Anote: Last chapter. Thanks to all for reading, following and reviewing especially Hummingbird2 who has never missed a chapter, Ballykissedangel for excellent beta-ing and Xin for inspiration all along the way. I can never thank you enough for all your support.

Chapter 40- Chemistry

The cavalry had arrived, and bright lights and noisy sirens periodically punctuated the silent night, while the police and other authorities, mechanically secured the crime scene all around him. But Sherlock wasn't interested in all of that.

Easily, he slithered through the mass of officials, but stopped with a sickening start when he realised that John was not where he had left him. For a moment he stared stupidly at the empty chair, before he turned and sprinted flat out towards a nearby group of ambulances.

He heard John long before he saw him; colorfully cursing some poor paramedic at the top of his lungs. It was a reassuring sort of sound to his exhausted hard drive, and Sherlock's shoulders relaxed.

'Sherlock!' Mycroft exclaimed in relief, as he materialized from the dark shadows in his usual over the top manner, 'do something!'

The detective stared at his brother's outfit in barely concealed shock, as they were dressed almost identically, except that Mycroft had on dark blue trainers to match his blue sweat suit.

'I don't think I have seen you out of a jacket and tie, in over a decade,' Sherlock said with a sarcastic grin.

Mycroft glowered. 'You can mock me later. Help me with John.'

Still sniggering quietly, Sherlock stepped up into the ambulance, where John was seated. Eagerly the man looked up, but the expression in his flat mate's eyes said it all.

'Dammit dammit dammit,' John cursed softly, as he slumped disappointingly against the wall. 'She got away.' The medic, hoping to take opportunity of this lapse in opposition, took hold of John's arm again to treat his rope burns.

'GET OFF ME!' John roared.

Naturally, Sherlock ducked to avoid being hit by a random body part, but twisted around to nimbly catch the young man that John had roughly pushed away.

'What is this?' Sherlock said in a gentle tone, as he placed the paramedic protectively behind his back. 'Please calm yourself, John. You're scaring Mycroft and the women.'

'I'm fine!' John said mutinously as he glared at the medic, who naturally didn't really have a clue why his patient was being so hostile.

Quickly, Sherlock switched seats so he could sit next to his friend on the bench.

'John, you have to let yourself being examined,' he reasoned in a low voice, 'so it's either this idiot who seems to have taken in bath in Old spice cologne, or Sarah.'

John looked torn. They couldn't call Sarah twice in one night. What would she think?

'What do you have to do?' the detective spoke up, addressing the medic, 'perhaps if you explain, then he would be more co-operative.'

'I know what he has to do,' John grouched under his breath, as Sherlock put a steadying arm across his back.

'I have to check him for a concussion, and then treat his wounds.'

'Are they bad?' Sherlock said with a guilty start, as he observed the ugly red purple marks in the strong light of the ambulance's interior.

'If I can be allowed to shower the wounds, remove any fibers, apply antiseptic cream and bind them, he will be all tip top,' the young man responded kindly. 'Piece of cake.'

Sherlock turned and looked down at the man who sat next to him. 'That sounds reasonable, John.'

Mycroft nodded his head encouragingly. 'I agree, very reasonable.'

The doctor just grunted sourly at them both, before reluctantly giving his permission for the young man to come closer.

'Quickly, if you please,' Sherlock instructed the medic with an engaging smile, even as he tightened his grip on John's body, to keep him in place. Then, to distract the doctor from the examination, Sherlock quietly related the specifics of the case to Mycroft, and to Inspector Dimmock who had turned up to give Sherlock a report on how they had successful rounded up the rest of Shen's men at the 'circus'. The Inspector was confident that it was just a matter of time before they cornered General Shen.

'I have a fair idea of what and where the treasure is,' Sherlock concluded the discussion, 'I trust you will allow to me to bring it to you.'

The officer of the law nodded his head, 'I follow where you lead, sir.'

'Quite!' Sherlock said excitedly; his eyes twinkling in pleasure even as Mycroft snorted in utter disgust, 'I see a bright future ahead of you.'

Inspector Dimmock beamed up at Sherlock with a worshipful expression.

'Any signs of a concussion, my good man?' Mycroft interrupted curtly; annoyed anew that this brilliant brother wasted his gifts on such petty matters, instead of working with him.

The medic shook his head, as he finished binding up the first of John's injuries, 'All clear; will have a matching set of bruises though. The young man looked up in surprise as Sherlock snapped on a pair of disposable gloves. 'May I try? It would be good for me to learn, as this might be a frequent occurrence.'

Cautiously, Sherlock then proceeded to imitate what he saw, as he showered each wound to clean it from dust and debris. Next, came the careful removal of the fibers with a needle nose tweezers, but Sherlock took so long, meticulously examining each injury, that John dozed off; slumped against the detective's warm chest. It was only when the antiseptic was being applied, did the sting awaken him fully. With a slightly red face, John pulled back and wiped away the drool off his chin.

'Sorry,' John whispered in mortification, as he cleaned Sherlock's coat front with the back of his sleeve.

For a moment, Sherlock's intense grey blue eyes flickered towards him, before refocusing on his task. John wondered at the look of unhappiness and unease he saw in his flat mate's face.

'No need to apologise,' Sherlock murmured quietly, as he gently applied the rest of the antiseptic cream with his finger tips, 'you shouldn't have been placed in a position where you would be in need of my inexpert attempts at doctoring, in the first place. It was completely unacceptable that you were in danger.'

John murmured, trying to divine this fey mood that have over taken his friend.

