A month after visiting Sherlock's grave, John returned Baker Street. It was his flat, after all, and he knew Mrs. Hudson would never just toss him out into the streets. I need a better job, he often thought. I can't keep on just paying only half the rent.
All Sherlock's science equipment and experiments had been sent to Barts. Sherlock had never kept notes on his experiments so the people who worked in the morgue had to guess what he was trying to do with them. Molly was doing a great job a guessing, apparently, because she kept on with his experiments. Some of them, at least.
Too good, John thought sometimes. Maybe someone was telling her what the experiment was, maybe he was still alive, feeding her information, keeping his experiments going.
John tried to quell these thoughts as they came. He has to be dead. John reminded himself. He has to be dead, because he can't not be himself for this long.
But sometimes, there were these things that made him doubt that. Small things, little things that someone else may not have noticed. A few months after Sherlock died, Lestrade dropped in on John while he was working.
"Did you hear that Anderson and his wife are getting a divorce?" He asked.
John wasn't surprised. "Oh?" was all he said.
DI Lestrade nodded. "It seems that someone told her about Anderson's affair."
John was surprised at this. "Really?"
Lestrade nodded again. "Was it you?" he asked a moment later.
"Why would you think that I did it?"
"Well, Sherlock was the one who noticed it first. He may have told you at some point, and maybe you wanted to punish Donovan and Anderson for accusing Sherlock?"
John shook his head. "I wouldn't do something like that. Although," he added. "If I'd have come up with it, I definitely would have given it some serious thought."
Then there was a brief silence.
"Just for the record," Lestrade finally said. "I know that everybody is so sure that he's guilty, but I don't. He couldn't have been behind it all, no matter how good he was. Could he?"
"You knew him as well as I did," John said.
Lestrade scoffed. "I doubt that."
"I don't think he could have killed anyone, or even let anyone get killed, just to prove he was clever. Maybe let himself get hurt or even killed, but I didn't think capable of actively killing himself, except that... well."
"Yeah, the newspapers have seemed to forget about that a little," Lestrade mentioned.
John nodded. "Mycroft did whatever he could to bury the entire thing. I just hope it doesn't mean that everyone forgets Sherlock with it."
"Do you think that's what Moriarty wanted?" The inspector asked. "To bury Sherlock, literally and figuratively?"
"If he did, he seems to be doing a bang up job," John said. "Anything else going on? Anything interesting?" John was fishing. Looking for evidence that Sherlock was still alive.
He could tell that Lestrade knew what he was up to. But John was grateful that Lestrade decided to tell him anyway. "Yeah, a couple of us have been getting tips, good ones, some of cases."
"Don't you sometimes get help on cases anyway? What makes these so different?"
"They all seem to be from the same person. They're delivered by messenger in plain, white envelopes. Each time, the messenger says that someone calls and tells them where to pick up a manilla envelope, which contains two envelopes."
"Two envelopes… one for the messenger and the other for the police?" John said.
Lestrade nodded. "And all the callers sound different too. Only a few give their names, and they all say that a man gave them the envelope and instructions on where to leave it and what to say. Everything is untraceable."
"Well, that tells you something about the tipster." John said.
"That they are paranoid?" Lestrade asked.
John nodded. "Well that, and something else. How many tips have you gotten this way?"
"About seven or eight."
"And not one of them has anything on it?" John asked. "Not one spot of dust, ink, anything?"
Lestrade shook his head slowly. "Nothing."
"That tells you that he has access to a clean room. Hospital clean, or very nearly."
"So, what?" The detective said sarcastically. "Should I go to every hospital in the city and interview all the staff?"
"No, you wait for more evidence. Nobody is perfect. One of these days, whoever is sending the notes is going to slip up."
After a few moments, John added. "Who else has been getting tips this way?"
Lestrade bowed his head, thinking. "The only people that I know for sure that've received tips this way are me and Dimmock."
"Interesting." John muttered to himself.
"Sorry?" Lestrade asked.
"Nothing, nothing," John said.
"You must have picked up a couple of things just being around Sherlock," Lestrade mentioned.
"Why do you say that?" John asked cautiously.
"Because you're starting to sound like him." Lestrade caught the look that John shot him. "In a good way!" he said.
"How can I sound like Sherlock in a 'good way'?" John asked.
"In the clever, 'look at the evidence' way, not the condescending, pompous way that makes you feel like you still belong in primary school."
.~*~. A/N .~*~.
Does anybody know what 'Rat. Wedding. Bow.' means? Why does Moffat have to be so damn cryptic?
R&R, please!
If you're reading this for a second time and thinking that something's changed, you're not imagining it. I, in fact, did go back and change it. I asked for someone to beta this fic, and Esther Kirkland, who is not only a fantastic beta reader but also a brilliant writer, has gone above and beyond what I expected of anyone. Big thanks to you, Essie! :D