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They’ve been at this case for 6 days.
It had been a murder of some sort - a high school teacher in her early 50s had been found dead in her apartment while marking papers. It had happened just an hour after arriving home. No marks on the body and an empty coffee cup had indicated clear signs of poisoning, and at first everyone had believed she had taken her own life based on Sherlocks deductions of her having an isolated life since her divorce and her children abandoning her for their father, but that had instantly been ruled out (by Sherlocks book, anyway) when he had smelt a strong hint of cologne in the air that didn’t belong to her, but another teacher at the school.
Problem is, they haven’t been able to figure out who.
As per usual, Sherlock had simply waltzed into the staff room and announced who he was, what he was there for, and had demanded that everyone stay very still and quiet while he looked around. But after a mere 15 seconds, he had walked out with John in tow, frustrated because the person hadn’t been there. According to him, all of them were too stupid and dim witted to cover their tracks as well as the killer had. And when they had asked about her partner, they were told that he’d died a few months ago from a heart attack. They had then spent the next 5 days going back and forth from the school to Scotland Yard, but had come up short with barely a crumb of evidence to go on - only what Sherlock had figured out on the day, what he had gathered from the teachers in the staff room and the womans apartment; which while hardly important, still said a lot about the state of her personal life...which Sherlock had gladly rattled on while John rolled his eyes.
And now here they are in the apartment on the 6th day. John, having to follow Sherlock around while he ran from the school to SY, and getting woken up by his erratic violin playing at 2am every night since they’d started this, is utterly exhausted. Currently, he’s fallen asleep at the table with his cheek in palm and Sherlock is across from him scouring the newspaper clippings of the murder, wide awake and frantic. He throws one down with an irritated sigh which brings John out of his slumber.
He blinks awake and slowly takes his hand away from his face, “Hm...what…?”
Sherlock doesn’t even look at him, not even registering that he’s there nor that he’s just woken him up. He pushes his chair back and stands to pace back and forth with his fingers against his lips.
“There has to be something , John. None of the teachers in the staff room did it, but we know one of them did. So obviously they hadn’t been present in the room at the time. But then when we saw the rest, including the principal, none of them had even seen her after work. She’s isolated, alone. They know her, but they didn’t converse with her, so that makes it more difficult to narrow it down.”
He goes quiet then, and continues walking up and down the carpet while John tries and fails to keep himself awake. He watches his flatmate for a moment as his brain hurries to catch up with everything he’s just thrown at him, and he frowns, his hand now a fist at his cheek.
Sighing, he glances at the clippings, and something seems to suddenly click in his mind. Raising his eyes back up to Sherlock, who’s still lost in his world, he takes his hand away, “Sherlock?”
Sherlock stops mid mutter, as if only now realising John’s there, “Hm?” He goes over to the table and presses his hands to the surface.
John reaches for a clipping which has a picture of the woman surrounded by a crowd of year 13 students, “You said she wasn’t close to any of the teachers, right?” He passes it over to Sherlock, who’s eyes run over it. “What if one of her students did it? We’ve already ruled out all the staff and there’s no one else in the school who could have done it…”
“...Except for her class. Of course. The only people there she’s close to.” A slow smile curls on Sherlocks face and his eyes seem to become brighter as he lowers the paper to look at John. John only looks back, beginning to smile himself, until in one swift move, Sherlock grabs his face and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.
Johns cheeks heat up but before he can get a word out, Sherlock’s speaking as he’s rushing to grab his coat, “Oh John, what would I do without you?”
John watches him open mouthed, but he knows Sherlock isn’t waiting for a response as he checks his pocket for his phone before running to the door and down the steps. When the door shuts, John sighs and pushes himself up to stretch. He can already hear a taxi outside, and though it’s only 3pm, he makes his way to his room - even if he can only get an hour of shut eye in the time it takes for Sherlock to talk with Lestrade about his revelation, then that’s fine by him.
He’s at the bottom of the staircase when his phone buzzes with a text.
I’ll tell Lestrade you made a breakthrough in the case. Don’t want to take all the credit this time. SH.
John snorts as he reads it through, then texts back,
A thank you would be nice.
He makes it to his bedroom door when a reply comes through,
But I already thanked you. SH.
John frowns. It takes a moment, but when his ears go pink, he smiles and shakes his head as he goes to type out a response, but Sherlock beats him to it,
I do have my moments, John. SH.
John chuckles to himself, a reply already forming in his mind. But would it be a bit forward? Eh. Screw it.
Hope there will be more moments like that in future.
He hasn’t moved from his spot on the landing; his heart’s suddenly picked up and he’s beginning to regret sending such a message. Who knows how Sherlock would interpret that.
When his phone beeps again, he dares a peek at the text, and his lips split into a grin as he reads it,
So do I. SH.