Fic: Homeless (prompt fill) - 2/3
Part two of the prompt fill for morganstuart. I still don't have a title, so if you have any suggestions, let me know. :)
Title: Homeless
Words: 2214
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Pairings : Sherlock/John pre-slash
Beta: none
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters are not mine and no money is made (that would be sooo cool!).
Summary: Fill for this Make Me A Monday prompt:
To help Sherlock get the information he needs to solve a case, John and Lestrade spend a long, cold, and unexpectedly dangerous weekend undercover on the streets posing as part of Sherlock's "homeless network." No pairing, any pairing, whatever.
Make it as dark, dangerous, and/or angsty as you like.
Previous part
Friday
John woke up cold and hungry.
He pressed his nose into Sherlock's scarf and the cold and hunger were pushed away to the back of his mind while he thought about Sherlock and his goodbye.
Then his thoughts went to the other things that happened yesterday.
They had taken the train after the scene with the scarf, going over the plan again while it rattled towards London.
Lestrade suddenly looked at John and hold out his hand. "Since we are about to spend the nights together, you really should call me Greg."
"John." He grinned and they shook hands.
When they arrived in London, they made their way to Victoria Embankment, where all the victims had stayed at least for a while.
Since the weather was nice there were still spots under the bridge that were unoccupied and the two men put down there bags.
"Hu, will you look at that? New faces. Where're you from?"
The voice belonged to a tiny old lady with sparkling eyes.
John started to tell their cover story about leaving a small town in the countryside to come to London in hope of getting money out of tourists. The old woman chuckled.
"Seriously? Money from tourists? You're very naïve my dear. You have any food to share?"
She came over to sit with them and share some of the scarce groceries they brought. John liked her and pitied her, though she clearly rather pitied them. As way of thanking them for their food she gave them a few tips on how to survive in London and as it was expected they finally talked about the murdered homeless.
She told them that she knew the last victim.
"He was such a nice man. Took a plunge a long time ago and never managed to get back into his old life. I think in the end he was quite happy. They were such a sweet couple. The poor boy."
She sighed and stopped talking. John felt a tingling along his spine.
"What boy?"
"The boyfriend. I think his name is Cai. They were madly in love, you could see that. Such a sweet couple. Just like the two of you. Best be careful."
"We're n…" John's hand on his wrist stopped Greg in the middle of his sentence.
"We will be. Thank you." John smiled at the old woman, who had spotted someone else with food and was about to leave anyway.
Then he leaned over to whisper into Greg's ear.
"That's it! God, we were so blind! Stupid! How could Sherlock have missed that? Don't you see?"
"What? John, I have no idea what you are talking about. Plus you sound disturbingly like Sherlock; I think you are spending too much time together."
"Shut up, Greg, and listen. The link between the victims! They were gay! First two men, then two women and now another man. His boyfriend is lucky that he is still alive. We need to find him and warn him."
"Calm down, John. Don't you think that this is a bit far-fetched?"
"I have a feeling in my gut. It saved my life a few times during the war; I'm used to trust it. I need you to trust me in this. Can you do that?" John grabbed Greg's shoulder.
"Ok, ok." Greg raised his hands in surrender. "Let's assume you are right and the killer is targeting gay homeless couples. This means we have to use the boy as bait."
"What? No! We have to get him out of here. And then we will be the next gay couple on the killer's list."
"Excuse me?"
"We will draw the killer to us. Therefore we need to be a gay couple. Don't worry, I am not going to molest you."
"Very funny. As if you could."
"Don't temp me! So, we need to find the boy. Maybe he can even tell us something about the other victims."
"Now listen. He is a serial killer, he has a MO. You are going to disturb that, we have no idea how he will react. There might be consequences."
"Yes, I know. No, I don't. I mean, I hadn't thought about that. But if we can save the boy's life, isn't it worth it?"
"I suppose it is." Greg was silent for a few minutes, clearly lost in thought. Then he jumped to his feet.
"Ok, let's go find the boy. Come on, honey."
Grinning from ear to ear he pulled John to his feet as well.
~°~
Greg was stirring next to him, bringing John back to the cold Friday morning and his grumbling stomach.
They had had no luck finding the boy yesterday, so that was the first thing on today's agenda.
They packed their stuff together, traded two cigarettes for hot tea and left the place after a scarce breakfast.
The old lady had suggested some locations they should check to find the boy and they worked their way through them.
After searching for a few hours, John pulled Greg into an underpass without video surveillance.
"John, what are you doing?"
"We need to practise being a couple."
"What? Why? I have been married for years."
"And have you ever been kissed by another man?"
"Ok, I get your point."
"I think it will be enough if we show the basic signs of a couple: holding hands, embraces and kisses. No tongues and no touching in any indecent places. It might be awkward at first but it's not that different from being with a woman. And please be assured that I have no romantic or sexual interest in you whatsoever. Ok?"
Greg looked a little sceptical but nodded. John stepped closer and pulled the other into an embrace, pressing his face against his neck. After a few seconds Greg relaxed and returned the hug.
John went on to the next step and pressed his lips against Greg's. Again he felt the other stiffen, relax and reciprocate. John kept going until the kisses - though still fairly chaste - were relaxed and tender.
When he was satisfied that their cover as a gay couple was convincing the two men went on searching for the boy.
