Chapter 2
When Sherlock had first run into Murphy at one of Moran's old 'offices', or, as the rest of the world saw it, a small, cheap pub out in the East End, he first thought he'd have to bolt. Not only did Murphy work for Moran, but he also knew Sherlock's real identity. And the last time they had met, Murphy had picked him up and handed him over to Moran to be beaten, drugged and almost killed.
But as his eyes met the other man's across the room, he hesitated. Murphy had not blown Sherlock's cover. And he did seem to be a lot smarter than anyone else Sherlock had met in that line of work. Smarter, in fact, than anyone he had ever met that he wasn't related to.
Murphy smiled and beckoned him over and, figuring there were plenty of witnesses around for nothing truly dangerous to happen, Sherlock walked over to join him at the bar.
"Did you ever get paid?" he asked as he sat down on the stool next to Murphy.
The man laughed and shook his head. "No. Moran kept blowing me off. And then he disappeared. But… You already know that part, right?"
Sherlock nodded and accepted the beer that Murphy handed him. "Are you still working for him?" he asked.
"Uhuh." Murphy grinned. "The bastard hasn't been back in the country as far as I know. Not since he had to run from your brother and his cavalry."
They both laughed and drank to the memory.
"But what about his boss? Weren't you really working for him anyway?"
"Nah," Murphy said and shrugged. "I never even met the old fart. I just took my orders from Moran and kept my head down. Like you, but… better…"
"No way you were better than me," Sherlock said, chuckling.
They joked and talked for almost an hour and Sherlock felt more relaxed than he had since the day he had first come across Moran's name.
After Murphy left, Sherlock realised he had left a small slip of paper under his glass, with his phone number and initials. Sherlock had taken it, though he doubted he would ever use it. Murphy was no longer connected to Moran or his boss. He was of no use to him.
But then, when John had turned him down, he realised that Murphy would do just as well, maybe even better, for this particular job.
And now, here they were. Sherlock dressed as Stevenson again and Murphy looking quite sharp in tight low-cut jeans and an even tighter t-shirt. When they walked into the club, Murphy took Sherlock's hand and the detective could practically feel how the attention of the entire room focused on them.
There was no denying they did look quite fetching together. Murphy had mastered the art of looking cute while still masculine, while Sherlock's own appearance was designed to signal both trouble and availability. In short, they looked like living and breathing dream dates for most men in the place.
There was really only a slim chance that he would find any news of Moran here, but he had exhausted all other sources the previous day, and when Moran had brought him here once, some of the staff had seemed to know him pretty well. Sherlock suspected it had something to do with the escort service that was being run out of the back room, but could not prove anything.
So he was just here to listen, ask some questions and probably confirm that Moran had not been seen in London for months.
He was leaned over the bar, talking to one of the guys who sort of remembered him, when he felt a hand on his arse. Murphy's. Caressing him in a rather possessive and slightly suggestive manner. He was about to push it away, when he realised that a lot of men were watching them. They had been the whole time, but the predatory hunger had changed to the detached admiration of someone looking at something pleasant that they know they will never have.
He relaxed, and once the bartender had moved on, turned to Murphy with a smile.
"Thanks," he said. "I think it helped."
"My pleasure," Murphy said, and he gave his bum a squeeze that took Sherlock quite by surprise.
Many people were still watching them and Sherlock was slightly worried that someone might soon start wondering at him constantly talking to the staff. So he took Murphy's hand and led him to the dance floor
Murphy proved, unsurprisingly, to be a good dancer. A slow song came on and, without really thinking, Sherlock let himself be pulled closer until they were dancing cheek to cheek. They moved well together and it was quite comfortable. He let Murphy lead him and closed his eyes.
The monotonous music and slow movements seemed to clear his mind and he let it go over the little he had learned over the past few days. The victim, though badly disfigured, had definitely been Jane Levington, and the killer could only be Moran's boss. Sherlock had seen enough to never forget the mess this man could make when he lost his temper.
But why? That was the real question. That the boss had taken care of this himself, most likely meant that Moran had not returned. But then again, if Moran had not returned, why kill Levington? She had been in hiding for so long. He had, in fact, assumed that she was no longer in London. And in all that time, she had not gone to the authorities with what she knew. She had not even contacted Sherlock.
