*Kings Hide Dragons*
by: WhiteGloves
SHERLOCK!
It's captivating... it's alluring.
Characters from a book come to life by the right people.
Isn't that just amazing?
John and Sherlock I disclaim. I can't hold a candle to that Sir Doyle~
*Enjoy Reading!*
The blue eyes met the light greens.
It was not unusual for these two to be on eye to eye level, and especially not unusual for them both to be glaring at each other. Well, perhaps not both were glaring for while the former has this extremely glowering look the latter has nothing but an almost near vacant expression. Indeed, both were so opposite that even a chemistry reaction was unnecessary.
But let us go back to their glares.
The blue eyed man with light brownish hair was reluctant at first as he kept his eyes at the dark haired man sitting opposite him with contorted eyebrows. He didn't speak. He just sat there with his back leaning at the chair and with arms crossed on his chest as he surveyed the dark haired man who was quietly looking at him. There was no particular meaning behind the dark haired man's light green eyes— just plain stare.
Silence was intermediate—until suddenly there was a loud thumping sound—a stool chair banging on a steel legged table just across where the two were sitting that made them both look up with a start. There they saw a uniformed policeman returning the stool under the table. When he was gone the two, who were just like wild animals who got startled, eyed each other once again.
And Doctor John Watson cleared his throat finally with eyebrows not lifting from the top of his blue eyes. He shifted on his seat as he averted his eyes around the shadowy vicinity with displeasure so evident on his small face. The dark haired man opposite him who looked taller in his orange suit narrowed his eyes and knew the confrontation was about to come—finally.
"So..." John started with eyes looking down the space on the table in front of him as put both elbows on it and clasped his hands, "you've finally done it, haven't you?"
He forced his hard eyes back and met those light green eyes of Sherlock Holmes.
The consultant detective tilted his chin a little to survey his former flatmate, before pressing his lips together and quietly saying in the most innocent and slow manner, "Look, John, it's not as obvious as it looks—"
"No, it can't get any obvious—" He shook his head somewhat sardonically.
"—I know what you're thinking—"
"—funny if you don't—"
"—and if you care for me to explain what's clearly so obvious—"
"Oh shut up." The doctor shook his head impatiently and slammed his hands on the table in annoyance, "I don't need obvious! I see it as clear as day! Or do you want me to really observe what's dangling on your hands or your uniform or this damn place?"
Sherlock Holmes gave a short pause as he sighed and unwillingly showed his hands from under the table. By doing so came sounds of metallic clinks in the form of chains. John's already contorted eyebrows deepened even more and the frown lines on his forehead definitely increased as he gestured at his friend and at the clinking sound of handcuffs.
"That—" He pointed out with levelled eyes, "is not obvious?"
Sherlock looked undaunted as he returned the gaze of his friend before looking down at his wrists and then to his orange uniform and then travelled his eyes around the four cornered darkened hall with two police officers standing guard by the doorway. They were inside Brixton Prison, hardly any place for a small chat. Looking up, he found John still glaring at him.
"You didn't think I wouldn't notice did you?" John sounded so sarcastic it nearly made Sherlock smile.
Except that John Watson was not smiling by way of how his jaw was twitching and how livid his expression was for then only one fact was registering on the doctor's mind above all that was the obvious.
That Sherlock Holmes has finally become a prisoner.
"Have you gone mad?" the doctor went on, "what are you doing here?"
"I've already explained it to you you're the one not listening."
"Not listening—?Hang on what—? Exactly when did you explain this to me?"
It was Sherlock's turn to look confused as he creased his eyebrows.
"Told you this morning."
[Flashback]
John Watson was inside a cab heading towards his old flat at 221B when he saw Sherlock Holmes walking on the pavement of Baker Street. Stopping the cab and paying the cabbie, the doctor went out of car just in time to see his friend rummage inside his pockets for his door key.
"Sherlock," he stepped just behind his best friend who glanced at him in surprise.
"John, hi, there you are." He nodded at his friend with a hand still inside his coat, "Where'd you go?"
"Where did I...? I just came... just now?"
