The problem with London was it was getting too small. Sherlock was sitting on the 175, he enjoyed riding the buses in the outskirts of London, watching all the people. In Romford a mugger got on but the police were hot on his trail, not that Sherlock cared it was all too generic and boring.
What really interested him was when an FBI agent got on the bus at Dagenham. The muscled African-Amercian, mixed race, in long term male partnership, well educated, successful agent was lost. He stayed on the bus until they had returned to Romford, he hadn't used a travelcard or an oyster card but had bought a ticket from the machine by the bus stop, the man hadn't been in London long nor had he researched much before his trip, he wasn't carrying an umbrella even though he was planning to be outside all day, walking around, his footwear said as much.
When the American got off the bus Sherlock followed, "if you want to see the stadium, you'll be better off a Stratford, although the overground service from here will get you there. I suggest you buy an Oyster, as you don't know long you'll be here for." The man raised as eyebrow at Sherlock and went to put his hand where his gun would no doubt have been, a gesture to reassure himself that backfired when he remembered he wasn't allowed a gun here.
"Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, you won't find your, lover, no your want to be lover, without help."
"SSA Derek Morgan, I'm looking for another agent, he came here on vacation and he hasn't been in touch, I didn't want to worry the rest of my team," Sherlock interrupted,
"so you're here trying to find him, make sure he's okay, and blah blah blah, boring."
"Please if you think you can help me find Reid," Morgan implored, the man was desperate, and yet Sherlock still found this all incredibly boring, why couldn't the man just find himself someone else to crush over. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, Reid, FBI agent, he chuckled silently to himself and wanted to rub his hands together, but had stopped doing that at secondary school when it came apparent it made him look like a psychopath. This could be fun.
"SSA Morgan, you are highly stupid and I am done talking to you. You are in the wrong end of town entirely, go home your Reid will return when his 'vacation' time is over. You won't find him and even if you do you won't be getting together. He's busy, now off you go shoo." And he twirled away off to go bother Mycroft.
Morgan was left standing on the side-walk being tutted and tisked at as he got in people's way. London was a rude city, the people that lived here just had no time for tourists or people walking below fifteen miles per hour.
Morgan considered the strange man, an obvious highly functioning sociopath who had a point, he had no reason to worry about Reid, and if he was honest he was hoping that being so far away from work then maybe a romance would spark up. He'd seen Reid date both men and women and a couple of people he wasn't entirely sure which gender they identified with. So Morgan wasn't worried about sexuality or inexperience, for either of them, but work.
There's a reason why it's frowned upon for colleagues to date, and although they both knew they wouldn't be in the BAU forever and that the team would change in the coming years, neither were quiet ready to move on just yet. Morgan sighed, he could wait for Reid, but could Reid wait for him, they needed at the least a conversation or at the very most hot sex.
Morgan found the train station and headed into central London, was £6.10 a fair price for a one way train journey? He was aware that a dollar was around sixty-three pence, a pence being like a cent. He was too tired to try to work out how much six ten was in dollars, six hundred and ten divided by point six three, or something. Why was he thinking of Math, that just led him to think of thoughts of Reid.
When Morgan arrived at Liverpool Street he bought a MacDonald's, shocked to find that his medium sized meal was kiddie meal sized. He ate it anyway and tried to work out the tangled mess of lines that was the underground on a map. He could get on the red line but his hotel was somewhere on the green line, Bank looked like he could change lines, at least he thought that's what the big white circle meant. He turned to see a bored man in a business suit, he was dark skinned and wearing a turban, hoping that man spoke English Morgan asked for help. The man stared at him with distaste and in a very board English accent, cockney? Morgan wondered, replied with a "yeah mate", and wandered off to be miserable further down the platform.
Morgan hated London, it was rushed, dirty, cramped, everybody was rude, the cars all drove on the wrong side of the road, and you couldn't get a descent sized meal. When he got home he was definitely telling people London wasn't worth the hype, it was so expensive too, he had paid fifteen pounds for a pizza that he would of got for five dollars at home.
Luckily a grumpy Morgan fit right in on the tube, smiling, eye contact or interaction just isn't done.
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Hotch, Rossi, Prentiss, and JJ were in London, they were sitting inside New Scotland Yard feeling somewhat overwhelmed, they had been called in after five American Tourists had all been water-boarded to death and left at prominent locations around London, they were there strictly as civilian consultants.