He was going over every detail of his only encounter with the woman when an unexpected sensation startled him. Hot and warm. And wet.
Murphy, it turned out, was sucking gently on his earlobe. Sherlock giggled. Not only did it tickle, but it also seemed like a very strange thing to do. It was not like it would be particularly visible to those who might still be watching them.
Then it dawned on him. He might not have made it completely clear that they were here to work. Could the other man perhaps be under the impression that this was an actual date? The hand on Sherlock's arse might have been a test to see if they were on the same page and Sherlock, misunderstanding the gesture, had confirmed that he was interested too.
And now they had been dancing, their bodies pressed together for almost half an hour. Of course Murphy would think they were together. The ear-sucking was a bit peculiar. Wouldn't a kiss be more natural at this point? Maybe it had seemed inconvenient, considering the position of their heads.
That, at least, was easy to test. Sherlock pulled his head back gently and turned it to face Murphy. And he was right. In 1.2 seconds, Murphy's lips were on his in a surprisingly gentle kiss.
Moran had been all demand and hunger, and Sherlock had gotten more used to it than he had realised. This was tender but also passionate. Like there was a desire underneath, but Murphy was holding back. It reminded him of the way John had looked at Lt Morstan.
He considered pulling back and explaining the misunderstanding. But that might lead to a scene that would definitely blow their cover. And what was the harm really? Murphy had his eyes closed so he wouldn't notice Sherlock scanning the room, checking if there were any of the staff he had not yet spoken to.
A moment later, Sherlock concluded that there was nothing more to do here and he closed his eyes too, focusing on the kiss for a while. Then he pulled back, took Murphy's hand and whispered. "Let's get out of here."
The shorter man nodded eagerly. His cheeks were flushed and he seemed slightly out of breath. He was quite smitten, it seemed. This merited consideration. Could it be useful or should Sherlock get rid of him?
…
Murphy had wanted Sherlock to go home with him, but Sherlock had managed to excuse himself without offending the other man, and shortly after midnight, he was back at Baker Street, humming a tune that had got stuck in his mind, as he made himself a cup of tea.
"What are you so happy about?" John's voice sounded from behind him, rough and a bit muffled.
"Happy?" Sherlock spun around and almost laughed at the sight that met him. John was in his pyjamas, his hair was sticking up on one side of his head and he seemed to be having problems keeping his eyes open. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing," John said, frowning and running a hand through his hair. "Do you think you put on enough water for two cups?"
Sherlock looked at the kettle. "Yes, I believe so." He glanced back at John. He had been on a date, but he had come home alone. And he had been asleep for a while, so the date had not gone well. John seemed unsettled, but not frustrated. So his appearance and mood were not caused by the date going sour. Sherlock sighed. "Is the war haunting you again?"
John shrugged. "Don't really want to talk about it."
Sherlock tried to hide his relief. "How was your date?" he asked, turning to the cupboard to get two cups.
John shrugged again. "Certainly not as good as yours. I take it you found something of importance for the case?"
Sherlock nodded as he poured the tea. "Moran's still not in London. And probably not even in the country." He handed John one of the cups.
John nodded, sipping the too hot tea gratefully. "And?"
"I've got a date on Friday," Sherlock muttered into his cup before taking a large sip and burning his tongue.
John almost choked, even though he wasn't drinking. "A date? As in, what normal people call a date?"
Sherlock shrugged. "I guess so. A light dinner and drinks."
"With... someone?" John asked, his eyes widening.
"Well, it wouldn't be a date if I went on my own, would it?" Sherlock said. He couldn't help but smile a little at John's reaction.
"I thought you didn't... I mean... Sorry," John blushed, quickly taking another sip of tea.
Sherlock chuckled. "I do. Not much, but I am capable, you know." He winked and walked past John into the living room to sit down in his chair.
John stayed in the kitchen a little longer, and when he joined Sherlock, he was still blushing. "So, ehm... Want to tell anything about... them?"
Sherlock chuckled. He had not expected this part to be fun. He had been about to tell John that it was, obviously, just for the case, but now he couldn't resist having some fun with him. Just a bit. "He... is an old acquaintance that I met again yesterday. His name is James and he works in private security." Not a complete lie, Sherlock thought, as he finished his tea.
