Hello! So, this week is my last week in uni, and I'm really, really busy. I've still got a few chapters of advance, but I don't have time to write more so I'll post a chapter per week (instead of every four days) until I finished all my exams and essays.

Context: Sherlock is scared. John acts like a soldier

Sherlock lowered his head again, trying to cover his smile. God, John was sexy when he was doing this soldier thing. Even if he was never going to tell him, of course. Mycroft raised his eyebrows and grinned.

"Your priorities do you credit."

"No, my priorities just got a woman killed!"

He came back to Sherlock who was studying the pictures, his hands shaking. Sherlock gave him a quick look and he took a deep breath. It was not the moment for his little emotions to burst out. He had to stay calm, so Sherlock could operate and get them out of there.

"Now, as I understand it, Sherlock, you try to repress your emotions to refine your reasoning. I'd like to see how that works. But hopefully, some context will soon be applied to your deductions."

They exchanged a worried look. What context? And suddenly, the canary started to sing. It was a weird song, like a whistling beginning with a low, throaty warble and slowly ascending to a single chord that rang through the room like the note of a great wineglass. After a few minutes, John said:

"I think I… Sherlock, I heard that before. In Afghanistan. One of my mates loved birds. He listened to them all the time. We were so tired of it. He especially listened to this one, at night. It was a bird from Cuba, from the rain-forest. But why would a canary-"

"Doctor Watson. Get. Away. From the wood burner. And I mean, get away from it now."

Mycroft sounded frightened. John backed away, so did Sherlock, who was visibly in his Mind Palace. Suddenly, he turned his head to John.

"Oh. OH. I know. I know how he did it. How clever."

The lid of the stove was slowly rising.

"We have to- John, grab something, anything!"

John looked around, not understanding why Sherlock sounded so scared all of a sudden. He grabbed a broom which was placed in one corner of the room, while Sherlock was taking a poker. Then they remained silent, waiting for the lid to fully open. He looked at Sherlock and could see that he was afraid. Sherlock moved slightly to be in front of him, and it annoyed John. He didn't really know why, but he knew the detective was protecting him, and he didn't like that. He didn't need to be protected. He took a step forward to be alongside Sherlock. They exchanged a quick look, and he straightened up. He was not going to move. He was here, with Sherlock, and he was going to face whatever was in that damn wood burner.

John Watson never thought of himself as an impressionable man, but when the lid tilted back, he stood frozen in horror. Through the gap, he could see a writhing mass of yellow, stick-like objects clawing and scrabbling for a hold. At first, he couldn't see what it was. Insect? Animal? Then he realized it was one of the biggest spider he had ever seen in his life. It was bigger than a large plate, with a hard, smooth, yellow body and it had long legs, rising high above it. Poison gloved on its mandibles, and if it was mostly hairless, tufts of stiff bristles stuck out around the leg joints.

"John. Don't move!"

But Sherlock's whispering was enough to startle the creature which suddenly sprang from the stove to the bird cage, then the bed, the wall, the ceiling… It was almost to fast to follow, but Sherlock jumped towards it and yelled:

"Smash it! Kill it!"

John rushed behind him while the thing was trying to escape them. Mycroft was standing still in a corner, visibly terrified, and screamed when the spider jumped towards him. John intercepted it with his broom and throw it to the ground, then he smashed it again and again until he heard a squelching sound. He stopped, breathing hard,. It looked like a mess of smashed eggs, with bony legs still twitching. Then he heard Mycroft gasp. He turned around slowly. A second creature was looking at him from the stove. It was still, but seemed ready to jump. John stood silent, and raised his eyes toward Sherlock who was behind the spider. Their eyes locked. Sherlock's pupils were utterly terrified, even if the rest of his body was relaxed. And then, everything happened really fast.

The spider jumped. John screamed and crossed his arms in front of his face. He felt the long legs scratching his hands, then the poker hit his arms, and the creature let out a horrible screech while Sherlock was hitting it. Viscous and bony things poured through John's arm onto his face, and he firmly closed his mouth and eyelids. Eventually, everything stopped. He didn't move, his move body shaking, his arms hurting – he knew he was going to have bruises.

"John, John are you okay?"

John heard sheets being pulled off from the bed, and Sherlock's hands were everywhere, the sheets drying his face and his arms, removing whatever was left of the spider. He couldn't stop shaking. Why couldn't he stop shaking? His eyes were still closed, and he felt Sherlock's fingers on his face.

"Tell me it didn't bite you! John!"

