Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Sherlock BBC world, which is trademarked by BBC, Mark Gatiss,Steven Moffat. Both Sherlock and John are characters created and owned by Moffat,Gatiss, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of story I tell here about Sherlock and John is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of canon. as much as I wish it were so this is not considered canon and I profit in no way from posting this. Don't sue me I have no money.

transcripts from Ariane DeVere .

This story is not britpicked let me know if I made any too annoying mistakes

Born to lose

You know why he's here? Donovan was looking at him expectantly she wanted to tell him this and she wanted him to listen to, be shocked to, be afraid. He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime the more he gets off. But he wasn't afraid. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there… but that wasn't the case, now was it? For the first time it felt like his life was falling back into place and all because of Sherlock Holmes.

John knew the moment that Sherlock realized that he was the killer, that he saved his life. Although John wasn't sure that he would see it quite like that more likely that he stole his high. Perhaps Donovan was right, about more than just Sherlock. John attempted to tamp down the rush of adrenaline that surged through him as he tried to appear casual. Sherlock was watching him with those all too observant eyes. John moved to break the silence

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills... Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful."

He was a rubbish liar, it didn't help that he was trying not to smile. Sherlock looked at him for a moment, with open curiosity and perhaps respect. John surprised him again. It wasn't something that happened very often to him. It gave John a bit of an ego boost to know that he could occasionally surprise him.

"Good shot". Sherlock said quietly, almost testing him.

John feigned innocence nodding thoughtfully.

"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window."

" Well, you'd know." Sherlock said locking his gaze.

He could not pull his eyes from his as he still tried unsuccessfully not to let his expression give him away. It felt like a strange time to notice his eyes, but John wasn't sure if he had ever looked at them so intently before. They seemed to shift their color with their own ceaseless energy just like the rest of him. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he continued practically

"Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case."

John cleared his throat and glanced around nervously the spell was broken.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked, noticing the change immediately.

This was going to be a bit of a problem as a flat mate if he noticed everything. John felt himself nod reassuringly

" Yes, of course I'm all right." And oddly, he was, better than he had been in months. "Well, you have just killed a man."

He was trying to gauge his state of mind. Trying to sort out how John felt.

"Yes, I..." Sherlock looked at him closely. "That's true, innit?"

He smiled while Sherlock continued to watch him carefully. It almost sent a shiver up his spine the acuteness of his gaze it was like the man was trying to peer into his soul and while he did, he found something there he recognized

" But he wasn't a very nice man." John insisted trying to break this strange tension, that had nothing to do with murder and everything to do with Sherlock's stare. Sherlock nodded in agreement.
"No. No, he wasn't really, was he?"

" And frankly a bloody awful cabbie." John added releasing a breath.

The tension subsided slightly. Sherlock chuckled, then turned and started to lead them away as he speaks. John wasn't sure if it was a habit to keep moving or if it was to move to conversation off the street.

"That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!"

John couldn't see his face, but the odd morbid humor of the situation hit him full force and he laughed chagrined by his niggling morality John knew he needed to get himself under control it wasn't right.

"Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene!"... and still it was funny "Stop it!" he continued half-hearted

" You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me." It was almost a game.

" Keep your voice down!" he laughed as they approached Sergeant Donovan

. " Sorry – it's just, um, nerves, I think." She was right. They were both mad.

John cleared his throat as they walked away from Donovan. He felt his tone shift, becoming more serious as his mind shifted back to the most important part of the night.

"You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?" Sherlock turned back to him. There was a moment when John thought that maybe for a second that he would admit it.

" Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up." Donovan was right about this at least Sherlock craved the thrill of solving puzzles that no one else could solve

" No you didn't. It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever." An addiction he could relate to.

" Why would I do that?" John chuckled a little a Sherlock, but mostly at himself.

"Because you're an idiot."

Sherlock chuckled "Dinner?" John laughed again it was a question of more than food. Sherlock opened his world to him. It was an invitation did John want to live a life of danger and suspense never knowing what might be around to corner? It was a choice and it was easy. "Starving."

John sat in his chair, staring at his blank computer screen. The plate that had contained his breakfast sat to his right along with his untouched cup of tea. He had quickly jotted down the base details of what happened, but he intended to elaborate after all, if he had to write the bloody blog he might as well be writing about something interesting rather than what he had for breakfast. However the words wouldn't come. The events in his mind were too vivid to put into words. Every attempt left them somehow duller. The excitement still thrummed through him. Sherlock sat in the chair across from him pretending to read in his dressing gown. Trying to make as much noise as possible with as little effort as he could muster. It was starting to dawn on John that his flatmate was a giant child. Easily entertained as long as you had access to a bloody murder, and incessantly bored otherwise.

" What are you doing?" John asked, knowing that he would regret it as soon as he did.

" Bored." Sherlock groaned plaintively.