There was one suspect a university student who had found two of the bodies, she was obviously working class poor and yet she was at a London university, this cost money, money she shouldn't have. "Garcia I need to know how she managed to to support herself in college with no parental aid or scholarship."
"Well Sir, here in the UK they have a loan system, it pays fees and maintenance, it's available to every student. Being poor doesn't exclude you from higher education, it's called Student Finance, and there are different boards for each of the different countries. It's actually not a bad system, well until the Tories raised the fees and the Lib Dems did nothing to stop it despite their promises. There are a lot of angry student blogs, Sir."
"Thank you Garcia, that'll be enough for now." Hotch sighed grateful that it was deemed cheaper to fly Garcia out with them instead of having to call her back home. And with both Morgan and Reid away on vacation the team were having it tough.
Rossi came over to Hotch "Aaron, we're in over are heads here, we don't have the basic background knowledge of living in England to be able to be of any use."
"Rossi, we're here consulting, Scotland Yard are aware of our limitations. But the Government wanted us out here and Downing Street wants to keep the White House as happy as it can while someone is killing our citizens." Hotch's cell buzzed, he and the whole team had been given cell phones from the British police, rather than deal with international call charges. He listened briefly and then turned to Prentiss, "I want you to head down to Monument Street, there's been a body found, same MO, at the Monument, something about a fire, go and check it out. Rossi, JJ head down and interview that student again. I'm going to talk to the DCI here, who's the SIO in the CID." Everyone stopped and looked at Hotch, who just sighed, again, and shrugged his shoulders, "apparently they like their acronyms here." He watched his team leave, he wanted to just collapse down on the desk in front of him, fall asleep and wake up to find the unsub caught. He heard a chuckle and turned to see a tall, stout man with a full beard standing behind him, he held out a hand to shake, "Inspector Bradstreet, and yes we in the Met do enjoy our acronyms, let me take you to our DCI." Hotch nodded grimly and followed the other man.
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When Prentiss arrived on scene the first thing she saw was a big monument, she asked a uniformed officer what it was, and found that that it was erected by Charles the Second as a monument for the Great Fire of London, the starting point was actually in Pudding Lane though. That confirmed that he was concentrating on tourist sites rather than historical ones.
She approached the scene to find a man with curly hair, a dark coat and sharp cheek bones bending over the body. Assuming he was a Deputy, or at least the equivalent rank, Prentiss approached him and before she could stop him he licked the body, he lapped at the face and then lifted up the top and licked the stomach area, a slow long lick. He stayed crouched over the body gently sniffing it.
He jumped up and before Prentiss could introduce herself he spoke, "I was always slightly intrigued by the idea of criminal profiling. It's used here in the UK but not with a set up such as yours, here each division in the police have their own group, they specialise, so I'm intrigued as to what you generalised people can do, how well you can work in an entirely different culture and of course it's five against one. This should be fun, finally people to race against, a challenge." With that he turned around his long coat billowing dramatically behind him as he stalked away.
"You English are crazy" Prentiss muttered to herself as she ducked under the blue and white police line not seeing a by-stander until he started shouting at her.
"I'm fucking Scottish, England, Wales, Scotland, and Northern Ireland are all fucking different countries with fucking different nationalists, we all fucking hate the fucking English and it fucking doesn't help that you all fucking lump as in with them you fucking fuck. Do not get me fucking started on the fucking need for a fucking referendum, now I've never fucking voted SNP in my fucking life but I still want a fucking say to get the fucking hell out from under fucking England's fucking thumb, I've had fucking enough of them arse fucking raping us for all these fucking years." The man carried on his tirade but as he got angrier his accent got stronger and incomprehensible to Prentiss who just nodded along, she had no real right to ask the man to leave or arrest him so she let him carry on while she observed the area around her.
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Hotch was still waiting for the DCI to see him when Prentiss called, there was nothing new to be gathered from the scene but there was a strange officer there. Hotch listened stunned, and when Prentiss was finished and on her way back to New Scotland Yard, he looked towards Bradstreet and described the officer to him, in the hopes that office gossip meant he knew this strange man. Bradstreet chuckled, "that'll be Sherlock Holmes, he's a consultant with us, Lestrade must have invited him in. I've worked with Sherlock on a couple cases before, he helped me find a missing person, some missing jewellery and a missing thumb." Again Bradstreet chuckled, "leave him be, he has some funny ways but we'll solve this quicker with him than without him." Hotch just nodded, he was in no position to protest even if he wanted to, and he certainly wanted as much help as possible.
