When John was young, he was often schooled for being to curious. His parents worried about his well-being, since he was always sticking his nose in where it might get cut off.

And John was not an easily frightened child either. It took a lot of effort from their side to make him more cautious about his own safety.

As a result, John was now quite good at ignoring things that might attract even the most curious person, and it was very close that he walked straight past the area blocked off by policetejp. Close, but he caught a glimpse of a familiar face between the blinking lights.

"Lestrade?"

The detective inspector turned around, at first not abled to place the fairly normal face in the crowd, but then half a smile lit up on his face and he walked over.

Gesturing for John to come to the other side, holding up the tejp while the army vet made his stubborn leg take the necessary angle, Lestrade had to voice his concern.

"Doctor Watson! I was beginning to worry about you, you know. I take it Sherlock has left you alone?"

John cursed under his breath when he straightened out, clutching his cane until his knuckles paled. Still, he refused to appear week. Finally standing upright, he shook his head, walking side by side with Lestrade into the crime scene.

"No, he hasn't. Far from it actually, he's practically moved in with me."

The inspector gaped at him with round eyes, then he grumbled and muttered.

"No matter, he won't get caught anyway…"

"And that's why I'm telling you."

John felt Lestrade's sharp eyes on him, and he briefly wondered how Sherlock has managed to stay out of the mans traps, but then he remembers that Lestarde is a mortal man, and John's not so sure Sherlock is.

"Are you protecting him, Watson?"

John wants to smile, he doesn't know why but now a days he just can't seem to stop smiling. Its been a long time since has felt this good.

"You of all people should know Sherlock needs no one to protect him."

Lestrade nods, sighing deeply.

"True enough. Just make sure you don't get roped into something dangerous."

"I'll keep a eye out."

"Good ma… SHERLOCK?"

John turns, confused, and Lestrade storms off towards the barrier again, this time with a good stomp in his step.

"You are one smug bastard, coming here!"

And when John sees him, part of him is completely baffled that he didn't notice him before. It's like he should be the first face John would see in every crowd in the world. The rest of him forces the bum leg to move forward.

Sherlock doesn't move, he just fixes his eyes (they are steel grey today, John notices) on the body-shaped figure the ambulance drivers are shoving forward over London's wet pavement.

"Details, Lestrade."

"I'm not giving you any bloody details, as far as I know you'r the one that bloody did it!"

John makes it just in time to see the flash of anger in Sherlocks eyes. He's never seen it before and now, for the first time, he fears the crime lord.

"Do you honestly believe I am capable of this, detective inspector?"

The air is chillier, Lestrade squirming awkwardly under the cold gaze until he finally snaps back.

"Of doing it? Yes! To him… No."

John glances between them before he asks.

"Why not?"

Lestrade sighs, rubbing the back of his neck like he's slept by his desk for the past week (maybe he has, he's very concerned about doing his job) and answers John almost lazily.

"Cause Sherlock might be a cold blooded killer, but he's not going to go and kill a family man in that brutal manner. He does have a heart…"

"I most evidently do not!"

"… Even if he denies it."

Sherlock grunts and keeps his eyes on the pale sheet over the body. John almost laughs but it doesn't feel right to do so at a crime scene so instead he keeps asking.

"He had family?"

"Wife and two kids, one more on the way…"

"And a mistress across town. You could do worse then to ask her."

"Git."

Sherlock just smirks and hands Lestrade a paper with an address. The detective takes it, stuffing it in his pocket with a contemplating look before he, almost regrettably, speaks again.

"We could use some help…"

"You always need help. Can't even catch me and I'm right under your nose."

John would like to point out to the tall, arrogant man that it's more the other way around but he doesn't. Still doesn't feel right.

"No Sherlock… I mean I could use your help."

Lestrade hates himself for asking, that much is clear. He hates the fact that he has to ask Sherlock for help and his pride is a long faded memory, but he does it anyway because if there is a killer on the street not working for Sherlock, it's going to get ugly.

Of course, Sherlock is above gloating.

"Why Lestrade, are you saying that the mighty Yard needs the help of a common criminal to solve an obvious case like this? My my… What a predicament."

"Shut your mouth before I shoot you."

John suspects that in reality, they are very good friends.

Sherlock ducks in under the tejp and Lestrade has to forcibly keep his lieutenants from tackling the tall man to the ground on sight. John limps after, not really sure what he's doing there but not willing to leave unless someone asks him too.

Sherlock trips around the scene like a cat around a puddle, bending down and sniffing about and John thinks he even saw the man lick a rock before tossing it away. Lestrade waits patiently, keeping both eyes on the other man at all times.

"He was beaten to death, that much is certain…"

"We figured, with his bashed in skull and all that."

"It wasn't here though… Not enough blood and the bins are undisturbed."

"What?"

"If there had been a fight in these close quarters, some of them should have been knocked about. But there is still a good amount of fresh blood on the ground so it's not far…"

Lestrade doesn't wait until Sherlock is finished, just waves to the grumpy officers on the side lines.

"Check the area, throughly! You don't want him to find something you missed, you'll never hear the end of it!"

"Why are we doing as he said? He's the one that killed him!"

Lestrade glares at the dark woman with the unpleasant voice and he growls, low and unnerving.

"Because I tell you to. Move!"

And they do. John is impressed, he hasn't seen such obedience since he came back to England and he understands that Lestrade is a very good man because that's the only reason these people throw themselves between the dirt and the muck to find any sign of disturbance.

He looks at Sherlock and Sherlock looks back, smirking. Then he looks at the ambulance driving off and he casually (too casually, Sherlock never does anything without purpose) leans into John's personal space and asks, no, states.

"You're and army man… An army doctor no less…"

"Yeah?"

"Seen your fair share of horror. Blood and guts, men blown half to bits…"

"Yeah, and?"

"Gotten a bit of action too. Lot's of shooting and killing."

"Yes. Enough, for a lifetime."

Sherlock pierces him with his eyes and for some reason they are blue again.

"Care to see some more?"

John knows he should go home, change the locks and move to another city as soon as he can. Like hell he will.

"Oh God yes."

[AN; I am a bit stuck on this story, so if you could just tell me what you want to see here, I might get some ideas to keep going!]