John smiled. "Well, good luck."
Sherlock nodded, deciding to keep the game going a little longer.
John emptied his tea. "Guess I better go try to sleep again. Got a job in the morning."
"Yes," Sherlock said, already lost in thoughts about what course to take on the case. He had to find Moran's boss. Or at least find out who the man actually was.
"Alright." John smirked a little. "I'll leave you to your thoughts. Goodnight."
…
"Morning... Why are you up so early?" John asked, sounding grumpy as he entered the kitchen to make breakfast.
"I've got a case," Sherlock said. "Why sleep more than I have to?" He studied John as he worked, making a mental note of his puffy eyes, tousled hair and deep frown lines. "More nightmares?" he asked.
John shrugged. "Was to be expected, I guess. Starting a new job and everything. And the evening didn't exactly provide much relaxation."
"Yes, that was quite unfortunate. You must be worried it will cause awkwardness when you are working together," Sherlock mused, studying John's reactions.
John just huffed and sipped his tea.
Sherlock smiled and went to get a cup for himself. "I suppose it could be worse," he said, keeping an eye on John. "If you had actually... succeeded with her. I mean, if you had had intercourse last night, wouldn't that be even more awkward?"
"Could you, by any chance, shut up for a bit?"
"Oh... of course," Sherlock hid his smile behind his cup. John really was a treasure trove of human emotions and hangups. He could learn so much from studying him.
Perhaps it was a good thing that John had gotten a job. Otherwise he'd never get any real work done.
"What are your plans for the day, then?" John asked as he smeared jam on his toast.
Sherlock stretched. "I'll mainly be online," he said. "Looking for incidents abroad that might be connected to Moran."
John nodded. "Text me if you're about to do something dangerous, okay?"
"Like click a 'Yes, I am over 18' button?" Sherlock asked, suppressing a giggle.
John rolled his eyes. "So I know when I have to come fish your remaining bits out of the Thames."
"I will let you know when I am about to go in," Sherlock said, nodding.
"Thanks." John sighed and got up. "See you tonight, then."
Sherlock nodded and pulled his laptop over. He hardly noticed John leave, as he had come across some promising triple homicide in Athens. Half an hour later he had, however, determined that it was not connected to Moran, but to an Albanian gang whose attempt to expand had gone wrong. He was about to go make himself another cup of tea when he heard steps coming up the stairs.
"Good morning, Mrs Hudson," he said, smiling and holding up his empty cup. "Perfect timing. As always."
Mrs Hudson sighed. "Not your housekeeper, Sherlock!"
"I know," Sherlock said, smiling brightly as he held out the cup to her.
She shook her head and took the cup to the kitchen. "I saw John leave," she said. "It's not his habit to go out this early, so I hope you didn't have words again?"
"He's gotten a job," Sherlock said. "He is a doctor, you know." He started a new search and leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment.
"Of course," she smiled. "So everything is alright between you two?"
"Yes, of course it is." Sherlock said, opening one eye to glance at her. "He's my friend."
"Oh, I know how it is," she winked. "I'm so glad to have seen the day you brought someone home!"
Sherlock frowned. "Are you implying something?" he asked.
"Oh, you don't have to be afraid," Mrs Hudson said, handing him his cup. "You know I only wish you the best. And Mrs Turner even has married ones, I'm not judging!"
"John and I are just friends," he said as he took the cup. "He is far too fond of women for us to be anything more. And I am too fond of my work."
She frowned. "But..." Then she stopped talking and shook her head. "Alright."
"Besides, you know this arrangement is only temporary. Now that John has found a job, he'll be finding a place of his own soon." Sherlock sipped his tea and focused back on the screen, where a series of disappearances in Tokyo had caught his attention.
Mrs Hudson sighed. "It will be a shame, if he really does that. You're different since he's moved in, you know."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow but did not comment. He had to agree. He was different. John's constant fussing had forced him to change some of his methods, being more 'careful' as John called it. He would have thought it would have seemed duller working like this, but it had proved not only safer, but more efficient, and therefore exciting in its own way.
