Part two

Stabilization

When Lestrade came again, doctor Watson still couldn't agree with the fact that the war had ended for him. The one in Afghanistan, that had given him scars and disability, and the one in London, which saved his body, but had wounded his soul equally painfully. At their meetings the therapist kept telling him that he should try to calm down, change his life style and stop thinking that he was on the enemy's ground. She warned him that he was walking a dangerous way and might end in a situation when his health, both physical and psychical, would be in danger. She didn't precise what she meant but Watson guessed that in her mind the illusion of war was dangerous to a veteran, who could become too easily convinced that he was left alone, with no help, surrounded by enemies. As if he didn't already know this.

He ignored these advice and warnings. He knew he was cheating himself, but it was easier to live this way. He still had in mind this meeting one and a half year before, the abandoned warehouse and the sudden feeling that the world had returned on the right way. And the painfully plainspoken diagnosis that he, a doctor and a soldier, didn't need peace and quiet, but the time of war and danger. This feeling that he was on the enemy's ground, helped him deal with his emotions. On the mission there was no time for grieving. No time to reflect the loss. On the mission were only tasks to do and dangers to avoid.

And so Watson, having no other options, did give himself daily orders. He went to his job and spent there enough time to be tired and sleep without dreams after returning to the flat he had rent in the suburbs. From time to time he met with Mrs. Hudson, drank a cup of tea and ate some cake, but these meetings were short, because the woman's grief touched everything he tried not to think about and not to remember. Everything he couldn't share with her.

He was alone and he wanted to be, so he welcomed the inspector on his doorstep with a rather unfriendly growl.

"I need to talk." Lestrade wasn't discouraged by this greeting.

"Speak. Quickly."

"You know it was an order."

Watson closed his eyes for a moment. Yes, right, hierarchy in the police. Lestrade was some kind of soldier too, so when he had gotten an order…

"Come in," he replied and let the inspector inside.

When Lestrade looked around the empty room, the walls covered with a dirty wallpaper and the old, unkempt furniture, Watson switched on the kettle in the kitchenette.

"I have only tea," he warned.

"It will do."

"How are you?"

"I'm still working."

The doctor rose his eyebrows.

"Yes, I do. And more, I still have the same team. I know, I am still surprised that I avoided degradation or being fired, but the whole case was hushed up."

"That bastard had pangs of remorse," murmured Watson.

"Who?"

"Sherlock's brother."

„I know he had a brother…" Lestrade winced, either because of mentioning the elder of the Holmes brothers or using the past tense. "But what did he…"

Watson turned his head away. The water boiled, so he made tea in two half-broken cups. Then he replied.

"This bastard betrayed him."

"Who?"

"This brother of his," John almost belched this word. "He told this maniac everything he knew about Sherlock. Everything what happened next, these kidnapped and poisoned children, these break-ins, these articles… It was all because of him!" he hissed with fury.

"Jesus Christ!" gasped Lestrade.

"He must have felt guilty if he saved you."

"So it would seem…" The inspector's anger faded as quickly as it appeared. "Now some things aren't so surprising to me," he added. "But that's not why I came to you."

"Then what?"

"The Holmes' case is still not closed."

John closed his eyes for a moment. The rough concrete, the blood on the sidewalk mixed with the rain, cold, polished marble under his fingers… Could there be things less definite?

"Why?" he asked finally.

"Bureaucracy. Every detail has to be explained. What happened at Bart's didn't close the investigation."

"And you are still in charge?"

"Yes," Lestrade didn't look away. "And that's why I got all the materials from those break-ins. Moriarty alias Brook is dead, but he had his subordinates. Some things seemed wrong. You know how it is, you see something and feel that something is wrong," Lestrade turned his cup in his hands. "And these children… You know, that girl recognized him on the photograph. She was convinced Sherlock killed her father."

"What?"

"You heard me. Someone showed her his photo and told her who that is. A mercenary killer, if she sees him, she should scream because he already killed his father and he will come to get her and her brother. That's why they have to escape and hide in that factory. Wait there until the good man save their mother. It was a nice little fairytale of Mr. Brook. She recognized him too, as soon as she saw his photograph. Donovan couldn't meet my eyes for a week. But that's not the most important thing."

"So what is? What can be more important than the fact that you made a mistake?" snorted John.

"Proofs that will clear Sherlock's name."

"Speak."

Lestrade leaned over the table.

"I need to be careful. I am sure I have a spy among my people."

"Moriarty's man."

"Exactly."

"So…"

"So I need your help, doctor. Someone I can trust. Someone who worked with Sherlock and remember how he solved the cases. Who knows, how he looked for the clues. Who knows his methods. We need to find this spy at Yard. He will lead us to the others."

Watson straightened on his chair. He was right. The war he felt around him asked for him one more time. He had a comrade-in-arms again. And a mission.

"You have your consulting detective again, inspector Lestrade," he said.

Xxx

A room in a distant part of London was very similar to Watson's flat, maybe even more neglected and dingy, but Lestrade didn't pay attention. He was too nervous and angry at himself and at the circumstances. He hated lying to his friends.

"He agreed," he said quietly.

The dark haired man put his notebook aside.

"I knew," he smiled and Lestrade knew that it was a sincere happiness. "We wouldn't manage without him. Now we can begin."

To be continued…