unfriendly. "Inspector Lestrade," he concluded then, a smug grin on his face when the man looked surprised he knew his name.

"Our department has been informed of the serial killings, and we've been called to give a hand," he added then.

"How do you-?"

"The victim came from Cardiff," he muttered, and then started telling the inspector all that he had dediced and how.

The inspector seemed impressed, even though put off by the other's arrogance. This was his job after all.

"I suppose you found the suitcase?" Continued Sherlock, but Lestrade clueless expression spoke for him. There was no suitcase.

"Well I am afraid we can't help you furher, this is all we know, Inspector, good luck on your investigation," he said and looked at John pointedly, "Watson," he muttered, motioning towards the door.

John was just as surprised as the Inspector when he realised Sherlock knew his name, but then, he was slowly learning not o be surprised about anything where Sherlock was concerned. He was certainly a very unique person, quite unlike anyone he'd met before.

He glanced searchingly around the room, unable to see thus suitcase Sherlock kept talking about. Suddenly he heard his name being called and he caught Sherlock's eye, picking up on the fact that this was their queue to leave.

"Right, yes," he replied and headed to the door, brushing past Lestrade. "Thank you for your time Inspector," he added, just beginning to enjoy himself.

His heart was racing pretty fast by the time they got outside but Sherlock was already striding on ahead and he jogged along to keep up. Did they really just do that?

"What was all that about a suitcase?" he couldn't help but ask.

Sherlock's mind was running a mile a minute, spurred on by the undeniable rush of adrenaline. He turned to John as he spoke, surprised the man was not catching up. "The killer made a mistake," he muttered excitedly, grabbing John's arm and pulling him closer as they walked.

"Don't you see it, John? By the splashes of mud on the woman's calf, we can tell she had a small suitcase with her, but it's not there, so he must have taken it by mistake, and he probably got rid of it by now, we have to find it!" He looked around, scanning the alleys around them, before choosing one and pulling his companion towards it.

"Let's search, I hope you down mind getting dirty," he said motioning to a big rubbish disposer, before he walked to the one beside and climbed inside, not worrying about his clothes nor anything else. He wasn't going to stand around and do nothing like a spoiled child.


((John can find the suitcase if you want ))

John didn't really fully comprehend how Sherlock had reached that conclusion, but for some reason he trusted him despite of everything, and he'd already been impressed by the way he could read things, just...look at things and tell a whole load of stuff about them. It was...incredible. If Sherlock said there was a suitcase, then John was willing to believe he was correct.

He wasn't particularly pleased however, when he found himself getting dragged towards a smelly dumpster full of rotting rubbish, bags and general trash. He could see what was coming but was quite surprised when Sherlock just jumped in and started rooting around. John had expected Sherlock to order /him/ to do it. Obviously he didn't mind getting his hands dirty.

John shrugged and clambered into the opposite dumpster with a sigh. It wasn't like he had any great choice in the matter. Trying to stop himself from gagging on the stench, he began to cautiously move items aside, looking for this mystery suitcase. Suddenly he spotted something beneath a slashed tyre. Something that looked out of place because it was clean and shiny and...well...bright pink. He hauled the tyre up and hurled it to one side, grabbing down towards the pink thing.

"Sherlock..." he called out, "I think I've got something..."



((Yay! Thank you!!))

Sherlock rose tall when he heard his name, his eyes sparkling slightly as they observed John hauling the bright pink suitcase out of the rubbish. In no time he was climbing out and helping him, his hands shaking in excitement.

"You are fantastic, John, good job!" He exclaimed heatedly, before examining the suitcase closely. It was hers, he could tell easily. He opened and examined the contents, pouting when he realized something was missing.

"That's strange," he mumbled, sitting back on the curb, thinking. "No mobile, not on the body, not here, that is rather peculiar, don't you think?" He thought out loud, "Unless," he exclaimed, jumping up. "/He/ has it, but why?"

His mind moving a mile a minute, all possibilities running through his head at the same time.
He gaped: "Oh, she was clever, wasn't she?" He exclaimed and grabbed the suitcase with one hand and John's with the other. "Let's go John, I have to make a few phone calls," he muttered excitedly, and as they moved to the taxi, he explained his theory to his new and only friend.


((Should we do a rendition of the scene at Angelo's? Or should we jump to the end?))

John was pleased to receive Sherlock's praise and quite relieved that his new boss thought he'd done his job well. Although actually, John had almost forgotten for a moment that Sherlock was his boss. For a while whilst they were searching through the rubbish together, he felt like they were something else...friends...? He knew it was silly to think that he and Sherlock could ever be friends but...all the same...