He was never going to admit this to anyone, of course, but he too regretted John's wish to move out.
Mrs Hudson seemed to see something change in his expression and she gently patted his shoulder. "I'll let you work," she said, before leaving.
Sherlock nodded in thanks and forced his mind back on track.
Shortly before noon, he had gotten nowhere and was about to start a potentially dangerous experiment, simply so he could not text John about it, when he got the best kind of text. Lestrade wanted him down at the Yard. A case!
Sherlock sprinted to his room to get changed and was down on the street, hailing a cab, five minutes later.
...
"So," he said, as he strode into Lestrade's office, loosening his scarf. "What have you got for me? Please tell me it's a good one, seeing as how you've called me off another, quite urgent case."
"To be honest, I'm not sure it will be worth it," Lestrade said with a sigh. "It seemed pretty obvious to me, but I got orders from above to investigate every inch of it because they expect there is more to it."
"Above?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, as he prepared to turn around and walk right out the door again. "My brother?"
"I'm honestly not sure. At least I haven't heard from him directly," Lestrade said. "But they're important, so I'd like you to go have a look. It's only a little outside London."
"Outside of London?" Sherlock's interest was slightly piqued. It wasn't often Lestrade gave him jobs outside of the city.
Lestrade nodded. "You can drive with me. If you take the case, that is. So I can give you more details on the way."
"As long as it's not in a police car," Sherlock said, frowning slightly.
…
It did indeed seem pretty obvious. A young, newly wed couple had been on their way home from their honeymoon in Vietnam. They had landed in Stansted the previous day at noon, and left by car, but never arrived at their home in London. A search had been started that morning and the car, with the deceased couple inside, had been found in a lake a few miles south of Chelmsford.
"So," Sherlock said, frowning. "They got into a fight and ran off the road. Or she got a bit too friendly and distracted him. Why do you need me for this?"
Lestrade shrugged. "I thought the same. And yet we have orders to give it priority. I don't understand."
Sherlock nodded. That in itself was significant. "Do you have anything on them?" he asked. He might as well spend the drive reading if the DI had nothing useful to tell him.
"I popped the files into your door compartment," Lestrade nodded, his eyes on the road. "It's not much. Their names, details about their trip, but nothing really useful, in my opinion. They don't have any criminal history."
"Of course they don't," Sherlock said, picking up the files and flicking through them.
Perfectly ordinary people, it seemed. Despairingly so. Mid-twenties, both with a steady yet low-profile job. Just bought a small house in Havering, had a dog and played badminton every Sunday with friends.
They had gotten married a fortnight ago and had spent the honeymoon in Vietnam, primarily at the poolside according to the e-mails they had sent to their parents and her sister, who had been taking care of their dog.
Madeleine and Charles Forrestal had, in other words, no enemies, no vices and had no access to secrets or items that anyone would kill for.
The car had been new, a wedding present from his parents and, so far, forensics had found nothing wrong with it. The autopsy reports would not be ready before late in the evening or maybe even the following day.
Sherlock sighed. "The only thing about these deaths that indicates that something criminal has happened, is that they should not have happened. These two had no reason to fight, they were too dull to try any kind of fornication or even foreplay while driving and no one would wish them any harm. The bridge where the accident happened is wide and has a straight road on each side, so it could not have taken the driver by surprise, and tire tracks show that there were no other vehicles involved." He shook the files, as if for emphasis. "So what happened? What?"
"That's why we brought you in," Lestrade said as he parked the car.
"Of course," Sherlock said as he got out of the car and looked around.
After an hour at the scene, Sherlock had gotten no further. There was absolutely no logical explanation for the car going over the side of that bridge. He had even gone through their soaked suitcases and found nothing but what could be expected. Dirty clothes and horrible souvenirs.
He turned to Lestrade. "Where are the bodies?" he asked.
"Back in Bart's morgue. They're examining them, but we haven't gotten the reports yet," Lestrade answered.
"Then let me see for myself," Sherlock said, slightly annoyed at having come this far for nothing.
Lestrade nodded. "I'm sorry. I just don't know where to start looking for this. Or what I'm looking for."
"You'll know when you see it," Sherlock said, heading back to the car.