It was mid afternoon when they found him. The old woman's description had been very accurate.
He was sitting on a park bench, biting his nails, looking utterly lost. There was a bottle of cheap booze beside him, which gave John an idea.
John took Greg's hand and they walked over to the bench. Greg spoke first.
"Hey, son, would you trade some of your booze for a fag?"
The boy slowly lifted his head and looked at them. His eyes widened slightly as he took in their entwined fingers and then he nodded.
They made the exchange and Greg excused himself to lie down on the grass. John sat down beside the boy and looked at Greg with a sad, tender smile.
"I really hate him needing all those drugs."
"Karl was the same." He swallowed and looked away.
John wasn't sure if he was comparing Karl to himself or to Greg.
"I'm John." He smiled.
"Cai."
"You all alone?"
The boy's head flew up. "I'm not into these things."
"What? Oh, no! I didn't mean… I was just asking. Nobody should be alone, especially not when the nights get as cold as these."
The boy relaxed again and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. And then he told John about Karl, how they met and that now he was dead - killed by the homeless murderer - and Cai was all alone.
He talked about their life on the streets together and he actually knew the first two victims as well - a gay couple as it turned out. John was right!
It was starting to get dark and the three of them went to one of the shelters where they got a hot soup. And John persuaded Cai to stay there, without telling him of the danger he believed him in.
With the boy out of the line of fire they now needed to get the murderer's attention. Cai had told them about some of the places he and Karl used to sleep at, so John and Greg chose one of the well-frequented and settled down for the night there.
Saturday
It was early morning; Sherlock sat on the sofa, laptop on his knees and watched the CCTV coverage of the scene under the bridge. It was still to dark to see anything clearly, but he knew that one of the batches was John, because Mycroft's minion, who had had yesterday's surveillance shift while Sherlock worked with Molly on the last victim in Barts, reported John and Lestrade taking shelter under the bridge.
After a while the batches began to move, people emerged from their pile of belongings and life on the street started.
Sherlock watched them, playing with his phone absent-minded. Then he spotted a familiar shape peeling out of a sleeping back. John gently poked the bunch beside him and Lestrade sat up slowly. He yawned and John grinned and weaved his fingers into the other man's hair before leaning over and softly pressing a kiss to his lips.
Sherlock's phone fell from his suddenly numb fingers and dropped on the ground. He didn't even notice.
He sat there - completely motionless - and watched Lestrade as he put his arms around John and both men sank back onto their 'bed'. And then John pulled his blanket over them.
Sherlock slammed the laptop shut and thought for a moment that he was going to be sick. Then his brain kicked back in. What did just happen? Why on earth had he such a strong reaction to John kissing Lestrade?
John was his friend. Nothing more. Or was there?
What did love fell like? Sherlock had no idea. He remembered being fascinated by or attracted to people years ago, but he had not felt anything like that in a long time.
He was fascinated by John, that much was true. John, who seemed so simple, transparent and predictable, yet managed to surprise Sherlock over and over again.
He felt comfortable around John, he didn't mind his presence or his touch, most of the time he actually liked the company.
John made him feel safe and important and valued. And he managed to make him laugh. And even when he laughed at Sherlock, it never felt like being laughed at.
Sherlock liked to irritate John, because that never failed to get his attention. And he loved it when John focused all his attention on him, listened intently while Sherlock explained his deductions or shouted at him for endangering himself.
Being with John was interesting.
Was that love?
After contemplating all this for a while he got up and went to John's room. The door stood open and Sherlock was reminded of the first big argument they had had about privacy.
John had been adamant in his claim that a closed door meant 'no entry' and not 'I am closed just to make you curious and barge in here'. After a while he seemed to realise that a lock just encouraged Sherlock to pick it and he stopped using them. He never stopped closing his door until recently though. Sherlock wondered what had changed.
He went into John's room and pondered the fact that he somehow felt invited to enter by the open door, as if John now wanted him to be in his room. Or maybe Sherlock was just projecting his wish to be close to John?
In any case he felt welcomed in the room and not like sneaking in as usual.
The room was tidy and clean as always. Sherlock lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. He could smell John's very own scent surrounding him and suddenly the sharp pain he had felt while watching the kiss was back.
He opened his eyes again and his gaze fell onto the bedside table. There was a picture of him and John, positioned in a way that it was the first thing John would see when he opened his eyes. Something warm spread inside of him, covering the pain like a soft blanket.
At that moment Sherlock realised that he was utterly wrecked. Not only had he fallen in love (how had that happened?), he also had fallen for someone involved with somebody else.
And he apparently had also missed all the signals that the two men were interested in another. Maybe this had already started some time ago?
What was he supposed to do now? He knew how to delete information from his brain; he had no idea how to delete emotions. The only solution would be to delete John, but that was an idea he could not bear.
This was all way too emotional and confusing. Sherlock sat up, irritated. Why did he have to fall in love? That was just plain stupid! And why would John prefer people as boring and dull as Sarah or as married as Lestrade over someone as exciting and brilliant as Sherlock? Maybe it was the fact that he was married?
He suddenly was very angry at John and he found that he could live with being angry much better than with being miserable.
He got up, left the room and slammed the door shut.
Next part
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AN: Sorry, it took me a little longer than expected, I got distracted by the porn fairy... ;D
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