Once again he was surprised and taken aback by Sherlock's quick reactions to the finding of the suitcase and the way he automatically worked out the dead woman's phone was missing, and it appeared he'd already formulated a new plan. John could hardly keep up.

He gasped as Sherlock grabbed hold of his hand, but didn't pull away. Somehow he was slightly comforted by the feeling of Sherlock's warm hand in his, and he allowed himself to be pulled into the back of a taxi.

"Um..where are we going exactly?" he asked.



((Would be a shame to miss Angelo's...but maybe we could do it more like the pilot episode and have Sherlock getting taken earlier on so we can get to the end part quicker...?))

"First we need to get this to the office, so that it will be safe, and then I will have to make a few calls to find out this lady's number..." he muttered as he sat in the taxi, and tapped his fingers on the palm of John's hand, absent minded.

"Then I think we can have dinner, what do you think?" he said with a smirk, already a step ahead of everyone else. They didn't need to know he was though.

"I know a perfect place for our first date," he teased him with a smirk.



((Angelo it is ^^ ))

As they climbed in the taxi John was a little self conscious of Sherlock's warm hand on his leg, drumming patterns with those long slender fingers of his and sending a shiver down to the tips of John's toes which he desperately tried to ignore. It really wouldn't do for John to become attracted to his boss. Not to mention utterly ridiculous.

He tried to listen to Sherlock's plan but ended up just blushing furiously when he mentioned dinner and a date. Was Sherlock flirting with him?

"Right, yes," he replied, chuckling nervously. "Sounds fine." John stared out the window as the taxi headed through the busy London streets. Finally they pulled up outside the Holmes brothers base and they got out.

Sherlock smirked when he saw John blush, the man seemed to be utterly naive, and he felt the sudden urge to corrupt him.
It was unusual that he would have this kind of thoughts in the middle of something so entertaining as the case they were working on, not to memtion the fact he was trying to catch a suspect for the first time since he started getting interested in strange cases.
John seemed to be able to catch his attention anyway though, which was a skill worth exploring once given time to.

"Of course it's fine, you work for me, you /have/ to agree..." He said then, looking outside, moving only when he saw the familiar building approach.

"Wait here," he told the cabbie, motioning for John to follow him outside. "Bring this to my office, don't tell anyone what it is and lock the door when you come out... I'll make a few calls from here and wait for you to come back."

John nodded. Of course he'd have to agree. Sherlock was his boss. A sudden mental image of Sherlock completely and utterly dominating him flashed through John's brain causing a slight stirring in his pants. He shuffled in his seat, trying to think of something more appropriate. He was quite pleased when they arrived and got out of the cab.

He listened to Sherlock's instructions and took the set of keys, wheeling the suitcase behind him into the building and up to Sherlock's office, saying hello to a couple of criminals he passed in the corridor, quickening his step as he neared Mycroft's office. The last thing he wanted right now was a face to face with the older Holmes.

John unlocked Sherlock's office and quickly dumped the suitcase down before leaving, locking up behind him and heading back outside to where Sherlock was waiting at the cab.

Sherlock's lips were curled in a satisfied and arrogant smirk when John came back. He had to send a few texts and the woman's mobile number was already on his phone. Sometimes the power he knew he had made his head spin.

"John," he said, once the man was closer, his fingers danced along the other's hair line, before he cupped the back of his head, pulling his body closer against him.

"I need you to send a text from your phone," he whispered in his ear. "Can you do that for me?" he purred.

John approached the cab with a friendly smile for Sherlock and handed him back the keys to his office. His boss was quite distracted, staring at the phone in the palm of his hand with a strange smile on his face.

Suddenly John felt Sherlock's fingers curling around his hair and then he yelped in surprised pain as he was grabbed and pulled close, so close he could feel the warmth radiating from the taller man's body, taste his breath. John felt his heart rate increasing and the side of his neck tingled as Sherlock whispered right into his ear.

John nodded. "Of course," he answered. "Anything." Did he just say that? Did he really just say he'd do 'anything'? John felt like rolling his eyes at himself as he removed the phone from his pocket and opened up a blank message ready to type.

"Anything," repeated Sherlock with a smirk, noticing John rolling his eyes at himself. Oh, he could tell he had quite an effect on him, he noticed that being close to him made John react in peculiar ways and it was definitely worth exploring, but not now. For now he was just content things were going as he wanted them to. For some reason this case felt more important than anything else he had done before.
He made a note to himself that he would keep teasing the other man though, it only added to the excitement.

He stayed close to John's ear, dictating the cryptic message and then giving him the number as well. He ordered him to send it and then let his lips graze along the other's ear shell.
"Are you hungry, John?" he asked once he was sure the message had been sent, his fingers still playing with the other's hair.