...
Lestrade brought him straight to the morgue. "I'll join you in a bit after I've done the paperwork, so you're allowed to have a look," he said as he dropped Sherlock off.
Sherlock strode through the door and pushed Molly aside to get at the two bodies she had been examining. "Tell me what you've done so far," he said as he shrugged off his coat.
"Oh, hi, Sherlock," Molly said. "Er - these two? There - there are no traces of a fight before they had the accident, and we're running tests for poison, but-"
"I see," Sherlock said, beginning his examination of the woman's feet.
"All rather weird, isn't it?" Molly said with a nervous little laugh.
Sherlock glanced at her. "The accident? Or that it's being investigated?" he asked.
"Well, one moment they're coming back from their honeymoon, starting a new part of their life, and the next they're drowning. At least I guess they were happy when they died. Well, except that they died, of course." Molly blushed and turned to the man's corpse to open his mouth.
"So you think being happy makes a difference?" Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow. "I would have thought that would be considered more cruel. If they had been miserable, they might have welcomed death." He considered it for a moment. "But yes... I see your point. This way, they were spared the disappointment of seeing all their dreams fail."
"Ehm... Something like that," Molly answered, frowning a little.
"Then I suppose their deaths could be considered merciful," Sherlock said, focusing on the palm of the woman's left hand. He frowned. "Do you have their clothes?" he asked.
"Yes, I'll get them for you," Molly said quickly.
Sherlock continued examining the woman, focusing on the right side of her upper body and face.
"There you go," Molly said as she returned and laid the clothes on a table.
Sherlock turned from the body and after a quick search pulled out a wad of soggy, rather creased papers. Picking the spot on the table with the best light, he began smoothing them out carefully.
"I knew it," he said. "They were in seats d and e. Why was she sitting by a window, then? They must have changed seats on the plane." He whirled on Molly. "Get me Lestrade. Now," he ordered.
She nodded and hurried off.
Sherlock's phone chimed.
'Where are you?'
He frowned at the text. Wasn't John supposed to be at work? Then he noticed the time and realised it was a lot later than he thought.
'At the morgue,' he replied before returning to the bodies. It would take John a while to get here, so he might as well continue his examination.
"Okay, what have you got for me?" Lestrade asked as he entered.
"They changed seats on the flight. I need to know when and why. And with whom," Sherlock snapped as he opened the left eyelid of the man, then the right, examining the iris.
"Ah... I'll return to the office to find out, then," Lestrade said. He almost bumped into John as he went back on his steps.
"See this," Sherlock said, not looking up. "Does this seem right to you?"
John frowned in confusion, but stepped closer.
They checked the eyes and mouth of the man, and then the woman. It soon became obvious. The man had been poisoned. Excessively so. Though drowning had been the cause of death, he would not have lived more than a few minutes longer, had their car not ended up in the lake. He had lost consciousness when they were halfway across the bridge, and despite his wife's attempt to stop the car, it had gone through the railing and into the water.
The wife had minor traces of poison too, but only on her lips and tongue. It would not have been enough to harm her beyond a massive headache.
Now the bigger question posed itself: Why?
"Do you think this'll be solved before Friday evening?" John asked softly as Sherlock was impatiently drumming his fingers on the table, staring in thought at the corpses, which were now covered again.
"I suspect it will be solved by tonight, if I can get the information from the plane," Sherlock said, turning from the bodies and putting his scarf back on.
John nodded. "Good. Do you already know where you're going to go?"
"Well, maybe the airport, but I'm hoping that won't be necessary." Sherlock went over to the door and looked out into the corridor to see if Molly was on her way. He still needed the reports to determine exactly what kind of poison was used and how much, though he was pretty sure the dose had been at least 40% larger than needed to kill Forrestal.
"What?" John chuckled. "I meant for your date. I guess you're not taking him to the airport... yet." He grinned.
Sherlock frowned. What was John talking about? Then it dawned on him. "Oh," he said. "I don't know. Maybe Angelo's," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Is it important?"
John looked uncomfortable for a moment. "I was just... curious. Do you... often take your dates to Angelo's?"