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"Why have nobodies been left at Buckingham Palace?" Prentiss had returned to the station and jumped immediately into questions as she found Hotch, who was still waiting for the DCI.
"Too much respect for the Queen, not wanting to tarnish the home of your Monarch?" Hotch suggested Bradstreet scoffed.
"Sorry Love, but respect for the Queen my arse, it's probably just because of all those soldiers in big hats. Those are trained army men, they go away to war, the Grenadiers' aren't just ceremonial. It's not worth the risk with them about." Hotch raised an eyebrow, he and Bradstreet had been sitting together, mostly in silence for a couple of hours now, he hadn't realised they had become so familiar.
Rossi and JJ soon re-joined them, the student lived in a house-share and had no property, there wasn't any possibility of the student committing the crimes, she just didn't have the space or privacy.
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The DCI was finally able to see him, he was a young black man in his late thirties. He introduced himself as DCI Hopkins, he wore a cheap suit and looked tired, he welcomed them all into his office and didn't notice that he only had two spare chairs. He sat himself on his chair and looked at the team, he didn't seem impressed.
They were all glamour, dressed to the nines and with their jarring accents and their pushy computer analysis, they weren't making any friends, well at least not with him. The Superintendent had been on and on at him, and one of the victims family had hired a Pinkertons man, a Mr Leverton, who was just another American hounding him. Hopkins had complete faith in his team, he also had almost two hundred uniformed officers as his task force, they could do this, and he should have been out there helping them not in his office playing politics.
His phone rang, again, and the tired DCI answered it. The BAU team profiled his office, picture of him with a woman, not married but with two kids, both under five. He was over worked and under paid, like all law enforcement, and he was most likely going to take his frustration out on the BAU as they were easy targets. He was good at his job, he had to be to be SIO at such a young age. He didn't have a gun, something that team still found strange, and looked to be physically fit, he had a degree in Art History from Southampton University, unfortunately not knowing the university that wasn't much help for them. But the man was proud of his achievement as he had hung his degree on the wall, he also had won various awards during the course of his career.
He slammed the phone down and glared at the BAU, "the latest victim, Cassie Something-or-other, she was Canadian, so now I'm having lunch with both the American and the Canadian ambassadors. You do what you do and try not to get in the way, you jeopardise my investigation in any way, shape or form and you're straight back on the plane." The DCI stood up and raised an eyebrow at them, "well get out of my office and do something useful."
Once again faced with the fact that they had no rank here and not wanting to antagonise they hurried out and went to hide in the small room assigned to them. Bradstreet followed after them and chuckled "don't worry about Stan, stress of the job, bark worse than his bite, he's only angry because he cares. Now you want me to get you some doughnuts, films have taught me that that's the fuel of the American cop." Knowing the team needed a pick me up Hotch nodded the man off, a Krispy Kreme was just what the Doctor ordered.
The team where brainstorming when Bradstreet returned, he had two boxes of five raspberry jam doughnuts, the doughnuts were coarser than they were used to but the influx of sugar was a big help.
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It was dark outside and the team had made no real discernible progress when they heard a man grumble from outside, "it's not my division, I'm not baby sitting Americans, I've got Sherlock to handle." Whatever the reply was it was enough for the man to come in, he was hiding his displeasure at babysitting well enough.
" Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade," he introduced himself, "look there's not much more we can get done tonight, we're going to pub. Come have a pint." Taking this as the peace offering it was, although they had their reservations of drinking while still on a case, the team took up his offer.
They were impressed when five pints in Lestrade wasn't drunk, knowing their limits, and boy was the stuff here stronger than back home, the team were still on their first. The team were also impressed by the pub, there were people of various races, a male couple on a date, and lots of 'coppers'. It as all very liberal and no one seemed to mind.
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The next morning and the team were settling down when they each received a text 'come now', Lestrade was in the room with them at the time sighed, "best follow me". With that the team, sans Garcia, who was still busy going through CCTV, there was endless amounts, were lead off by Lestrade.
