The sound of a phone vibrating on wood drew John's head up from his paper. He knew that it was most likely Lestrade, with another case for Sherlock and-by extension-himself.

"A case?" John said absentmindedly, watching his formerly stoic flat mate start to move.

"Yes, easily an eight."

John watched as Sherlock bounced up from the couch and strode to the door of their flat.

"Sherlock," John stated, pausing the detective in mid-stride. "Shouldn't you put on something a bit more… presentable? Going out in your house coat might not work so well at a crime scene."

The detective looked down at himself, slightly surprised to find that he was, in fact, still in his pajamas. He huffed indigently and stomped to his room, not even bothering to shut the door behind him.

Meanwhile, John stood, folded the paper, and walked to the mirror on the wall. He examined himself, straitening his jumper and trying to smooth his tousled locks. He caught a glimpse of something in the corner of the mirror, and was surprised to see none other than Sherlock, topless and pulling a shirt over his shoulders. The doctor felt his face flush and his mouth go dry, a reaction that he immediately regretted. Sherlock was his flat mate. And he was straight damn it! There was no reason for him to get all hot and bothered over that creamy expanse of alabaster skin. The doctor shook himself, and straitened his jumper yet again. As he turned around, he stumbled into Sherlock.

Sherlock noticed John's slightly flushed complexion, but said nothing, knowing that mentioning it would simply earn him a dismissive comment. When John stumbled into him, the detective snatched his hand to steady him, while surreptitiously taking his pulse. He was surprised to find that it was slightly elevated.

Sherlock let go, stepping back and studying him quickly. He made a mental note of the slightly dilated pupils, the parted lips, and the slight pink tinge to the skin. All signs of physical attraction.

Interesting.

He stepped back, waving his arms out to his sides. "Do I look more appropriate now? I'd really hate to delay those bodies any longer. Anderson might touch them."

He snarled his nose as if the very thought repulsed him, and John smirked, it probably did.

"Fine. You look… You look fine." He tried desperately not to stammer, but failed.

Turning to the door, he pulled it open for the detective. Sherlock breezed through, experimentally letting his side brush against the doctor. The sharp intake of breath was more than enough to confirm his suspicions. John cursed himself again for reacting before following the detective out of 221B.

Sherlock hailed a cab, observing that his blogger had his eyes cast down, to the left-anywhere but on him. It was the same when they got into the car. He considered commenting on it, but chose instead to observe. It was obvious that the doctor did not wish to express his feelings, and Sherlock had a strong feeling that he was even trying to suppress them.

"So this crime scene, you said it was an eight?" John croaked, trying to clear the tension. Sherlock nodded.

"Easily. Six bodies, all seemingly untouched, lying in a perfect circle on the floor of a warehouse. Lestrade thinks that it may be a pack suicide, but the lack of any sort of wounds or administration devices suggests otherwise."

John nodded, gazing back out the window.

"You don't suppose this could be anything like that one bloke, the one that, you know-" Sherlock whipped his head to gaze at the doctor, surprised to note the distress in his voice.

"No, I don't think that this is another sponsored killing. Though, I still wouldn't rule Moriarty out of it. I need to gather more data before I can create a hypothesis."

John smirked. "Right."

The detective glanced over the doctor once more, before turning to look out the window. They pulled up to a decrepit looking warehouse, already quartered off by police cruisers and lines. Donovan was waiting at the tape, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed in a glare of pure contempt.

"Oh look it's the freak and his boyfriend. Nice for the two of you to finally show up." John opened his mouth to give his usual 'not his boyfriend' line, but decided against it. She wouldn't listen anyway.

Sherlock held the tape for John, before ducking under it himself. Lestrade met them halfway to the door, relief twinkling in his eyes.

"Good you're here they are right-"

Sherlock interrupted the detective Inspector. "Did he touch them?"

"Who?" Lestrade asked, pausing.

"Anderson, did he touch them?"

Lestrade made to ask why, but stopped himself. "No, no one has touched the bodies since they were discovered."

Sherlock nodded, satisfied, and walked up to the crime scene, pulling on the latex gloves that a technician had offered him. He walked around the group of bodies, only pausing to stop and examine them more closely. John simply watched him, fascinated-as always-by the way his mind worked.

"Where is the other one? " Sherlock asked after a brief amount of time.

Lestrade looked at the detective in shock. "What other one, Sherlock? Is 6 bodies not enough?"

The detective responded with a glare, and John took another look around the crime scene. Sure enough the six bodies were arranged in a near perfect circle, save a gap across from where Sherlock was standing.

"There is a space, over there, where a body should be." The doctor pointed to it, and Sherlock gave him a look of-was that pride?"

Lestrade just shook his head. "So? There is a space. That doesn't mean that a body is missing."

John could sympathize with Sherlock now, as he was exasperated by the DI's short-sightedness. "If they had gone to all this trouble to create a near perfect circle, it's a bit suspicious that they would leave such a glaring error. Judging by their approximate ages and the fact that they are all equally pale, they're most likely college kids, studying here in London. Take a look at their clothes. They are all dressed nearly identically; even their hair is the same color and cut. There is no difference between the boys and the girls. That suggests a cult or group of some sort." The doctor glanced, up and looked to the window.

"The gap is facing east, typically a direction associated with religious purposes. If you ask me, the body we're missing belongs to the leader of the group, or someone of high importance, at least." He paused, and saw that the majority of people in the room had stopped to stare at him. Even Sherlock was gazing at him open-mouthed, obviously stunned by his outburst. John could feel the heat of a blush pulling at his ears.

Sherlock smiled softly. "Brilliant."

The blush took over the doctor's face, and he gazed at his shoes.

Lestrade glanced between the two of them. "Bloody Hell, you're turning into Sherlock."

John and glanced at the detective, who looked slightly dazed and-flushed?

Sherlock coughed. "John is right; however I still don't think that it's a cult suicide. Look for psycho active drugs and hallucinogens on their persons, as well as any sort of identification on the premises. If this was a suicide cult, then they probably wouldn't have any personal possessions around them. As for the leader: you're looking for a white male, between the ages of 18 and 34. Probably with a similar physical description to the victims. They were obviously attempting to emulate him. "

He peeled off his gloves, tossing them aside. "If you find anything you know how to find me."

The detective waltzed out of the room, John scurrying after him in a rush.