Sherlock studied him. Something was bothering John. But what? His own date had gone badly. Perhaps he was trying to get ideas for ways to avoid such failure in the future. But Sherlock was hardly the one to ask about such matters.
"Of course not. I don't date," he answered.
"Looks like you do now." John had found back a little smile. "With James."
"Oh, I see." Sherlock smiled. John was just being curious. Of course he was. Sherlock himself had been teasing him on the subject. "Technically, I suppose you're right, but it's not really a date in the sense that most people would think."
John raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Yes, of course." What was with John today? Was he always this slow? "It's for the case. Well, not this case, but the other one. About Moran and his boss."
John stared at him.
"Got it! It is indeed poison!" Molly waved the papers in her hand as she came in.
"Wait..." John said. "You can't be dating one of Moran's men?"
"Uhm..." Sherlock said, instantly more focused on the papers in Molly's hand. "Yes?"
Molly's eyes went from Sherlock to John and back. She opened her mouth and closed it again.
"You are out of your mind. Completely," John said, shaking his head and walking to the door.
Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation before snatching the papers out of Molly's hand and following him.
…
"Sherlock, hi. We've found the name of the man the Forrestals changed places with," Lestrade's voice sounded over the phone.
Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. "Who is he?" he asked.
"Well... There's a bit of a problem. Somehow, he has heard that you are involved in the case. And he doesn't want to talk to you. I'm not even allowed to tell you his name."
Sherlock held the phone out and stared at it for a moment, his brow knitted in thought. Then he lodged it between his cheek and shoulder so he could reach for his laptop and open it.
"So they exchanged seats with whomever told us to investigate this... Will he be willing to let me interview him? Without revealing his identity, of course."
"I can ask him," Lestrade said hesitantly.
"If it will help, tell him he will not be talking to me directly. I can instruct John to do the interview."
John, who was sitting in his chair, looked up from his cup of tea. "What interview?" he mouthed.
"Right," Lestrade answered. "I'll let you know if he wants to make an appointment, okay?"
"Yes," Sherlock said and hung up. Then he turned to John, smiling. "This case is proving to be more interesting than I initially thought," he said. "I am going to need you to interview Sir Bellinger. Find out why he exchanged seats with the Forrestals and why someone would want to kill him."
"Ah," John said. "Why won't you do it?"
"He won't talk to me," Sherlock said. "My brother has probably warned him that I'd deduce too much, were I to meet with him."
"Ah. So you need me."
Something in John's tone made Sherlock pause. "Of course I do," he said, wondering why John felt such a need to state the obvious.
John let out a small huff.
"What?" Sherlock asked. "Did I say something wrong?"
John sighed. "I'm just still... I can't believe that you're taking a risk like that date again."
Sherlock sighed. So that was what was bothering John. "How can it be a risk? I am taking the man to dinner. He does not even work for Moran anymore and even when he did, he did not blow my cover."
"But you're expecting him to give information! If he can do that, there's a chance Moran's men are following him to silence him, and then you're in the middle of all that. Don't you see what danger you are getting yourself into?" John emptied his tea and put down the cup a little more forcefully than necessary.
"No more danger than I am in every time I walk out the door. Moran has as much reason to want to kill me as he does with Murphy." Sherlock shrugged. "I'm as much danger to him as he is to me. And yet... here we are." He grinned as he opened a document and began typing the questions he'd want John to ask.
John was quiet for a while before he spoke again. "I think it would be safer if someone would keep an eye on you. On the date. Just in case... Murphy isn't quite who he says he is." He shifted in his chair.
Sherlock almost giggled. "Are you saying we need a chaperone?"
"No... Not like that." John looked annoyed. "I could just watch out for... you know, unusual things to happen. Dangerous things. I wouldn't... meddle..."
Meddle? In what? Sherlock was about to dismiss the notion when he realised an extra pair of eyes and ears could be an advantage. Not that John was likely to catch something Sherlock wouldn't, but he could only focus on so many things at once.
"You have a point. But Murphy will probably wonder why you're there."
"He doesn't have to know," John said. "I'll just be on another table. So I can have a view on the parts of the restaurant that you can't see. Maybe bring a date myself."
Sherlock considered it. It couldn't do any harm and if it would make John stop brooding... "Okay. You can come."
