Pairing(s)/Character(s): John, Sherlock
Summary: John pays a visit to his lawyer, and Sherlock finds once again that some things John decides are beyond his abilities to deduce.
Part of the Affection-verse, though this can be read as a stand-alone. Not S2-compliant.
The only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for me. - "Gifts," Ralph Waldo Emerson
“You’ve been to your lawyer,” Sherlock observes.
“What gave me away?” John asks. He shrugs off his jacket and sits down in his chair, stretching tiredly.
“Your left wrist and your trousers,” Sherlock says. “What took you so long?”
“It took a while to sort things,” John says casually.
“Two months ago, you were complaining about how lawyers demand money per hour, and how you can’t afford them,” Sherlock says. He’s studying John’s face intently. “And yet today, you spent five hours with a lawyer. Unless you went somewhere else before or after, of course, but I see no evidence of that on you. No, you went straight there and back, and eliminating the time for travel, you still spent far longer there than you should have had to.”
“I’ve asked my old captain to be my executor,” John tells Sherlock. He massages his neck absently. “I thought of asking you, but then I thought I’d best get someone else.”
“I could have done it,” Sherlock says. “You updated your will. Why?”
“They say you should do that every time some significant change happens in your life,” John says. He glances at Sherlock ruefully. “I’d say you count.”
“Oh.” That actually seems to stump Sherlock for a moment. “You wrote me into your will.”
“Yes,” John admits.
“It still took far too long,” Sherlock insists.
“I did want to add some unusual requests,” John says. “Mark – my old captain – wouldn’t have been free any other day, so we had to get it all done today.”
“You requested for him to be there.” Sherlock sighs and gets up, pacing over to the window. “You make less and less sense every day, John Watson.”
“It’s not really complicated,” John says. “I asked Mark to be there to make sure as executor, he knew what I wanted done. It took a while because I had an unusual request. But it’s all sorted now.”
“What was the unusual request?” Sherlock asks, then goes on without waiting for a response. “No, don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out. Your – ah, it seems we’ve a case on our hands. If I don’t miss my guess, that’s Gregson who’s just come to the door. You haven’t met him yet, have you, John? He and Lestrade are about the only ones I can bear to work with, though I suppose Dimmock’s coming along.”
John blinks. The sound of conversation drifts up from downstairs, as Gregson greets Mrs Hudson. “No, I haven’t met Gregson yet. I think Lestrade’s mentioned him though.”
“Good, good,” Sherlock says. “Let’s hope he’s brought us something interesting.” He gives John a thoroughly mischievous look.
“Let’s,” John says, smiling faintly. “As for the other thing, I left you my head.”
“Sorry, what?” a perplexed voice comes from the door.
Sherlock mouths, your head, at John. John nods and shrugs sheepishly.
“That possibility had not crossed my mind,” Sherlock murmurs, eyes sharp as he studies John. There’s a brief silence; Gregson looks dreadfully uncomfortable, John notices absently.
“I don’t believe I shall ever tire of studying you,” Sherlock says presently, then whirls to face Gregson. “Well, what do you have for me?”
Gregson has for Sherlock a murder-suicide which an autopsy has revealed to be a murder-murder in a locked room. Sherlock takes a look at the pictures which Gregson has brought, poses a series of apparently irrelevant questions that Gregson can’t answer, then demands to see the room himself. John trails in his wake as Sherlock bustles out of the flat, a whirlwind of energy that John’s forgotten how to live without.
When he dies, if Sherlock outlives him, he imagines that his skull will eventually wind up on the mantelpiece. He hopes so, at any rate. It’s a comforting thought.