Lesson in Friendship 8 - Vulnerability
Disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC, Mr. Moffat, Mr. Gatiss or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made.
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Chapter 36
Friday
The following night they spent once more surveilling the flat since Lestrade's people were again busy with their other case.
This time John was more prepared. He had brought sandwiches, biscuits and a thermos with tea.
When he offered some to Sherlock in the middle of the night the detective seemed shocked about the idea to drink 'old' tea.
"And how are we supposed to prevent it from getting old?"
"Just bring hot water and make fresh tea."
"Oh, you've gained some camping experience while you were away? Camped in cars a lot?" John asked in a joking tone, he had waited for an opportunity to get some more background information about Sherlock's time away for days, not to talk about the bad stuff, just stuff at all, he was a bit curious.
"No."
"What then…?"
"Camped without cars."
"Seriously? You camped in a tent? Sorry but I can't really picture that," John continued to provide mental images, knowing Sherlock would feel the need to correct them if he was wrong.
"No."
"Oh, right. Under bridges, then?"
"Sometimes."
"What? Really?"
This was a bit more shocking than the doctor had expected. He tried to imagine Sherlock without his tailored suits and high-quality shirts. He had seen him in disguise and known he wasn't demure when it came to such things as living on the streets, but imagining it to be more than for undercover work that lasted a few days felt just wrong.
"No, I'm just joking. Most of the time I managed to find abandoned buildings or drug dens." Sherlock's voice was dripping with sarcasm and he opened his eyes wide to underline it.
John wondered how much his flatmate had slipped back or was forced back into behaviours and procedures that he had discarded long ago.
"Oh, come on, I was just curious to learn a bit about your time abroad."
"So why didn't you say so?"
"Well, I just wanted talk a bit about the little things. There must have been some entertaining details. So, where did you sleep?"
"Abandoned buildings, cheap hotels, outsides, expensive hotels, cars, cellars, and so on. Satisfied?" Sherlock spit.
John sighed, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to… make this awkward, just interested in a bit background stuff. Figured you're not eager to tell."
Sherlock fetched a cigarette and lit it.
"Shit, Sherlock, don't smoke in here!"
The consultant exited the car and John watched him walk a few steps away from the vehicle.
That went well.
John decided he couldn't let him get away with it. They needed to keep that level of trust up, needed to talk about things. Once Sherlock closed up again it would be almost impossible to reopen the door; also, John needed to keep an eye on his moods, which were not good lately.
The building they observed housed at least twelve flats and a lot of people went in an out during the evening, but the later it got the fewer there were. John lost track on who was who but Sherlock seemed to have figured that out, though he didn't found it necessary to elaborate; so John just watched and tried to remember the details he was able to see in the dim light.
The first half of the night passed extremely slow and they were silent most of the time, which stressed John immensely, he tried to make nice or fun talk, but Sherlock reacted unnerved or sarcastic without exception. The doctor's attempts to entertain him by telling him all day stuff earned him that he was ignored and sometimes Sherlock even surfed on his mobile when he spoke.
Overall Sherlock seemed withdrawn and tired.
The doctor spent a lot of the long silent hours thinking about how he could help Sherlock and how to make Ella assist with that, he also planned the coming week.
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At around half past ten - when John was answering Mary's latest email - Sherlock tensed up.
The detective intensely stared at the windows.
"Saw something?"
"I see things whenever I open my eyes."
Sherlock said nothing more but relaxed back into his seat a few minutes later.
Half an hour later John fell asleep.
He woke when Sherlock tipped his arm.
"John?"
"Hm?"
"Someone might be in the flat."
"What?" John immediately felt the adrenaline rush wake him up completely.
"There's the hint of a dim flickering light."
"Okay, what do we do?"
"Let's go," Sherlock grabbed the torch and left the car. The former soldier fetched his gun and hurried out to follow him.
"Sherlock, wait! What do you plan to do?" John whispered.
"Just making sure there is someone inside, if there is, it is essential to prevent being spotted. We then follow him when he leaves. If we take him in now we'll never find the current hostage, we need to know how he gets in..."
"So, how does that help us?"
