Not Meant To Be
1
Sherlock's phone chimed as he got out of the cab.
Heard you took the case. Greg told me. J
"Keep the change," he told the driver, not bothering to look up from his mobile phone.
Interested? S
Turning his coat collar up, his mind providing him with the unnecessary information that John would shoot him a sceptical glare now, he determinedly made his way away from the main road, heading for a smaller alley.
Yes. Prepared to fill me in? J
Oh, John was being quick today. Still at home on his own, then. And unemployed.
Busy. Tomorrow morning. Since Mary's still away, as I take it. S
Mary. He had assumed her to be a nuisance in his life, despite her being married to John. Had expected her to keep John busy, to end their career as detective and blogger, despite everything John had always assured him of.
Surprisingly enough, and somehow still unprocessable, he had been wrong. He, wrong. For once. Again, John Watson had managed to surprise him.
Of course he spent an unreasonable amount of his time with his wife now, snogging or doing whatever a married couple did. Even now, while just thinking about it, Sherlock's nose wrinkled in disgust, banning the image of John and Mary exchanging saliva from his mind. Although… maybe he should give it a second thought. An experiment about how the mixing of two person's saliva influenced the… But no, John would definitely call this a bit not good.
Busy? Investigating? J
Sherlock allowed his thoughts to wander back while he was typing.
Yes, Mary. Mary Watson neé Morstan. John's Mary. Not offended by him running off, dashing off to solve cases with Sherlock. Not yet. Sherlock was well aware that this would change as soon as they had conceived their first child. Which, going by the amount of times John looked tired and yet excited in the morning, could not take too long.
Investing. Investing time in the homeless network. Could be helpful. S
And now Mary, being a teacher of some kind, had left John for two weeks, being away with… Sherlock frowned as he realised that he must have deleted this information right after John had told him. Not important, apparently. Well, with Mary being away, John had far more time, time to spend on cases, and accordingly was eager to spring into action. Even texting him at a time when he normally would be busy with watching some weird … shows or whatever they were on telly, or even worse, with snogging.
Ah. See you tomorrow, then? 9 o'clock, Baker Street? J
Well, surprisingly enough, John had got the hint. Busy. Not wanting to be disturbed.
Fine. S, was all he texted back and then slipped his phone into his coat pocket.
Time to focus on more pressing things now.
It had been a while since he last had been in touch with members of his homeless network, and since it seemed very likely to him that he might need them in the upcoming case, he had decided to fill them in, personally and directly, hiding in the coat of the night. Personally, on his own and as secretly as possible.
The way he had to take to Wiggins's usual hiding place was practically carved into his mind, barely needing any attention at where he was walking. Giving him an opportunity to visit his mind palace for a few minutes, revising everything Lestrade had told him on the phone.
Until shouting entered his concentration. Shouting directly in front of him.
Sherlock couldn't suppress a sigh. He knew that sound, that type of shouting, knew it all too well. Of course. How could he have expected to reach the hiding place without having an encounter with junkies?
Stupid, stupid. Now he would have to put up with them, now he would be bothered.
"Hey, you!" a voice shouted. Mid-twenties, difficult to tell in the dark, had been using for years, most likely started with cocaine and then went on with heroin, at maximum two months away from a deadly overdose.
Sherlock quietly stretched his fingers and simultaneously raised one eyebrow. There were three of them, three junkies, all of them high as a kite.
Seriously. They were no match for him, despite their number, not in their current condition, but they were an obstacle. Costing him time and wasting effort. And bringing themselves into a possibly dangerous situation.
"Listen, I don't have any drugs for you, and you won't be able to mug me. So, could we just drop all pretence and you simply let me through?" he told them calmly, not stopping.
"Listen, he says!" another one shouted. "We're three, he's one, don' you think? Think he's got money. Let's jus' teach him to be more polite, don' you think?"
For god's sakes. Sherlock barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Did they really think they stood a chance against him? One fleeting look told him that they were hardly able to keep themselves on their feet.
"I warned you," he replied in a low voice.
Futile. And stupid.
The first one bumped into him, his sluggish movements making it difficult to tell if this was a planned assault or rather stumbling uncontrollably.
Sherlock simply evaded him.
"Look who's comin'…" the first one yelled, shaking his fists.
Sherlock felt the one approaching him from behind rather than he actually heard him, his lack of concentration allowing his opponent to throw a fist into his face and send Sherlock stumbling backwards.
Well, maybe he had been a tiny bit overconfident, he realised in split-seconds. John wasn't here, after all, and apparently, one of the three junkies wasn't as dosed up as Sherlock had assumed. Maybe, just maybe, he might be a bit bruised afterwards.
Sherlock just turned around again, concentrating, to knock them down momentarily, when two of them lunged at him, causing him to stumble again and to nearly trip.
No, this was not going well.
Gritting his teeth, he kicked the attacker on the left against his knee, the patella breaking with a cracking noise, causing him to gasp in pain and drop to the concrete.
Sherlock, however, had not seen the third one coming, delivering an uncoordinated but nonetheless painful punch to his ribs.
Then all happened in moments.
Sherlock was bending over, gasping for breath, but succeeding in keeping the puncher away from him.
Until the other one came crashing down against him, using his entire body weight, causing him to stumble again and finally send him tumbling, tumbling over. For a few milliseconds, he could see the concrete and the kerb of the sidewalk coming closer, and then…
Then there was nothing.
I won't be at home next week, so any update will at least take until next Saturday, if not longer. Just wanted to warn you.