"Huh..." the detective gave him a look before turning to the doorknob, "then who was I talking to?"
John blinked several times and understood immediately for it happens frequently—for Sherlock Holmes to be talking to himself in his absence. He was just about to point it out to his former flatmate when he noticed that his friend had frozen and was looking down the ground. Following his eyes, the doctor saw that there stuck under the threshold between the spaces under the door was a piece of paper. Sherlock bent down, picked it up and scanned the content with eyes suddenly flickering.
"Oh." He muttered in mystery.
"What's that?" John stepped closer enough to see beside the shoulder of his friend when the detective suddenly pocketed the paper and whirled towards the street to hail a cab. "Sherlock? Where are you going?"
A cab stopped in front of the detective who instantly opened the door.
"To Scotland Yard." He told the cabbie loud enough for John who was already behind him to hear.
"What? Sherlock, why did something happen? Should I come?"
The dark haired detective was already inside the cab when he turned to the doctor questioningly—no more like—affirmingly.
"Not unless you want to go to prison?"
"What?"
"See you later, John!" the door was closed and the cab drove away leaving John staring after it.
[End of Flashback]
"You didn't tell me anything!" John hissed in realisation as he leaned closer the table while Sherlock did the same and the two best mates huddled their heads together to bicker.
"I did—you just weren't listening!"
"I wasn't even there!"
"Hardly my fault."
"Sherlock!"
"Oh, you're losing your humour, John."
"Humour—? Sherlock this is not a laughing matter. You've just put yourself in jail!"
A long deep sigh came out of the consultant detective's lips as he straightened and closed his eyes tightly. When he opened his eyes there was that mocking glint that John never misses.
"Really, the firm grasp of the obvious always puts me off."
"Are we going to talk around in circles?" the doctor challenged with one raised eyebrow and a look at his wristwatch, "because honestly I don't have much time, we're not in Baker Street where you can keep on droning and droning in circles about your case—you are in prison which makes this visit very short. Now are you going to tell me or I can just leave through that door right now and wait for you to get yourself out— which is in a month by the way—and—just what exactly are you in prison for?"
"Ah, now you're asking the right question." He finally joined his friend on the table again with both hands clasped together, "Then again, too obvious an answer."
"Sherlock." A warning tone.
"Fine, but I already told you, I put myself in."
"Greg wouldn't just let you put yourself in—no police will do!"
"Sorry, who? Anyway Lestrade couldn't argue with me when I told him if he doesn't let me in I'll break inside the prison. Not much need for convincing, he bought it immediately. Said he knew I was bound to make a proper crime but he actually looked too pleased about it. That reminds me Geoff looked unconvinced when he asked me if you know what I was doing. I said yes."
"It's Greg, how many times—and I know nothing of this!"
"Knew you weren't listening."
"But this is ridiculous!"
"Keep your voice down."
"Oh yes, I'm sure the guards are listening?"
"No, but they might ban you from visiting if you continue hollering at this sacred place."
"Sherlock if you don't start talking what this is all about I swear—!"
"A man found dead under Brixton bridge this morning, not English, not even European. American. Funny how most of them get hit in this country? Police report reveals Thomas Bishop, 38, staying at a hotel with no company. Was shot dead in the head last night with no sign of robbery. That's good enough background, I think?"
"Go on then," John looked patient now though his jaw was still twitching, "what made this case special?"
"Ah." Sherlock clasped both hands on the table again with that lost look veiling his eyes when he usually falls in torpor, "Thomas Bishop back in America, a high-class biochemist, works for the government. Made a quick leave of absence without warning and appeared at the doorstep of England. Sound suspicious already, doesn't it? Makes you want to sniff the air for more, which I did. Walked around the crime scene myself to look for fresh clue till I arrive at his hotel got a good look at his luggage found it all unnecessary so I came back to Baker Street."
John and Sherlock eyed each other again and the latter knew he just had to go on.
"Well, the question falls on what he does that got him likely to get shot. Foreigners don't go around other countries for vacation without company and according to his passport this was his first visit. But this is not an accidental visit, no. Foreigners don't usually walk around the dark areas of London without some kind of a guide, no but this one did. And then as expected he was joined shortly by some guy, not foreign—young, most likely someone who knows every streets and roads of the area who basically disappeared right when he got shot."
