A/N: I am actually a horrible person, wow. I really should be working on Sunshine:During, or the beta I'm supposed to be doing, but instead I'm using my time to write Anderlock. Still, I can't really blame myself for it, this pairing is just so beautiful. Anyway, I'm kind of torn between Anderlock and Johnlock right now, especially with the new episodes coming out (if you're not emotionally prepared for HLV, clap your hands! *clap clap*), so I think it's reasonable to assume a fair amount of Sherlock fic will be coming over the next few months.
This is a sort of AU fic that I started writing when TEH came out, before the airing of SOT, although I might incorporate elements of both TEH and SOT into the fic. This starts immediately after the bomb scene, and plays around with the timeline a bit. I'm for sure going to stick to the Mary/John canon, but I'm not entirely certain whether the Anderlock in this fic will be gen or slash. I'm also posting chapters as I finish them, so while I do know what's going to happen in the fic (unlike with ACOMI), I don't have everything written out yet. Expect updates maybe once every week or two.
Other than that, I'm so psyched for this season and all the new fic opportunities it's provided. Reviews are adored, as is fanart (cue shameless pleading and puppy eyes). Even favs and follows are fantastic. Happy reading! :)
Reality Like a Broken Mirror
The bomb squad gets gets them out of the carriage safely and promptly sets to work dismantling the explosives. With a final glare at Sherlock, John follows one of the officers who's leading him aboveground, presumably so he can get a signal on his phone and call Mary. Sherlock stays behind to watch the bomb squad do their job. After all, who knows when he'll need this knowledge? Not knowing this nearly led to him getting both John and himself killed.
Greg walks up to him and they both stare at the carriage for a moment. "You bastard," Greg says. "You absolute bastard. You could've gotten yourself killed, you know? For real this time."
Sherlock nods once, tightly. "I am aware," he says, his voice clipped. He inhales deeply through his nose, counts to five, and lets go of the tension singing through his body with the exhale. His stupidity put him and John into grave danger, but he can deal with that later. Turning to Greg, he asks, "What is it that you wanted to say? You're not here just to check up on me. Spit it out."
Greg sighs and crosses his arms. "It's Anderson," he says finally. "I'm sure you're aware he hasn't been around lately, and that's because...well. He's been...fired. And I think you should probably go see him."
Sherlock squints his eyes in confusion. "Fired? What for?" he asks.
Greg chuckles. "And here I thought you'd be ecstatic about getting rid of him," he mumbles to himself. "Anyway, I think it's best if you see for yourself, honestly. It's not easy to explain."
Sherlock cocks his head. What could have happened to Anderson that was so important Sherlock would have to experience it for himself? But Greg doesn't say anything more, just slips a piece of paper with an address written on it into Sherlock's hand, and walks away. "I'll see you later, Sherlock," he calls over his shoulder.
Sherlock stares after him. Anderson, he thinks, and clutches the slip of paper more tightly.
He hasn't thought too far ahead about this, honestly, because everything he does depends on what he finds beyond this door. He's had some time to think on things, and he's deduced that there are, roughly speaking, at least seventy-six different scenarios that can occur once he knocks. He's completely prepared for maybe three of them, but the others are nearly complete enigmas to him, and oh, does it irk him that he's going into this relatively blind. Still, as much as he enjoys taking the piss out of Greg, he really does trust Greg, and if the Detective Inspector has forced him here, there's probably a damn good reason why.
So Sherlock takes a deep breath, turns his coat collar up with one swift motion, schools his expression into something resembling vague interest, and raps sharply on the door.
He's not sure what to expect, but he's happy that he can rule out twenty of the possible outcomes now that no one's answered the door.
Sherlock idly wonders what could have caused Anderson to lose his job. He's an idiot, but he's one of the smartest idiots at Scotland Yard. No logical reason comes to mind at first about what could have prompted Greg to take such drastic measures. Did Anderson steal money from the department? Did he slack off on the job? Did he break a law? All the secrecy surrounding his job loss has only made Sherlock more curious, and the lack of solid facts is coming together to form a very tempting mystery indeed.
Sherlock's never been able to resist a mystery.
Perhaps that's why Greg chose not to tell him anything more than what was absolutely necessary to get him to come here. He must have known that the intrigue surrounding his request would have enticed Sherlock. Sherlock pouts to himself for a moment, and begins thinking of ways to get back at Greg. Nothing serious, of course. Maybe a jar of eyeballs delivered anonymously to his desk or some such trick.
He's getting impatient now and can't keep himself from knocking again. This time, however, he notices something he can't believe he missed the first time around: the door is unlocked. In fact, the force of his last sharp rap actually pushes the door open a little.
Sherlock's brows furrow. Why would Anderson keep his door open like this? He's smarter than that. Still, Sherlock's already wasted too much time simply standing around, waiting for Anderson to come around and answer the door. So he glances around subtly, pushes the door open further, slips in, and shuts the door before anyone can notice what just happened.
From what Sherlock can see, Anderson lives in a small, one-bedroom flat. He most likely got it after he and his wife separated, Sherlock thinks. He isn't sure whether they've officially divorced or not, but he's sure he'll be able to figure that out once he finally sees Anderson. Automatically, Sherlock's eyes flit around the flat, taking in every detail and processing every small fact. He moves quickly through the rooms, already forming conclusions about his subject - distracted (there are several tasks lying around in various stages of completion), insecure (mirrors are covered, all reminders of his past life are shoved away, tokens of his duration with Scotland Yard are tucked neatly beneath his bed), absentminded (the flat is more chaotic and slovenly than even a bachelor pad) - until he reaches the living room.
Sherlock stops dead in his tracks.
The walls of the room are plastered with hundreds, possibly thousands of pieces of paper, maps, photos, pins sticking out every which way and yarn connecting everything in a seemingly random way. Upon further examination, Sherlock realizes its a collection of evidence, of sorts. An even closer look reveals the subject of the evidence: Sherlock Holmes himself and the small matter of his death and how he survived. From the look of it, these things haven't been touched in months, possibly a whole year.
In a blink of an eye, everything slots into place. Why Anderson was fired, what Greg meant when he said it would be easier to for Sherlock to just see for himself, why Greg thinks it's important for Sherlock to visit the man. He can read the story better from this ragtag collection of papers than from anything Greg could have told him, and the story he sees is, frankly, terrifying.
Sherlock hears footsteps behind him and whirls around, coming face-to-face with Anderson himself. The two stare at each other for a moment, assessing the other and trying to judge the situation. Sherlock notices how Anderson's muscles tense, but also how a glint of confusion suffuses his eyes. He sees how Anderson's hands clench around the coffee he holds, but also how he hunches into himself slightly, subconsciously trying to defend himself.
The brunette opens his mouth to say something, but Sherlock doesn't let him. In a flash, the raven-haired detective has pushed past Anderson and exited the flat, shock and confusion coloring his eyes.