"Staircase first, then check the roof, which is more likely."
They hurried into the building and started to climb the stairs as silent as possible.
But halfway up the light was switched on and they heard someone on the stairs. Sherlock gestured John to just go on.
Two landings under the potential victim's flat a boyish looking man passed them, his head mostly concealed by a baseball cap, a hoodie and his greasy collar turned up.
The detective passed him as if all was normal, but the moment he was out of the young man's sight Sherlock turned around, a frown on his face, that was clearly meant to direct John's attention to the man.
When the man passed John he tried to look at him as unobtrusive as possible, trying to appear uninterested. Once he was behind him, he turned around to take a closer look at the man's statue.
But the exact moment the man also turned around and watched them. John saw that he was older than he appeared at first impression, but not older than thirty. When the man realised he was watched he turned back around and continued down the stairs.
John listened to his steps, they were not getting faster and Sherlock had continued up the stairs so that it sounded as if they were normal inhabitants or visitors.
Had he seen that the man had seen John eyeing him?
When Sherlock reached the missing woman's front door - her name was Sandra Herman - he demonstratively stared down at her heavy coir doormat, which was not in a parallel line to the door.
"He saw me watching him, he turned around," John leaned close to the detective and whispered, in a very low voice.
"Sure?" Sherlock looked up at him.
"Yeah, of course I'm sure! He turned around to see if we did the same," John hissed.
Sherlock pointed at the mat and took out his keys to clink them as if he was preparing to open a door.
"What is it?" John whispered.
"We checked the flat before we started our observation, back then the mat rested there in the 'correct' way."
"Everyone could have jumbled it," John responded.
"True, but to make it get stuck under the door one has to stand on it while closing the door from the outside. If a person closed it without standing on it, it would just be shove out of the way. To shove it into the slit would take more force than anyone who accidentally nudged it would have," Sherlock explained.
He carefully pulled at the corner of the mat to underline how tight it was stuck.
The man's steps could still be heard on the stairs, he must be almost at the door.
"Anyone not in a hurry would have taken the time to push it back in the right position, since the door doesn't close easily like this. So if he is our perpetrator why was he in a hurry?"
Sherlock whispered, a few moments later the street door closed automatically after the man downstairs.
That moment Sherlock started to run down the stairs like a bat out of hell. John blinked in surprise and followed him.
"I couldn't risk having him running off in alarm when we don't know where the victim is. He needed to feel safe and leave undisturbed. We need to follow him undiscovered," Sherlock panted.
"Well, the basic idea is logical, but he looked as if he already discovered us," John answered while they ran down the stairs.
When Sherlock reached the small staircase outside the front door he stood still and listened for a moment. He looked like a statue, sharpening his senses, his eyes closed while he listened carefully, then he started to run off into the side street at the right, John had heard the echo of faint running feet, too.
"Come on, John," Sherlock urged while starting to run full speed.
The doctor hurried after him.
They ran… and John smiled, this was like old times, he had never dared to hope they'd do this again, it was great!
But after a few hundred metres John realised that Sherlock was not as fit as he used to be. The other man was clearly having a harder time than he should have. John had no problem at all overtaking him.
They rounded a corner and John could hear the suspect more clearly now that they were getting closer. He was glad he was wearing soft shoes, Sherlock's were also a lot more silent than he would have guessed. They looked like his usual posh footwear but must be equipped with rubber soles.
"He might be… heading to the… subway station," John theorised.
"… or the… dark park… right next to it," Sherlock added, breathing heavily.
They ran down the street and rounded the next corner, and it became more and clearer to John that Sherlock wouldn't be able to keep up with him for long.
Another two hundred metres later the doctor realised he either left him behind or they'd loose the suspect soon.
Sherlock must have come to the same conclusion because he softly yelled "Go!" behind John.
The former army doctor sped up and heard Sherlock slow down. He briefly looked back to make sure Sherlock was okay.
The detective had stopped and leaned over, resting his hands against his knees for two breaths and then John heard him continue to run after him.
John gave full speed now and ran down the street. He saw the suspect vanished to the right the moment he spotted him, but it was too dark to see if he just went into the plants or into a driveway or a small side street.