"How'd you know all that?" it was still amazing how, for many years that John had been hanging around Sherlock, this man could find out details so specific and accurate as if he himself was there.
"The luggage, John, only for solo traveller. Plus some help of CCTVs."
"Oh. So whoever killed him escaped away? The murderer was the young guy who was with him?"
"What guy?" Sherlock glanced up and then frowned, "No that was just some bloke he was asking for directions. Most likely he was to meet people who had contacts with him earlier, I didn't find his phone though but he definitely had one by how he acted in front of the camera then there came the shooting thus we've got a stiff."
"Yeah, we got a stiff," John gave him another hard look, "and we've got you here. That hardly explains anything—no, let me guess, the murderer has already been captured and you want to interrogate him with questions which can't be asked inside the interrogation room that's why you fancied entering this domain yourself?"
"Excellent, John you're starting to sound like me; do tell me where you get your deduction prowess?"
"So am I correct?" the doctor pressed on, his patience at its limits as he clutched his fist, "you're after a murderer who is already behind the bars?" he gave his best friend the darkest look he could make.
Sherlock looked incredulously scandalized.
"Don't be ridiculous why would I go after the murderer? The murderer doesn't matter now—"
"What—? Since when did you believe that?"
"Since I decided he is of no importance, no—my visit here is another matter entirely I've not time for the stiff. I've search him already and found everything I needed, no—the question is not why he was murdered anymore but rather for what end he is here in this country."
"Does that mean the murderer is not here in prison?"
"Nope, but I'm sure he's off targeting other individuals out there in merry old London."
"Jesus, Sherlock—!" the sudden raise of his voice made the guard by the door to look over their table and John had to press his lips and lean his head closer to the detained detective again, "A killer is on the loose and you're here bidding your time with useless other criminals! Have you really gone mad?!"
"I keep telling you he's of no importance to me— calm down, John!" for John Watson had stood up and shook his head in the air, clearly attracting the guard now."Why won't you just listen?"
"Because you bloody hell won't explain!"
"I have already, now sit down before you're put together with me and who knows how much good that will do. Don't you see the brilliance of this case?" he added with a grim smile. "I've been worming around the streets looking for proper cases and this comes right at my door. I love it."
"The only brilliant thing I see is it has finally put you down where most people would want you to be."
"No, John, it's the fact that this place is anything but dull."
"Only you can say that." The little man scoffed and with impatience still showing on his gritted teeth and tight jaw, John sat opposite the black haired man again and cleared his throat, his clear blue eyes still hard and angry. It's just quite true for his best friend to be saying such thing... being inside a prison where his adored criminals are in.
"Look, Sherlock, if I'm not needed just tell me okay? I can't hang around all day trying to figure out who you're really after. Just tell me when you're coming out—"
"Hang on, who said I won't need you?"
John raised an eyebrow to Sherlock who looked sincere.
"I need visitors, John. This facade will only work if I get visitors like normal inmates."
"Oh, so you've accepted the fact that you're an inmate. Good for you—"
"—part of a good disguise is to blend in naturally."
"—where have I heard that before?"
"— try visiting our boring 221B—"
"— how can you say that—?"
"—oh you're right—lacklustre time has finally ended—"
"Fine—fine." The doctor raised both palms in surrender as he sighed for the last time that day, "Do what you want. If you can do this on your own then so be it but I am telling Mycroft—goodness knows how much he knows already and is probably enjoying it too."
"Yeah, and you can probably ask him where the murderer is now if you're still so concerned."
John just had to press his eyes closed before opening them again and blinking at his best friend.
"Mycroft knows the murderer?"
"In my brother's context 'murderer' is not be the correct word."
"Time's up, sir."
A guard approached John Watson from behind and was already waiting for him to stand. The doctor glanced at him and then to his friend again. Sherlock was eyeing him confidently and it was that confidence that somehow made the former army doctor stand despite still feeling vex about everything that's been going on.