They were taken to Trafalgar Square, where they found the man Prentiss had met and a body, it was of a young woman, and Holmes introduced her as Laura, she was American and killed by their unsub. Surprisingly they hadn't yet picked up a crowd, it was early enough that the streets were full of locals and not tourists, they were all far too busy to bother with a body.
Lestrade did not look happy, "Sherlock, when you find a body you have to call in the police not just me." He sighed, "well then, you've called us here because you've figured it out right." Sherlock grinned, "it wasn't hard, all the victims had bought tickets on the Central Line, but the water on their bodies could only have come from a small area, the Seven Sisters area, Thames Water haven't replaced their pipes their for eighty years, it's the only part of London where the water could possibly get that particular chemical add ons.
Our killer is a local who rides the Central Line, luckily for us I've had my homeless network keep an eye out. One of them saw this woman ask an Asian man for directions, his name is Opinder Singh, born in Bethnal Green, worked as a manger in a high class hotel. The American tourists who stayed there made an issue of him being Muslim, his being Sikh doesn't excuse the ignorant Islamaphobia, but he was fired none the less, he's now a manager at Tesco's and his wrongful dismissal trial is still pending. His pregnant wife was killed by a drunk American Tourist driving on the wrong side of road a week before our murders started. He killed any American who approaches him for directions.
It is so beautiful, he water-boards them so it will look like a political statement, and he has a point, there are far too many tourists, they get in my way."
Lestrade seemed to take this in his stride and went off to call for back-up and an arrest. The team just stood their stunned, usually it was them pulling the unsub from seemingly thin air, it was impressive to watch. Holmes came over to them, "your Derek Morgan was seen asking Opinder for directions, I thought you would rather rush off to go save him, he's staying at the King's Arms Guest House on Bow Road." With that Holmes left and the BAU team began to panic.
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A quick call to Garcia established that Derek had been in the country for the past five days, Morgan had mainly been using cash so there wasn't a trail to follow. His hotel room gave away no clues and his cell was off. The team didn't know the city well enough to run around blindly looking for Morgan, JJ and Rossi stayed to wait at the hotel, Hotch and Prentiss went to New Scotland Yard to try do something from there. There had been no reported new body and while the unsub was escalating it was far to soon for them to kill two people in one day. The fear was there but they were controlling it.
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Morgan couldn't have been prouder of himself. He had spend the day in a library and using just a book, trial and error, and his smarts, he had managed to trace where Reid was from where he sent his last email. He couldn't wait to tell Garcia. The trace led Morgan to Baker Street, a short talk with the manager in a cafe and he found out that there was an American visiting the man who lived next door.
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Knocking on 221B a topless Reid opened the door, he blinked at Morgan and gave him a confused smile. Reid was comfortable here and had the relaxed appearance of someone who was having good sex. Morgan sighed, Reid had been ignoring him for a transatlantic lover. Jealous thoughts and hopelessness whirled around Morgan's mind as Reid invited him and put a shirt on.
Reid seemed to read his mind for he began to explain. "Morgan, we don't have sex, he sits and talks and the power of his mind, it's electrifying Morgan, so he'll talk and I'll masturbate, and he'll watch smug and confused. He's in love with another man, a man who loves him too, but they are so caught up in the idea that a romantic relationship needs sex, that they don't recognise how in love they are.
And us Morgan, we're in love and never said anything because we know with our career, working together, in the field we'll be a liability to the rest of the team. We've been in a very real relationship for years now, we've never discussed it and we've never consummated but we've still worked well together. I think we reached the point that verbalising our relationship won't hurt. Derek Morgan I am in love with you."
Reid stood up from the ugly brown chair he had been sitting on and wrapped his arms around Morgan, "Derek I am going to kiss you now and then I'm going to take you into Sherlock's room and fuck you into his bed. So any objections, you'd better hurry up." He paused a moment and seeing Morgan's smile and nod he lent in and gently, almost chastely kissed Morgan, Derek deepened the kiss, his hands going up to Spencer's hair, where he began to tug.
Spencer walked backwards and Derek not ready to stop their first kiss followed, he felt Spencer giggle against his lips. Their short walk ended in a plain bedroom and a lovely sturdy looking wooden bed.