It was the response that he expected or more aptly dreaded. In the short amount of time that he had known Sherlock was bored, perhaps twenty percent of the time, with the percentage rising by the moment. So far they had fallen into an easy uneven exchange. John took care of the house and Sherlock was bored. Today John was making an attempt to take some time for himself, he was going to work on his blog, write up his very first adventure with Sherlock Holmes before he decided to kill his ungrateful flatmate in his sleep. The problem was that he was as restless as Sherlock. The idea of sitting down to type up his blog had seemed pleasant at first, but now there was a nagging shooting pain in his back that had nothing to do with any actual work and more to do with sitting still for too bloody long. The problem was Sherlock was distracting him of course. That was the only explanation. The man was the most obvious thing in a room, very few people could dismiss Sherlock easily.

John sighed "do you want me to do anything?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Don't be tedious."

John nodded annoyed and reminded himself that Sherlock was a brilliant man if a terrible conversationalist. John glanced at the previous entry And the madman himself? He's fascinating. Arrogant, imperious, pompous. He's not safe, I know that much. I'm not going to be bored and I doubt we're going to be arguing about whose turn it is to pay the gas bill or what we're going to watch on the telly. And that part was true, while Sherlock was bored out of his skull, John wasn't, not really. Their banter was still more fun than sitting in his dark little flat thinking about Afghanistan. Sherlock had a manner about him that everyone else found off putting, that and his actual words tended to be off putting as well, while John found it exciting.

"Why don't you try some of your experiments?"

John suggested he hoped that they would be able to get the rank chemicals and god knew what else out of their fridge. Sherlock was studying him over his clasped hands. Peering at him.

"Yeah, alright." He said finally.

John would have been just as shocked if he announced that the queen was going to dance naked at noon in Trafalgar's square, that would surely draw more tourist than Nelson. John ignored his surprise and went back to work on his blog. He could hear Sherlock moving around in the kitchen, he tried not to think about that was where they prepared their food. It was hard to put into words what Sherlock did, but John had promised himself that he would finish it today. He had been living with Sherlock for about a week now and he was learning new things about the man every day. Like the man may be a genius, but that didn't mean he knew everything not by a long shot. He didn't know the earth revolves around the sun. It wasn't that he had other theories it was just that he couldn't be bothered by trivial information. It didn't matter to him. In a way that was almost as baffling to John as his ability to read everything about a person. When thinking back on the chase John could still feel the excitement the thrill of letting go and trusting Sherlock to lead the way. John frowned, that was an odd way to put it. Impatiently he tapped the backspace key. That was all he needed to share with the internet. There were already enough people talking about him. Not that Sherlock noticed. He never even attempted to bring home a date, but then again the man claimed to be married to his work. John was having a bit of trouble adjusting to a flatmate in that regard. Since getting back his mood had been too dark to attempt to date, but the night after their first case he had gone to a pub with the hope of meeting someone, the high of solving the case with Sherlock had begun to fade and he felt like a man waking from a coma. The world was brighter and he was awake and all his needs with him. He rarely chatted up women with the intention of a quick shag, but he was still coasting on the tail end of the high and he hadn't felt this randy since secondary. Yet when they arrived back at the flat Sherlock had been mixing some particularly noxious smelling chemicals and she begged off. Sherlock had seemed surprised to see them having not checked his mobile when John sent him a text letting him know he was bringing a woman back to the flat, naturally John had lost his temper a bit. He was sexually frustrated. Sherlock waved it off as unimportant, not really understanding. The man either tossed off every night and never felt any desire for another human being or was a bloody asexual.

"You've stopped typing have you finished."

John glanced up from his screen Sherlock stood over him trying to see what he was working on. John hadn't told him about the blog it was only a matter of time before he found out still John hopped it was much later.

"Not yet." He insisted Sherlock shrugged

John glanced at the screen his cursor flashed behind the word he just typed Asexual. Peeved he deleted the word. Sherlock had said everything else was transport, perhaps he was serious. Asexuals didn't feel sexual desire, but that didn't mean they didn't want any companionship John didn't really believe that he was asexual the man was an addict, he just simply got all the excitement he needed from his work.

"Where did you want to go out tonight?" Sherlock asked from the kitchen. It was their habit of late to go out to dinner since the kitchen qualified as a hazardous waste site and Sherlock really did know of some great restaurants in town. John cleared his throat feeling oddly uncomfortable.

"I, uh, was thinking of going to a pub," he replied closing his laptop. Sherlock shot a frown, his way confused.

"Why would I want to go to a pub?" he asked and before John could respond Sherlock tilted his head suspiciously

"John as I said before, I'm flattered" there was a softness in his gaze

"I was going alone!" John shouted feeling embarrassed.

There was a strange look on his face. "Ah, of course."

John cleared his throat, unsure was Sherlock lonely?

"Did you, ah, want to come?" John ran his hand through his hair. Sherlock seemed surprised. John didn't think he would say yes. He assumed Sherlock would cry off, call him an idiot for trying to spend all the energy it took into getting shagged, and then get back to work, but he did none of those things.

"Yeah, alright." He said again in the same manner as before. It was odd.

"Alright then."

John agreed actually excited at the prospect of having Sherlock as a mate, the only question was would it be wrong to use his insight to help him.