"You know what you're doing, Sherlock." He pushed his chair back under the table as he prepares to leave; "Now I still don't understand why you're here but with that bloody killer still out there and that letter you got this morning, you better explain everything once it's over."
"You sound upset, why do you sound upset?"
"I'm not upset."
"Lower use of your vocals, timbre, twitching of your nose, highly increased number of blinks and the fact that you haven't taken a step away from your chair tells a lot, doesn't it? Dear John, do you want to enter the jail with me?"
For the first time that day John felt like laughing. He did.
"Shut up, I'm not crazy enough to come after you in prison."
"Yeah, I didn't think so." The detective gave him a wink, "Too bad. I was actually considering recruiting you again but then I thought—Mary will come after me if I did."
"She won't she's busy at home with the baby," John cleared his throat but what magic it was to laugh out loud it felt like a huge load was taken away from his shoulder, "and yeah, I can't afford being away from home."
"Knew you'd say that. But for the record I was about to try."
John shook his head and gave his best friend a nasty smirk before following the officer towards the doorway.
"Behave yourself." He called as he glanced back to find Sherlock still seated by the table with eyes closed and both hands, which were still in cuffs, pressed together like he usually does whenever he was in his thinking state. "Sherlock?"
"You behave yourself, John."
He opened his eyes in time for the doctor to see him smile meaningfully with those meaningful glints in his light green eyes that got John staring until he was ushered to the door and was locked out, leaving the doctor to stare into the door that somewhat felt so heavy and so wrong.
"Dammit." John whispered as he walked away.
Minutes later we see John Watson knocking at Inspector Lestrade's quarters who immediately looked up upon recognizing the good doctor's voice.
"Oh, John, come in," the detective stood up with a knowing look on his face, "I was just about to call you—"
He caught a glimpse of John's grave face and gave a defeated sigh.
"Oh... so you don't know about it after all. That Sherlock said you'd know... Now, John before you get angry—"
"Angry? No, I'm not... not really," John did not take the seat offered to him but remained standing as he looked at the inspector, "I mean I was when I first came here and totally didn't understand the reason why he was allowed to be put in jail, know what I mean?"
"Uhuh,"
"But it doesn't matter now I mean it's Sherlock. If he asked for it he must've had a good reason."
"That's kind of how I understood it too," Lestrade shrugged his shoulder absentmindedly that made John pause to stare at him closely. Then came down the doctor's heavy eyebrows—
"But what kind of station would allow an innocent man to detain himself?" there was a sharp edge at the end of his tone that made the inspector sigh and shook his head.
"Knew you were angry—look John, there's never a law that stops people from detaining themselves. Certainly not Sherlock who even threatened to break into prison if I don't let him in, now you know how he is—you know him. Once he's put his mind in the game it's impossible to stop him. So instead of him hurting himself and getting himself into all sorts of trouble then I might as well throw him to prison. Saves me trouble too."
"But he did tell you why though?"
"Didn't he tell you? So that's why... I was wondering why you didn't come to him in prison."
"Even if he did tell me the reason I wouldn't have come with him."
"Ah, glad you still have your mindset then, but Sherlock explicitly said it was of national importance that he had to go to prison. I thought he was joking but he rarely jokes around, that guy. So taking his threat into consideration I threw him to prison. Seemed to enjoy it enough."
"Am I the only one who thinks this is wrong?" the doctor said under his breath just in time to hear the office door opening and a voice behind him saying—
"What? You mean freak being inside prison?"
John turned and saw Agent Donovan smirking by the doorway carrying piles of papers.
"Leave it, Donovan," Greg said and she placed the papers on the side table before leaving with still that winning smile on her face. John had to muster self control before looking up at the inspector again.
"Will this reach the newspapers?"
"Depends on how fast the media people are but it'll definitely take them some time. I'm still holding it."
"And that news about the American who got shot at Brixton? Can I see his file? Sherlock seems to be working on that one when he sent himself to your jail."
If Greg Lestrade knew how to hesitate, he was doing it now. One look at his face told the doctor something was clearly amiss with the topic he chose to bring up.