He finally took a deep breath.

"It didn't bite me."

Sherlock let out a relieved sigh. John opened his eyes. Sherlock's face was only inches from his. His hands were around his face, caressing his cheekbones, his fingers slightly played with the hair behind his ears. There was a singular light in his icy blue eyes. John could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and, slowly but surely, the shaking got better.

"You're okay, you're okay."

Sherlock was repeating those words like a mantra. John's sweet blue eyes were still full of fear. The spider's fluids stained his shirt even if he had tried to remove it with the bed's sheet. He let his hands slide down and said:

"You need to remove this."

John nodded in agreement, and tried to unbutton his shirt. But his fingers were still not steady enough. Sherlock grabbed his hands.

"Just… Let me..."

John looked at him strangely but didn't protest. Sherlock was unsure but he unbuttoned the shirt slowly, trying to focus on where they were and on the fact that his brother and sister were watching him, Mycroft being literally less than three feet away and Eurus analyzing his every moves. This was definitely not how he had pictured the first time he would be allowed to undress John Watson. Well, to be honest, he had been pretty sure it would never happen – you, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool, people might talk no, this time didn't count. Each button revealed a bit more of John's skin, more than he had ever seen. When he was done, he raised his eyes to look at John's face. The doctor was blushing. Sherlock saved this image in his Mind Palace, next to – John hugging him on the wedding day – John smiling at him in his armchair – a glimpse of John undressing in the bathroom, just before he closed the door – and it was perfect.

John took off his shirt, shivering in the cold room. Sherlock gave him his jacket, and he thanked him. The jacket smelled like Sherlock. Tea, tobacco, and his aftershave. It was a comforting smell. It was too big for him, which made him look smaller than he was, but he didn't mind. The detective threw his dirty shirt away, and turned to the screen. Eurus was watching them silently. He said, or rather growled:

"Why would you do that? You could have killed one of us!"

She shrugged.

"I trusted your and Doctor Watson's abilities. But I must admit that Mycroft surprised me. Well done, big brother."

Sherlock was furious. John was behind him, huddled in his jacket- why did he thought "huddled", had his brain seen something he hadn't? - and it was Eurus's fault. He was cold and scared and angry and it was his sister's fault.

"Now, Sherlock, tell me. Who's guilty? Let me know, and justice will be done."

Behind her, he could see two people. A girl and a middle-age man. Janet and Theobold. They were on two chairs, ropes around their necks, arms tied behind their backs. He looked at Eurus at asked:

"What will you do with them?"

She smiled coldly.

"Even you can guess that."

Sherlock grit his teeth. Yes, he could. But he always hoped he was wrong, even if, by now, she had proven to him that she would do anything to hurt him.

"Sherlock! Are you ready?"

He hesitated, turned to John. They exchanged a quick glance, then he got back to Eurus.


"Say it. Condemn him."

John came next to Sherlock, touching his shoulder.

"Condemn him in the knowledge of what will happen to the man you name."

Sherlock took a long breath.

"I condemn Theobold Wilson."

A rope he had not seen pulled the chair under the girl's feet and she fell. Even through the camera, they were able to hear her neck when it broke. She convulsed, piss and shit dripping between her legs. Mycroft gasped, and John brought his hand to his mouth in sheer horror.

"Mind the gap."

Even from the grave, Moriarty was still mocking them.

"Congratulations! You got the right one. Now, go through the door."

John walked towards the screen, angry.

"Why did you do that? She was not guilty! She was a victim!"

"Does it really make a difference, killing the innocent instead of the guilty? Let's see."

John opened his mouth to protest, but it was too late. Theobold hung from the ceiling, just like his niece. He clenched his fists, breathing heavily. She was a bloody monster.


Sherlock's voice was soft.

"Don't let her distract you."

"Distract me?"

John's voice was tight. Sherlock got closer.

"Soldiers today."

Mycroft had been strangely quiet, and he still was. Maybe because of the guilt he felt when he looked at the whole situation, knowing that he partly provoked it. But also maybe because of the constant tension that was growing between John and Sherlock since this morning, and in which he knew he had no part. In any case, he was quiet and he intended to stay this way. His brother seemed to have finally found the guts to face whatever it was that he was feeling for John Watson, and he was not going to stay in his lowered his head again, trying to cover his smile. God, John was sexy when he was doing this soldier thing. Even if he was never going to tell him, of course.

That's all folks! I hope you liked it, and did you find the name of the adventure? LEt me know!