The arrest had been anticlimactic to say the least, Sherlock mused as he waited for John to come home. He and Lestrade had taken a seat in the back of the restaurant and simply waited for Hamish Watson to come in. Hamish looked quite like John, less grey and less worn, but still carrying a strong family resemblance. From this Sherlock inferred that both men strongly resembled their father.

He wouldn't mention that to John, nor would he mention the torrent of incoherent abuse that poured from Hamish's mouth when Lestrade arrested him. The man clearly wasn't in his right mind, if he ever had been. Preliminary forensics work looked promising to tie him to the deaths of Sharon Feldspar and Jason Greengrass. The threat to John was removed and with luck, Sherlock would have his partner back in fighting trim as soon as the last of the scalpel wounds from the ER patient had healed.

"Did you ever find out why that patient attacked the ER staff?" Sherlock asked as John came in, weary and rumpled. John gave him a startled look but was well used to his abrupt questions that were seemingly related to nothing.

"Yes, he was being poisoned. A rather rare and unusual compound," John replied, "DI Dimmock is in charge of the case."

"We'll probably hear from him at some point then, he's too green to have the contacts and scope to deal with it alone. I can turn him down if you like, poisoned or not, he did attack you," Sherlock raised an eyebrow, confident he knew the answer to that offer. Sure enough, John didn't let him down.

"No, if Dimmock comes to you, you should take the case," John smiled, "Thanks any way, Sherlock."

"Very well," he made an effort to seem unconcerned, knowing that John would attribute higher motives to his offer than had really been there, "Hamish Watson was arrested today. He'll probably be sectioned, though I hope he's fit to stand trial for what he did. Either way, the case is over with now."

"Oh," John came and sat on the coffee table opposite the couch where Sherlock was currently lying, "That's… good."

"Yes," Sherlock said simply, "It is."

He reached out and caught hold of his flatmate, dragging him over onto the couch and arranging them both in a comfortable position. John protested wordlessly but didn't struggle; probably afraid he'd knock them both off the narrow couch if he did. Once Sherlock had John settled to his satisfaction he planted one hand flat over John's back, seeking his heartbeat again.

"You don't mind, do you? I find this… conducive to brainwork," Sherlock asked belatedly, looking down at the top of John's head. His flatmate was a welcome weight against him, warm and alive. John sighed, the breath briefly heating the front of Sherlock's shirt.

"It's not that I mind so much, Sherlock… it's just that normal flatmates don't cuddle on the couch," John explained patiently.

"Normal's boring," Sherlock snorted, "You can turn the telly on if you like. I've ordered takeaway for seven thirty."

"Ok," John sighed and reached for the remote control.


Disclaimer – characters and settings and dialogue as depicted in Sherlock BBC series not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine


AN – Lame huh? That's why its called anticlimax