John hurried to get there, hoping he'd still hear his steps once he was there.
He was aware that Sherlock was still behind him in the alley, the gap between them was large but he heard him run and pant. When John reached the point where the suspect had vanished he dragged his weapon out of his pocket and listened.
John could no longer hear or see him.
He stopped and held his breath to hear better.
Nothing - not even normal steps in the distance - which meant Sherlock had seen him stop and also stopped to enable him to hear better.
He turned around to make sure Sherlock was okay and saw him stand in the middle of the street, signing him to go.
John concentrated once more on listening.
Nothing.
No steps, no breaking twigs, no rebounding branches or brushed past leaves.
John went on to see if there was a gap in the bushes the man might have chosen to hide.
He went into the vegetation were the foliage was forming a gap, slowly, making sure no one was lurking in the dark.
He broke through the double line of thick bushes that opened to a line of trees and then headed to the mowed grass of the park. Street lights were on and the area was lit, so John would have been able to spot anyone running there, but the area was totally empty. He listened carefully again and there was nothing to be heard than the soft breeze in the leaves of the trees and a distant larger street.
The man couldn't have vanished into thin air!
But the grass would have muffled his steps.
John was panting, if the suspect had stopped he'd be breathing hard, too… or having a hard time to try to breathe noiseless, he wouldn't be able to do that for long, John needed to wait just a few more moments and listen.
But he heard nothing.
He waited… but even after two more minutes he wasn't able to hear anything. He cursed inwardly and wondered why Sherlock hadn't caught up with him yet. But he certainly would have made noises if the suspect would have returned to the pavement again.
John returned to the street, and made sure that the man wasn't back on the street heading to the subway station.
Nothing.
Shit.
They had lost him. John ran further down the street, looking for more hiding places, but there was nothing, just the official entrance to the park.
Huffing with annoyance he turned around to see where Sherlock was.
The fact that Sherlock was also no longer standing in the alley made a new rush of adrenaline run through his body.
Shit, where was he?
John ran back through the alley. When he was half through his anxious mind started producing scenarios where Sherlock had been ambushed.
To his great relief he saw the detective a few moments later, crouched down with his back leaned against a wall, behind a pile of damaged euro pallets.
"Sherlock?"
When John came nearer he could see the detective was still breathing heavily.
"Sherlock?" John stopped a few steps away.
The other man straightened and struggled to stand up straight.
"Sorry, lost him."
Sherlock hit his right fist into the brick wall, not angry about John, just frustrated about their failure.
The doctor's jaw dropped in shock, that must have really hurt, but the detective kept a straight face.
With his eyes wide open about that he asked, "You're okay?"
Sherlock pushed himself from the wall, starting to walk away.
This was another sign that he was really not okay at the moment.
When the doctor saw he was walking on wobbly legs, he headed back down the street from where they had come.
"Hang on," John tried to step around him, "What did just happen?"
"Nothing."
"You ran out of breath."
Sherlock coughed, "Great observation. I'm fine."
John reached for his arm and stepped in front of him. He had done that a lot lately, but this time Sherlock didn't slow down his steps, he just looked at him, into his eyes.
"I'm fine, John!" he said with an icy tone, but John could see his sadness and the pain in his eyes.
A few moments later they reached the corner of the street where the car was.
While walking the detective pulled out his phone and hit a speed dial button. John fell into steps besides him.
"Lestrade, we believe we met out suspect,… No… he fled. He seemed to have recognised us when we passed him in the stairway… No… Yes, we saw a light in the flat… Yes… We'll go in there now… No… No. I said we will go in there now… Then you better get here fast," he hung up.
They were back at the house's entrance and entered.
Sherlock switched on the light and went up the stairs but was panting hard again when they finally reached the young woman's front door. He tried to suppress his loud breathing and produced the key Lestrade had given them. With clumsy and shaking fingers he then tried to fit it in the lock, it took three tries until he managed to get the key inside the keyhole, his efforts to be as silent as possible made the task even harder.
John just stood there and watched, knowing addressing it would be a total waste of time and only cause more frustration.
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A/N:
Thank you for reading.
