Author's Note:

Hi all, this is my first ever *published* fanfic. I have a strong idea of where I want to take this story and so it will probably be pretty long. Also, I don't have a lot of "in-person" friends who obsess over the Sherlock series as much as I do, and I don't think any of them understand just how hard I ship Johnlock. This being said, I don't have a lot of feedback about the story, and so if you could write some reviews or comments, I'd very much appreciate it. Thanks for choosing to look at my story and I hope you enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I claim no right to the characters in this story. They are the intellectual property of BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Rain spattered the windows of a police car. The car was being driven by a policeman of New Scotland Yard. His name was Officer Lavern Donalds. He was driving in silence, staring out the windshield into the darkened London streets. Two men sat in the back seat, breathing heavily and looking forward. They had just come from a crime scene and were on their way to NSY now for questioning. Another cop car followed close behind. In the back seat of that car a man sat with his hands cuffed together. This was the man John and Sherlock had been chasing through the night. And it was John and Sherlock who sat in the back seat of the first cop car now.

John Watson had become used to chasing criminals in the company of Sherlock Holmes, but that didn't mean that he was in perfect physical condition to do so. He sat next to Sherlock, trying to steady his breathing and calm his pounding heart. When he glanced over at Sherlock, who sat perfectly still, he noticed that Sherlock was smiling. The detective had returned his breathing pace to an almost normal level, and his hands were knotted in his lap. The smile itself, was small and didn't convey too much emotion, except that it's wearer seemed to be pleased.

How can he be so happy? John thought to himself, as he looked over the strange and tall man sitting next to him. Normally, John would be just as happy to solve a crime as Sherlock, but tonight was different. Tonight, Sherlock had nearly gotten himself killed. John had pleaded with Sherlock before, to have some concern for his own well being, but Sherlock had never really heeded this advice. Seeing Sherlock so close to death was something John was sure he would never get used to.

However, Sherlock's almost supernatural ability to read John's thoughts, John had gotten used to. That's not to say that John wasn't slightly disturbed by it, but he was more amazed than upset. So, when Sherlock looked over at John, it wasn't really a surprise when he answered John's unspoken question about the source of his happiness. "I'm not pleased with nearly dying. I am pleased that the mystery is solved," Sherlock's voice was deep and smooth, all traces of his previous breathlessness were gone now. "The game is over," he continued on. "And I won..."

Silence stretched between them. Sherlock noted that Officer Donalds was watching them in the review mirror, but John didn't notice, or else he didn't car. "You know," John began in a shaky voice, "if you had gotten yourself killed, you wouldn't have won." He had looked down at his lap as he spoke. Now he looked back up at Sherlock to try and gauge the reaction his words would get.

After a few seconds, Sherlock simply shrugged his shoulders and looked blankly out the window. "If I would have been killed, you still would have the knowledge to put our murderer behind bars. The case still would have been solved. I still would have been the one to solve it. I still would have won." Sherlock's lips curled upward again into a slight smile as he thought about his so-called "win" this evening.

"But then what would I lose?" John muttered under his breath. His thoughts were trailing to a secret place. Sherlock had a mind palace, he knew the exact mental-location of every piece of information he had cared to store. John had something similar, as most people do, inside he moderately sized mental map John had a room that he kept secure with lock and key. Behind the door he stored all the things he knew he couldn't forget, but nevertheless didn't want to remember. In this room were his memories of the war, his mother's death, his sister's drinking problem, a cheating girlfriend, and the death of his childhood dog Apollo. The most recent addition to this locked room was John's ever-growing feelings for Sherlock. Each time he experienced a resurgence of emotion, he would calmly remind himself that he was not gay, and shove those thoughts into this room, locking the figurative door behind , however, these thoughts were beginning to pile up and some of them were managing to escape when John wasn't extra vigilant

Of course Sherlock had heard John's mumble, but he thought it best not to say anything. He made a note to figure out John's meaning later, but for now, he needed to focus on the case. He resolved to do just that as the two police cars pulled into the lot of NSY. From the main entrance, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade stepped out into the rainy night and escorted Sherlock and John inside.

Author's Note:

I've added a bit to this first chapter. I hope it will give more detail and setting for where the boys are and what they're doing. I also made a few corrections to spelling and grammar. Thanks to my friend Johnnie who is helping me edit this story. Hope you all enjoyed the first chapter.