Derek landed on his back and bounced a little, once he regained his equilibrium he looked up and saw Spencer, he had such an intense look of desire, love and happiness, he was standing there drinking in the sight of Derek, lying there waiting for him, and even though he was still fully clothed it was the most erotic sight Spencer had ever seen.
Spencer soon came out of his revive and and starting undressing, it wasn't a sexy strip meant to tease it was a 'oh god I need these clothes off me now so that you can touch me' undress, Derek followed his example.
Spencer ran out the room, Derek was too lust crazed to think very much more than 'damn is that ass fine'. Spencer returned with his bag, and pulled out condoms and lube. He placed the condom on himself and chucked the lube on the bed.
With them both now naked, half hard and getting harder, Spencer climbed on top of Derek, he arranged himself so that he could nibble at Derek's neck and have their penis' touching. The first touch was muted by the condom, but it was still ecstasy, with a little lube added, the two men started rocking their hips, frottage was always something that Derek enjoyed and he and Spencer had managed to get a good rhythm. Enjoying the way Spencer kissed, licked, and nipped at his neck, ripping groans and moan from him, Derek wanted more, he adjusted his legs, opening them wider. Spencer stopping and half getting off Derek watched as he spread his legs and pulled his cheeks apart. Understanding it to be the invitation it was Spencer applied more lube to his hands and began to circle Derek's hole.
"As soon as I know that you're clean, I'm going to enjoy tasting you here," Spencer had started pushing in his first finger, making sure to twist and explore the inside of Derek. "I'll put my tongue in you, and make you come on that alone."
A second finger was added, and Spencer found Derek's prostate, the man screamed, and Spencer teased the small nub, brushing over it lightly up until Derek was begging for more, for a real touch, for Spencer to pound into him. So Spencer did, Derek was stretched enough that he could enter in quickly, the lube making it smooth and enjoyable for the both of them.
The need to have done this had been with them for so long it meant that neither man was going to last, and Spencer thrusting inside of him while stroking his penis, doing this amazing twist that Derek had never experienced before, meant that the both of them was coming hard and strong within seconds.
Neither was bothered about their quick performance, it had felt so amazing, and they'd be doing this again and again and again, and it would only be getting better. They just got under the duvet and had a cuddle, running hands gently over the other's body, exploring this Holy of Holies that they now had access to.
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The post orgasm haze had worn off when Derek asked "Spencer, who it that man?" In the corner of Sherlock's bedroom was a man handcuffed to a chair, "oh, he's just a serial killer that Sherlock asked me to look after until the local police came to pick him up. Speaking of which we should probably get dressed." Not long afterwards there came a knock on the front door and five uniformed officers and a woman who introduced herself an Sergeant Donovan arrested the man and left. It appeared to Derek that things like this might happen often here.
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Sherlock stomped into his flat and collapsed on his sofa, landing on Spencer and Morgan, it had seemed that they had got together, they reeked of sex and love and the general weakness of humanity. The couple stayed cuddling and so Sherlock had to move himself. He went to sit in John's chair.
"Sherlie here is sulking because the case wasn't as interesting as he had hoped it would be, he also misses his John." Spencer was talking to Morgan, but his attention switched to Sherlock "you were dead for three years, he feels betrayed, and he's in pain and he can't accept why it hurts so much, give him time, he'll never be able to leave you for long."
Sherlock sneered, he didn't care about that, and was going to inform how wrong Spencer was but stopped when he saw his face, it was hard and unyielding, you don't cross Spencer when he looks like that, "I had coffee with John yesterday, trust me, he'll come back soon, but it'll be even sooner if you go to him."
Sherlock watched as Spencer then pushed Morgan off the sofa and whispered in his ear, causing the other man to jump on Spencer, kissing and removing clothes, it appeared that Spencer wanted Morgan inside of him and now, Sherlock sighed again, he wasn't in the mood for a show and he suspected that Spencer was trying to drive him away so he could go talk to John, damn him.
Sherlock left his flat and was pleased to see that the BAU team were running upstairs, they had obviously finally heard that their agent was there, he took far too much vindictive pleasure at the idea of Spencer being interrupted mid-coitus by his team. He turn up the collar of his coat and stalked off into the night, to go get his John back.