Ok, I found the BBC 'Sherlock' series online a few days ago. About a year later than everyone else, which is embarrasing. I find the relationship between Holmes and Watson really believable in this version; and, as a devoted shipper of the two, I couldn't let this opportunity pass by. I apologise if any facts are off or anyone's OOC, I never saw the entire series, just clips on youtube. If anything's wrong, it's entirely down to my own stupidity.

Plus, Benedict Cumberbatch was as good a motivation as any :P

John didn't like Bargain Hunt. Why he was still watching it, he didn't know, it was one of the old ones that he'd seen a million times, the blue team won. A high whistling sound alerted him that the kettle was boiling. He tore his eyes away from the tv gratefully, David Dickinson's orange tan was giving him a headache.

Sherlock was down at Lestrade's office, another victim of the Markin gang had turned up in the early hours of the morning. Sherlock had left whilst John was sleeping upstairs, John had found a hastily scribbled note explaining the situation, so all he had to do was wait for his flatmate's return. The Markin Case was taking up nearly all of Sherlock and John's time at the moment, a vicious gang guilty of murder, rape, arson, blackmail... if a crime existed, they had done it. The bastard at the centre of the gang was the unobtainable Terry Markin, an elusive thug Sherlock had hunted for years.

Pouring himself some tea, John absentmindedly watched a middle aged woman eye up an ugly little vase on the tv when his mobile phone alerted him to a text. Putting down his mug, he read the message:

Meet me at Bart's pathology lab.-SH

John was about the take another sip of tea when his phone buzzed again:

Now.-SH

Sighing, John poured his tea down the sink, switched off the tv and made his way there.

... ...

'Victim was suffocated judging by the faint bruises on the mouth and nose, the fabric stuck to the lips indicate the murder used either a scarf or was wearing gloves. Dirt under the nails suggest that the victim was on the floor at time of death, a hairline fracture on the pelvis would show that a person of great strength could have pinned the victim down.'

Lestrade valiantly tried to keep up with Sherlock's analysis, hand struggling to take notes as the tall man muttered at breakneck speed. He wished Watson would hurry up, then at least Sherlock would start making sense at a human level of understanding.

'So, someone sat on him and suffocated him?' he offered helplessly, earning him the most Sherlock-ish glare from said Sherlock.

'In essence, yes.' The consulting detective replied. Checking his watch, he huffed 'Where the hell is John?'

John pushed the door open, only to come face-to-face with Anderson. The little slimeball had a truly irritating sneer creeping on his lips. John blinked owlishly, why was he here?

'And so the Freak's sidekick is at his master's beck and call.'

John sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily, he couldn't be bothered with Anderson now, or at any other time, for that matter.

'Bugger off Anderson, where are they?' he asked. Anderson smirked.

'Upstairs with a corpse, where else would the Freak be?' he shrugged.

'Stop calling him that, his name's Sherlock, and I'm not a sidekick, I'm a ...colleague.'

Without waiting for Anderson's response, he trudged to the right room. Molly was walking the opposite way.

'Hey Molly, erm, have you seen Sherlock?' he smiled, he always tried to be nice to Molly, to even out the hurtful indifference she suffered at the hands of Sherlock Holmes.

'Oh, he's-he's here?' she asked, her hand automatically patted her hair. Somewhere in his head, John though that is was unfortunate how Molly was always going to be looking her best for a man who would much rather bash a corpse with a riding crop.

'Yeah, I think he's been here for a few hours,' John replied, 'In the pathology lab.'

'No-one tells me anything' Molly huffed and carried on her way. John continued his walk to the lab.

The scene that met his eyes completely threw him off. Lestrade was frowning in concentration as he studied the corpse of a middle aged man that Sherlock was...'sat on' wasn't the right term, 'straddling' was more appropriate. Straddling a corpse and pressing his hands over it's dead nose and mouth.

'So...the victim would be dead within 6 minuets.' Sherlock concluded. Getting off the corpse, he saw John at the door. The poor doctor's face was priceless, Sherlock considered what it must have looked like, and allowed himself a small internal chuckle.

'Ah John, there you are.' He said, in a manner akin to that of someone stating the weather, sensing the puzzlement is John's air he gestured at the victim.

'Ah yes, Steven Menzes, 54 years of age, ex bus driver. Suffocated by a member of the Markins. I was showing Lestrade how it would have happened.'

'Right.' John said, there's was nothing else he could say really. Lestrade gave him a curt nod as he entered the room.

'You needed me for something?' John asked Sherlock, his friend looked up from the corpse's fingernails he was now inspecting.

'Yes, actually.' He said, 'Please have a look at the man's fingers.'

