Chapter Text
In retrospect, perhaps he’d wanted to get caught. It was just so rare to have time alone anymore, and he’d started to feel confined. He needed to stretch, so to speak, just for a moment. The mental pressure had been building until it felt like it would crack his skull open, spilling his brains out onto the floor.
He imagined it would look sort of like tinned pasta and the thought made him smile as he drew the curtains closed on his bedroom window.
The light always came first. It built up from his heart, spreading out over his limbs. He knew if he opened his eyes, they’d be glowing. It paled his human skin and draped over him like an aura. He dragged his tongue along his pointed teeth, taking in a deep breath-
And he paused.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, tasting the scent of the other man on the air.
There was another pause.
“Longer than you’d like,” Sherlock’s deep voice replied. John sucked in a breath and with the air went all the light, charging back towards his racing heart. He turned to face the door where Sherlock was framed, frozen in disbelief. Of course, his features would never show outright shock, but John had lived with Sherlock long enough to know his flatmate’s inner moods.
“Alright?” John whispered, trying to sound casual. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he was suddenly aware of his human hands and not quite sure what to do with them.
“I’m not sure,” Sherlock said. He swallowed, head tilting to the side while his brain processed what he’d just seen. He wouldn’t even meet John’s gaze, and a small pucker was forming between his eyebrows. “Lestrade texted. Are you - if it’s inconvenient-”
“No, no. Let’s go,” John said, trying to smooth over the awkward tension in the room. He gave Sherlock what he hoped was a friendly smile, trying to look as normal as possible. “It’s convenient.”
***
John hated kidnappings. The level of malicious intent it took to harm children made his bones ache in the core and drained his energy levels. Human children were such delicate little creatures as it was. Sherlock stared at him and John, now that Sherlock knew, wondered what it was the detective could deduce about him.
“Are you going to be alright?”
The calm, soft question was so out of place that it took John a moment to register that Sherlock had even spoken. He nodded once, quickly, in that militant style he would carry until he died. Sherlock didn’t reply.
***
Later, when the child was safe and they were trudging up the stairs to Baker Street, John finally broached the subject again. “Sherlock, about earlier-”
“I assume there was still a war,” Sherlock said, interrupting him. The taller man had already shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the hook. He had stalked over towards the window and was looking down at the city street, pretending to be indifferent. John knew him better.
“How?” John asked gently, continuing to take off his own jacket.
Sherlock sent him a withering look over his shoulder before returning his eyes to the street. Apparently he would get no answer.
“Sherlock, if you- I mean, it doesn’t change anything. I’m-” John stopped, unable to continue. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t sound like a load of bollocks?
“I used to pay a lot of attention to the stars. I wanted to be a pirate, it seemed important,” Sherlock said, and now instead of the streets he was glancing up towards the gloomy night sky. “Deleted it, though. Didn’t seem prudent to keep the information at the time.”
“You wouldn’t have heard of this place in any of your studies, anyway,” John replied. He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. “I won’t be an experiment.”
“Then we shall have to keep this from Mycroft,” Sherlock replied, and when he turned back to John there was a gleeful expression in his eyes, excited by the prospect of trying to keep anything from his brother. “Tea?”
It wasn’t a question. John smiled and nodded before heading into the kitchen to start the water boiling. Good behavior, like not experimenting on your inhuman flatmate, should be rewarded, after all.