The Devonshire Squires
Summary: Post THE/Pre So3, John and Sherlock try to rebuild bridges, but a demanding case challenges both of their assumptions about what happened to the other one during the hiatus. Lestrade tries to play peacemaker, but Mycroft's meddling is counter-productive. Follows on from A Pocketful of Rye in Got My Eye on You.
Chapter One:
He winced slightly as the shampoo got into the cut on the side of his temple. The others had healed well, but for some reason this one was proving more troublesome. He kept knocking off the scab and making it bleed again. At least the soap will disinfect it. John kept scrubbing. It made him remember the whole thing again. "Remember, remember, the fifth of November." The old slogan had taken on a new meaning, after he ended up as a real-life Guy Fawkes on the bonfire.
As he stood under the stream of hot water, rinsing off, his train of thoughts got tangled up in another train, this one underground, and what he had said to Sherlock. In the whirlwind of publicity that followed, there had been little time to follow up on that exchange. He was still angry at being taken for a ride, yet again, by the man, being fooled into revealing perhaps too much of what he thought. There was a reason why John always kept his cards close to his chest. That thought resurrected another memory- a darkened warehouse and a superior voice's comment- "Trust issues, it says here." Then the question, "Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"
He'd given his trust quickly then; could he do so again, now that he knew what depths of deceit that Sherlock was capable of?
"John? Come quick- there's something on the news you'll want to hear." Mary's voice drifted into the bathroom, where John was towelling himself dry. He pulled on his bathrobe and came out into their bedroom.
"He's done it again; made it into the headlines." She was sitting at the end of the bed, watching the TV screen on the wall. "It was the second story of the bulletin- Sherlock's just broken a slavery ring."
He pulled the towel away from his hair, which he'd been rubbing dry. " Slavery? In Britain? How's that even possible?"
She patted the bed beside her. "Come watch."
So, he did. And learned about the police operation, involving the Met, Kent and Essex police forces working together to break a human trafficking operation based at Tilbury. The BBC reporter was standing at the dockside, with a big cruise liner behind her.
"The operation started before dawn, when the Metropolitan Police swooped on the MS Gemini behind me, liberating some twenty women, who were being held hostage and about to be sold to buyers due to sail on the Braemar in two days' time." The camera swung away from her and to another ship across the water.
"And from the cargo ship Morning Linda over there another twenty seven women were freed. I'm joined here by Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan. She works with one of the Met's Murder Investigation Teams. Is it true that the operation began because of an investigation of the murder of a police officer?"
Dressed in a suit that looked as professional as the image she was projecting, Sally responded to the reporter. "The Metropolitan Police were called in to assist in the investigation of what appeared to be three unrelated murders in the past three months, here at Tilbury, that became four, when Police Constable Simon West was found shot dead."
"Is it true that Sherlock Holmes was the one who solved those murders and led the police to the slavery ring?"
Sally nodded. "Yes. Yes, he did. At some considerable risk, too. On our own we might have got to the answers eventually, but because he was able to find answers so quickly, forty seven women will now go free instead of being sold as domestic slaves. His work exposed the links to the criminal networks. It's a great step forward for law enforcement in the UK, and we have Sherlock Holmes to thank for it."
John sat more upright, startled. "Wow- that's a surprise."
"What do you mean?" Mary took her eyes off the screen and saw his surprise.
"She's the one who always called him "Freak." She accused him of committing the crimes so he could solve them."
"Oh, so she's forgiven him, too." There was a touch of mischief in her tone, and she put her arms around John. "Wonder what she said to him the first time she saw him again?"
John just tilted his head in a don't-you-start-on-this again look.
They watched, sitting on the edge of the bed. The news report gave it plenty of air time, including a bit of backstory about the plight of domestic servants brought into the country on tied visas. Then the reporter described the sheer scale of the crimes involved and the number of prosecutions that the police were now working on.
"Bloody hell, John. This is enormous!"
John just kept watching as the reporter described what had happened. "In a dramatic midnight police chase on the Thames, Sherlock Holmes was taken hostage by the gang leaders, who were armed. Despite a hail of gunfire, the Kent & Essex marine units working with the Metropolitan Police helicopters managed to thwart the gang's attempt to escape capture. Holmes ended up thrown overboard while tied up and had to be rescued before he drowned. Discharged from hospital, he has declined to comment on this, his latest daring adventure."
Mary smirked. "I'll bet he gets a knighthood for this… and for saving Parliament as well."
John sniffed. "Nope. Already turned one down; thinks honours are hypocritical." He was still watching the TV, rapt.
Mary saw a fleeting emotion chase across her fiancé's face. "Oh, you wanted to be in on the action, too? He was right, you know. You do miss this. The thrill of the chase."
John tore his eyes away from the screen and glared at her. "I'll quote you one of his favourite sayings-' that was then; this is now'. He's had two years of doing things on his own. Besides which- are you trying to get rid of me? I would have thought you'd want me safe and sound, not dodging bullets or going for a swim in the freezing Thames."
Mary hugged him. "Of course, I'm glad you're safe. But I love the man you are, and if that involves backing up his nibs, then who am I to say no?"
He gave her a slight, wistful smile. "Don't think it's likely to happen that often now. He's got used to being without me."
"Why not give him a call? Or better still, go over to see him?"
John grabbed his phone by the side of the bed. But it went straight to voice mail. A bored baritone came on. "You've reached my number. Explain why I should bother returning your call. Or better still, leave a text; it's easier to delete." John smirked. Still being obnoxious then.
So he left a text.
10.18am Saw the Tilbury news. Great work. You OK? JW
He decided to put his initials at the end. He didn't know if Sherlock had his new number on his contacts list.
There was no reply.