"Greg?"
"Oh that... sorry John but can't do. The files for that one is already labelled confidential. It was already sent to the higher ups. It's no longer in this division."
"When you say 'higher ups'...?" John's eyes narrowed.
"Mycroft."
The double doors of the office opened and there came in a tall, authoritative man in a perfectly worn suit with tie, clean black shoes and gait of a man demanding respect. John had seen him so often to be in anyway intimidated and just then he wasn't for he was still feeling vexed at being kept at the dark by his own best friend.
Maybe his brother may prove to be some sort of light.
"John?" the older Holmes greeted him as he surveyed him from head to toe, "Seems like you had quite a morning with going ins and outs of buildings. Do tell me where you and Sherlock get your energy? I still can't seem to entertain the idea of too much legwork." He moved around the room in his long legs and leaned his umbrella on the side of the table before assuming his seat behind the table in the middle of the room. John followed him with his eyes and knew better to believe that this man can't do legwork. He seemed a pretty busybody guy himself.
"How's your family?" came the unexpected question.
"Ah, yes, they're fine." John cleared his throat, "I should be asking you the same."
But Mycroft didn't take the bait and merely smiled.
"Ever since your wedding I thought I'd see more of my brother... but as it turns out it seems like I see more of you myself. Now does that tell us something?"
"Uh, I don't know," the doctor shrugged his shoulder, "that maybe it's because your brother has decided to throw himself into prison without giving a proper reason and that the police allowed him so because it's him. I don't know if you can get somewhere with that?"
"Did he now?" the older Holmes looked thoughtful for awhile that made John frown.
"You didn't know he sent himself in prison?"
"Of course I do... I just wondered why you aren't."
The doctor gave Mycroft a long look before blinking several times.
"So a lot of people really believed that I'd follow him there?"
"Well..." it was Mycroft's turn to give a short pause, "it's very unlike you not to do so, isn't it?"
At that, John really burst out laughing while Mycroft Holmes rolled his eyes and look at the papers on his table.
"Now that your seizure is over I'm assuming you didn't just come here to tell me about how my brother is playing around? You look like you have more to say in your mind?" he looked up in time to see the doctor straighten himself on the chair and hear him clear his throat.
"Uh, yeah... its' about that case Sherlock's got... about an American biochemist. Sherlock said you know the murderer of that man?"
"'Murderer' is hardly the word."
"Sherlock said you'd say that." A smile was nearly playing at the corner of the doctor's lips.
"He was killed by one of our federal state's agents, John, because that man is a terrorist."
Now that shut John up. Mycroft was already reading through the files on his table as he continued—
"I shouldn't be revealing anything to a civilian... but then again, you aren't just a civilian, am I right, John? That man was carrying a bio weapon undetectable from the moment he arrived at the security airport. We were only able to confirm it when we traced his call to one of the extremist groups we've been monitoring for some time. Then knowing it was a bioweapon the division was ever so careful to tackle him until it came to the point of shooting."
"Why shoot him?"
"He made contact with a civilian in his active moment of threat we see no reason not to shoot. We immediately sent our people to attend to his body but we found nothing on the man."
John was listening intently at this and had straightened up, "You found nothing on him? But wouldn't that make him innocent?"
"Not at all," Mycroft gave him a piercing look as he leaned on his chair, his clear eyes showing that he knows more than what he was saying, "I told you—we traced his calls." And raised a cellular phone from the files on his table.
"That's the man's...?"
Mycroft nodded and dropped the phone on his desk.
"The peculiarity of this case is probably the disappearance of the promised bioweapon... then again since my brother's on the case I get to relax for a bit."
"You mean to say Sherlock knows where the bioweapon is?"
The look Mycroft gave him was one John would never forget.
"Why else would he send himself inside a prison, John?"
~ TO BE CONTINUED~
A/N: to fall in love with the same characters again and again... that's really something.
*particulars of their eye colors not so consistent (its hard to identify but I kinda like the idea of green and blue)
* will run for 3 chapters at most ;) Attention Mark Gatiss! xD
Happy Birthday! Amazing man!
~Thanks for Reading~