Second update today! I'll try and write this weekend but no updates, sorry :/

Just a little Johnlock idea buzzing around my head because of the special—and the fact that I'm almost done reading Hound of the Baskervilles for language arts.

Do you guys want me to continue my WTNV and Avengers stories?

Guessing as how I'm neither Sir Arthur Conan Doyle nor Steven Moffat or Mark Gatiss, I'm just not gonna say anything.

~palmtreedragons


John was acting strange, and it bothered Sherlock to no end that he couldn't understand why.

Sherlock first noticed one morning when John awoke just before seven. Sherlock was up previously, of course, and was curled up on the couch in his bed sheet, muttering a one-sided conversation about their newest case to his skull, resting on the cushion beside him. John had walked out of his room to make his tea like usual, when he noticed Sherlock's pale blue eyes staring at him. John took in the bed sheet and the skull and quickly muttered an apology before retreating to his room. Sherlock thought it very odd.

The random moments of sudden stuttering or blushing seemed to hold no connection, and did not cease over the course of the next week. Sherlock spent hours mulling over common scenarios, but they seemed as different as places and actions could be. Paying for their drinks at a cart on the corner, helping Sherlock examine a dead corpse in the morgue, coming home to hear Sherlock silently practicing his violin, and countless others. None of it made sense, so Sherlock dropped that thread and took up another; perhaps a person was the link.

Sherlock would never mean harm to John's name, but he seemed to have no trouble finding a woman to have dinner with. And yet, he had been home almost every night, and a review of John's blog revealed no new interest in his life. It could be that he was embarrassed, or simply wanted to keep this matter private. He wouldn't blatantly flaunt his new relationship, especially if it meant more than a few dates to him.

So Sherlock kept a sharp eye out for anyone and everyone, trying to spot familiar faces, and filtering coincidences from intentional. He was ashamed to admit nothing out of the ordinary came to his senses.

Who could it be? What could it be? An interest in someone could obviously explain, but who could it be? Sherlock chastised himself for being so narrow minded.


"We did it," John cheered with a smile. Sherlock lifted the police tape as they both crossed under it. Sherlock did not take pride in the fact that they had solved the murder (it should have been more obvious it was the stingy father-in-law) but the fact that his companion took pride in solving it with him.

"Yes, we did." They wove through the crowd of people gathered around the local bank, bending their necks for something exciting in their ordinary lives. Sherlock shoved his gloved hands in his pockets as a chill swept by. John shouted because of this.

"If the wind keeps up like this, we'll blow away!"

"That's highly impossible. Compared to our weight, the wind would have to— Oh. I'm assuming that was a joke."

John chuckled. "You're learning," he said, his eyes scanning the view before them. It was just after dusk, and the water from the harbor reflected specks of light from the boats and lamplights by the water's edge. The bitter weather was obvious by the black, dead trees and the passerby's multiple layers of clothing. Sherlock's mind was somewhere else, as it always was. He was thinking about his personal ongoing case about John. Perhaps the woman might be on a boat—

"Are you even listening to me?" Sherlock turned, giving John his answer with the action. "Typical," John muttered, not bitterly, though not pleasantly. John was now the one looking over the water, while Sherlock's focus was on John himself. Sherlock turned back to the water, also.

"I've had a case for quite some time now," he began. John turned his head a fraction closer to Sherlock, showing his interest in the statement. "I've been trying to come to a rational conclusion for some time now, but my mind seems to not be able to expand its parameters. I might just have to ask you about it anyway."

"Who's the case about?" John asked, turning fully to face the genius. Sherlock seemed rather intrigued by the dark waters.

"You."

"Me?"

"That's what I said, wasn't it?"

"You've been doing a case about me?" John asked once more. Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"You've been acting strange. Try as I might, I cannot seem to think of a reason as to why your behavior changed suddenly." John looked back to the water, as if finally realizing what the case was about.

"You tried to analyze me like some case rather than just asking?" Sherlock noted a hint of anger in John's voice.

"Yes," replied Sherlock coolly, "and I have not yet reached a conclusion. I feel I might be biased, knowing the subject and all."

"Subject," John muttered under his breath, turning back to the water. Sherlock frowned. Humans are such strange things. You can know every fact there is to know about anatomy, structure, and behavior, and you could still never predict what they'd do next. "So, what are you going to do about it?" John asked sulkily. Sherlock sighed.

"I'm going to ask."

John raised an eyebrow. "You're really stumped on this one, huh?"

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"And the truth is?"

"I have no idea, honestly." Sherlock gave a half-smile. "I studied you for weeks; your surroundings, the people, the places—"

Sherlock wasn't absolutely sure, but he thought he knew know why John was so strange. Well, he was almost entirely sure. Grabbing someone by the collar and kissing them usually only meant a handful of things.

When John pulled away, Sherlock looked at him cautiously. "Oh."

"Oh?" John asked unsurely.

"Yes, 'Oh.'"

"'Oh' what?"

Sherlock smiled widely. "I guess my assumptions were correct."