John listened to Sherlock dictate the message and typed it as quickly as he could. It was rather hard keeping up due to the fact that his boss spoke so fast, and a couple of times he made a mistake and had to delete what he'd written and retype it. It didn't help that Sherlock was practically hugging him, his soft lips pressed right up against John's ear, making him shiver and shudder every time he spoke. He was very...distracting.

Finally he hit send and he thought Sherlock would move away and resume a more normal, less intrusive position. Apparently not. Instead he got even closer if possible. It almost felt like he was kissing John's ear, and it was all he could do not to emit a small moan as Sherlock asked him whether he was hungry, the taller man's fingers in his hair tickling slightly.

"Um..well..." John stammered, trying to focus on the question. "Now you come to mention it, I am pretty hungry, yes."

Sherlock pouted, disappointed John had not picked up on his flirting, but he reckoned it might still be a bit too early for that, the sniper was hardly comfortable in his presence.

"Food is so boring, John," he said with a low, sensual tone, lips brushing along the other's lobe, before he pulled away.
He then stood straight, his features schooled to coldness and he motioned to the cab. "Let's go, we don't have that much time...the killer is a quick one."

John was feeling rather uncomfortable with Sherlock's behaviour. It certainly seemed like his boss was flirting with him, or at least playing some kind of game. Either way it was making him a little hot under the collar. He was annoyed at himself the way he was responding to the advances. It was as if he fancied Sherlock or something. Which he didn't. Of course not. I'm not gay.

He was pleased when Sherlock pulled back from his ear and adopted his usual cool demeanor, demanding that they get in the cab. John felt like he'd been holding his breath for quite some time and suddenly he let it all out in a rather large sigh. Then he flashed a small smile at Sherlock and nodded to show he'd heard the instructions, before clambering back into the cab, trying to calm his racing heart.

Half an hour later Angelo was sitting them by the window and chatting John up amiably, telling how Sherlock had managed to help him in the past.
Sherlock was hardly giving him any attention, too engrossed in checking the road opposite.

"This is the first time Sherlock brings someone with him, it's a great pleasure," said Angelo, patting John's shoulder. "I will bring you a candle, so it's a bit more romantic, eh?" he exclaimed, disappearing quickly.

Sherlock passed the menu to John. "You can eat, it might take a while."

John sat down in the warm friendly Italian, enjoying hearing Angelo's tales about Sherlock. He listened and nodded with a smile, then frowned when he suddenly started going on about it being romantic. The man clearly thought that he and Sherlock were an item, he realised.

"Wait hang on...we're not....I'm not his date," John insisted, blushing. He looked at Sherlock for support hoping he would correct Angelo's mistake but he didn't seem particularly bothered in the slightest. He was more interested in looking out of the window.

He took the menu with a slightly annoyed sigh and began to look through it. "Aren't you eating anything?" he asked Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes intent on the outside, he didn't give any attention to what was happening inside, sitting at the table and letting his thoughts wander on the people passing by, looking for any kind of clue that it could be their killer.
"I'm fine, food slows me down, and we really can't afford that now," he muttered, leaning on the table, resting his head on his perched hands.

He looked at Angelo briefly when he came back to put the candle between John and him. "Thank you," he said swiftly, clearly oblivious to the implications.


((Are we having the awkward conversation on this one? Of course this Sherlock would be a bit different, or completely different >> but it's bound to be funny to do XD ))

((Yes let's do it!))


John couldn't really understand how food could slow you down but now didn't exactly seem like the right time to be questioning Sherlock about his methods. He wasn't even entirely sure what they were doing here in the first place but he wasn't going to pass up on the opporunity to eat, especially since Angelo had already promised them anything on the menu for free.

When he came back over with the candle he shifted awkwardly in his seat before quickly ordering the spaghetti, then he turned to give Sherlock a small smile, noticing he was completely oblivious to the restaurant and was too busy staring out of the window. John cleared his throat, unsure what to say or do next, how to go about making small talk.

"So...errrm...do you....have a girlfriend?" He blushed, instantly regretting the stupid question.

Sherlock's senses registered the question right away, but it took him a while for him to actually take notice of it.
He turned to John briefly, letting grey eyes move over the other's face.

What on earth possessed him to ask such a thing?

"Girlfriend? No, not really my... area..."
He was a criminal, for God's sake, what would he use relationships for?

John blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he'd never opened his stupid mouth.

But Sherlock's response was an interesting one. Why would he say that girlfriends weren't his area? That automatically led John into thinking his boss was probably gay. That would certainly explain his unusual behaviour earlier. Maybe he really was flirting.

"So um...do you...have a boyfriend then?" he asked, unable to resist the temptation to find out.