John obliged, walking around the table and lowered himself to Sherlock's level.

'You could have woken me up before you left, I would've come with you.' He said.

'It's scientifically proven that it's a bad idea to wake a person from their nightmare before they're ready.'

'What? I didn't have a nightmare.'

'Yes you did.' said Sherlock simply. 'You were talking in your sleep.'

This threw John, 'Do I really talk in my sleep?'

'Mmhmm, frequently.' Was the reply. 'Horrors of war I suspect, you have fitful dreams and talk. Well, sometimes you talk, sometimes you cry. Once you screamed.'

John felt his face burn, it was a little humiliating to find out that not only did you act like a small frightened child in your sleep, but that your roommate found out before you did. He had lied to Serlock anyway, he did have a nightmare last night, he had watched his friend Sam die over and over again in Afghanistan, but he saw no reason to inform his flatmate of this, so he feigned ignorance.

'So,' he cleared his throat, 'What did you want me for?'

Sherlock shoved the guy's hand in John's face, 'Can you identify these?'

There were yellowish patches on the man's finger's, John snorted with disdain.

'Tobacco stains? That's what you wanted me for?'

'No,' said Sherlock impatiently, 'I called you here because I knew you were getting bored in front of Bargain Hunt, you always get bored with daytime tv.'

Damn. That. Man.

... ...

'So, Menzes was suffocated by one of the Markin's?' John asked Sherlock stupidly.

'Brilliant, really, you astound me sometimes John.' Sherlock snapped back. Honestly, for all of John's virtues he could be so bloody obtuse. However, maybe it was part of John's bluntness that made him such a good companion for him, explaining things to John made him feel like he was helping John's powers of deduction. Like a teacher perhaps.

John rolled his eyes, he didn't need snark, just the answers. It wasn't his fault Sherlock buggered off at God Knows What o'clock, that he probably pissed off Anderson and Lestrade enough for them to be short with him. Walking back to Baker Street with his friend they both mulled over the possible reasons for the murder. The only reason John could see was that the victim had been some sort of grass, informing the police of Markin's whereabouts.

It was a pleasant surprise when Sherlock agreed with him.

'Obviously they decided to kill him a while ago, whether this was planned to be on the night or just a good opportunity I don't know...' Sherlock was muttering. John translated in his head: whether this was planned or just 'wrong place, wrong time' for the poor dead sod on the table back at the lab.

'Who do you think did it?' John glanced sideways at his friend, the pale face was sporting a look of utter boredom and a 'oh pur-leeze' expression.

'I don't think John. I know.'

John sighed, of course he did.

'Well?'

'Well what?'

'Fill me in.'

'Alright', Sherlock held the door to 221b Baker Street open for John as they entered, the shorter man brushed him slightly as he passed. After months of learning to control little signs of emotion, the jolt in his stomach at John's contact went unnoticed by everyone except him.

'Well,' he mused 'Menzes was giving tipoffs about Markin's son. Mycroft gave me a few CCTV tapes this morning, judging by the killer's stature-'

'Markin's son.' John finished for him.

Sherlock smiled. 'Lestrade will arrest him in the morning. Thank God for my annoying brother, he can sometimes be useful.'

Once they'd both settled down back in the flat, John made tea whilst Sherlock got bored at evening television.

'What did you dream about anyway?' He said suddenly, John handed him his mug and sank into the chair next to him.

'Wow you must be bored if you're asking.' He chuckled, noticing that Sherlock continued to stare at him. 'I did NOT have a nightmare.'

'Liar.'

John frowned. Telling Sherlock he didn't had a dream was a bit stupid. So he made something up.

'I dreamed that I was back in school teaching the teachers.'

It was a bloody stupid lie.

'John, you're a bad liar, at least to me. You're left eye twitches when you lie.'

John glared at him, a silent warning to drop it. Maybe Sherlock realised it, maybe he just got bored. Either way, he turned back to the television.

John sipped his tea, trying to complete the crossword. And failing. Miserably. 32 Down was giving him a lot of bother. Damn it. He was going to bed.

Sherlock saw his friend get up, John stretched languidly, making Sherlock's stomach do the strangle jolt-y thing again.

'Goodnight John.' He said.

John mumbled a reply and disappeared upstairs. Sherlock continued to flip through the channels, mind racing over the case.

John flopped down onto the bed, eyelids growing heavy. If they nicked Markin's son tomorrow, surely Markin himself would be forced to come out of hiding. He could imagine Sherlock's gleeful smile...the idea of a case cracked...Lestrade would...32 Down...

John didn't dream that night.

More soon. There will be plot, I promise.

Next chapter: Sherlock's pride makes for a dramatic situation...and John realises what 32 Down is :D

XXX