'How's that?' Sherlock inquired, as he finished fastening the last of the bandage.

They were pretty good, except that the bandages were a bit thicker than strictly necessary. He would have to borrow Sherlock's coat, to hide the lumpy evidence of his assault and kidnapping from the curious.

'Sherlock, you know that I would rather have rope burns on my wrist, and be here with you,' John replied in low voice that could just carry to the two brothers, 'than be on my own with just the nightmares. Say that you believe me.'

'Dear me,' Sherlock murmured after a surprised pause, 'I think that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Am I blushing, Mycroft? My ears feel as though they are burning.'

Mycroft groaned and rolled his eyes to the heavens, as John began to laugh softly.

Sherlock pretended to sigh heavily, 'best not to get too excited. John, probably says that to any blighter that comes along.'

At this point, the doctor was doubled over, completely overcome by a fit of the giggles. After a while, Sherlock began to laugh too, which naturally wiped away the last bit of fear that had lingered on, in their minds and bodies.

Inspector Dimmock and the paramedic exchange knowing grins.

Fortunately though, John was so distracted by the silly conversation, that he couldn't get all worked up by yet another set of people, identifying them as a couple. Sherlock knew that John was bothered by this, however, he didn't think there was anything the good doctor could do to stop it. Anyone who spent more than five minutes with them, noticed the undeniable chemistry they had; even Mycroft, who was a blind as a bat to everything important in Sherlock's opinion. The time would come when John would stop being so irritated, and understand all of this for what it really was. If Sherlock had to put it into words in the meantime, it would be something like this. Theirs was one of those special cases where alone they were incomplete, but together they were better than they were separately.

'Cigarette?' Sherlock asked, as he pulled out his emergency I-need-to-think pack.

'You know these things will kill you, right?' John murmured as he leaned forward to accept the light that Mycroft offered them. 'I really have to get you to quit.'

Sherlock scowled as he happily puffed away on his own cigarette, 'must you always be a doctor?'

'Yes, Sherlock,' John said in a resigned tone at the unreasonable question, 'I really think that I must. Offer your brother the last cigarette.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

'Why would I do that?' Sherlock wanted to know.

'Because he's a good guy.'

'Oh please.'

'Because it's polite?'

'Don't make me laugh.'

'Oh my God, just do it! I swear you will drive me around the twist one of these days!'

'Well, since you asked so nicely,' Sherlock remarked sarcastically, as he extended the packet.

Mycroft smiled as he accepted the cigarette but chose not to make any comment. John Watson could probably be the best thing that ever happened to his Sherlock, or the very worst. Only time would tell.

'Can you walk?' Sherlock asked, when John finished his cigarette and tried to stand.

'I have the car,' Mycroft announced waving at the sleek black car to come closer, as the doctor wobbled a bit.

'No, that's alright,' John replied as he balanced his weight on Sherlock strong arm, confident that the detective would not let him fall. 'Thanks for keeping me company but I fancy some fresh air. Sherlock will take care of me and get me home. Sherl, can I borrow your coat?'

Of course, Sherlock couldn't help but smirk smugly at everyone at this point, as he shrugged out his long coat and helped button John in.

'Am I dragging it?' the doctor asked worriedly, as he looked down.

Everyone looked too, but fortunately the edge of the beautiful Belfast coat hit John right at his ankle.

'Are you sure you don't want a ride?' the older man gently pressed, as John's blossoming facial bruises were caught in the full glare of the bright street lamps. 'It's no trouble.'

'Mycroft, can't you find a friend of your own?!' Sherlock suddenly snapped, as he moved to intercept his brother from coming any closer.

'Sherlock, that's not how he meant it,' John said with another slight blush, enbarrased that everyone heard the detective and his brother apparently fighting over him like some sort of shiny new toy.

'Oh,' Sherlock replied softly, with a confused look, 'well whatever this is Mycroft, you can stop it! John's not made of glass, he was in the army after all. That's more field work that you've done in your whole career!'

'Sherlock, we're leaving now!' John said sternly, holding out one hand. Sherlock hurried forward to offer his shoulder and quietly, the two friends then slipped away from the noisy crime scene, and away in the direction of the Tube.

'One of these days, I would like to know what it is between you two,' John murmured when they were two streets away. 'You and your brother, I mean.'

'Nothing to say. Mycroft, is a manipulative, arrogant, insufferable know it all,' Sherlock sniffed nastily, pointing his aristocratic nose self-righteously in the air, 'a dreadful person, really.'

John sighed and shook his head. Wasn't this a case of the pot calling the kettle black?

'Well, I think he is alright,' John said firmly.

Sherlock looked down at the doctor with a contemplative smile, 'We do seem to agree on you, though. Tonight, is the most Mycroft and I have spoken all year.'

'Maybe, there is hope for you two,' John said with a small grin, as he gave Sherlock a friendly tap with his shoulder; glad that he was able to help the Holmes' brother in such an unexpected way. 'Hungry?'

'I am not sure,' Sherlock replied, 'what do you want?'

'Anything but Chinese,' John muttered under his breath with a grimace; making Sherlock laugh again.

As they walked quietly through the empty streets, touched with that crisp coldness only to be found in the wee hours of the morning, Sherlock tipped his head right back to contemplate the stars above.

'Someday, people are going to write stories about us, you know,' he suddenly blurted out. 'You and me; our lives and adventures will be the stuff of legend. You won't regret being my friend. You won't!'

John murmured absently, as he kept his eyes firmly in front of him to prevent Sherlock from crashing into a lamp post, 'That's nice, whatever you say.'

The End