Title: Experiment in Warehouse 7
Paring(s): Up to your interpretation; hints of John/Sherlock and Lestrade/Molly.
Rated: T
Summary: Sherlock attempts to test just how far his "friends" will go for him in a little experiment that involves John, Lestrade, Molly, and surprisingly, Mycroft. Until a Consulting Criminal starts an experiment of his own.
A/N: Set in season two, post-Hounds, pre-Reichenbach (cue gross sobbing) so do expect some spoilers. A scene in HoB inspired the premise for this. With that said, please enjoy and thank you for reading!
Also, before we start, I'm going to quickly explain the card game, Spoons. I actually never played this game until last year, when my roommates and I played. It's pretty fun! So this is how we played: basically, each player starts out with 5 cards. They can't have more than 5 and they can't have less than 4. Whatever cards remain after everyone gets 5 is stacked in front of the dealer. Also, you need some spoons, or any object, really, as long as they're similar in size. Take the amount of spoons equal to the number of players minus one, and put them in the center. So, for example, if you have 5 players, then you'll have 4 spoons. The goal is to get 4 of a kind. Now, sit in a circle. The dealer begins by picking up a card from the stack and he has the choice of keeping it or passing it. If he decides to keep it, because it helps him get closer to 4 of a kind, he has to pick a card out of his own hand and pass that on. The cycle continues until someone gets 4 of a kind. If you get 4 of a kind, you have to SNEAKILY take a spoon. The game continues until everyone but one person has a spoon and you can ONLY pick up a spoon if you have 4 of a kind. I hope this made some sense...
With that said, please enjoy and thank you for reading!
Chapter 2: Watch Him Dance
There was nothing much to do once the sun rose and everyone was awake again. The men in black didn't show any signs of coming back into the warehouse; they continued to simply watch from through the windows. When John found a deck of cards in his jacket pocket, he suggested they play to pass the time.
"Sherlock, that's cheating!" John took his cards and asked for everyone else's, who wearily complied, because this was the sixth time they had to start over. He piled the cards together and handed them to Lestrade for shuffling, "Do you mind?"
"Not at all."
Sherlock stretched his legs out and huffed, leaning back on the palms of his hands, "No, it's being clever."
"No, that's being unfair. I said you can take one cigarette only, but you keep on taking all three. And you didn't even have 4 of a kind!"
"This is ridiculous! You call this game 'Spoons', yet you play with cigarettes." He sprung forward and drew his legs in, shoving his clenched fist around said cigarettes in front John's face.
"In case it's missed your brilliant notice, Sherlock, we don't have any spoons!"
"Oh, so you carry a pack of playing cards with you, but no spoons?"
Lestrade saw that John and Sherlock were busy bickering, so he took the role of Dealer and began passing the cards around himself.
"I was out playing cards with Stamford the other night and left them in my jacket pocket. Did you even notice that I went out?" John reached for his cards and straightened them out neatly, without looking at them.
Sherlock did the same. He scoffed, "I never do."
Lestrade took this opportunity to wedge into the conversation, "Right then. Let's try this again," he dared to shoot Sherlock a glare, "the proper way."
"Yes, this game can be quite fun!" Molly chimed in cheerfully.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and muttered, "Oh, dear god."
John nudged him in the ribs, "Behave, Sherlock. And put those cigarettes back in the centre." Sherlock grudgingly obeyed.
Lestrade picked up his set of cards and everyone followed.
Sherlock's eyes swept over his own set and quickly memorized it: two 5's, a Jack, King, and one 10. This was too easy; all he had to do was get two more 5's. He quickly glanced to his side to see what John's cards were and not to his surprise, John was staring right back at him, cards pressed against his chest. Oh, clever John, he knew Sherlock's methods and he knew them well. Sherlock, though his plans were foiled, couldn't help but smile. His attention then turned to Molly, whose cards were completely exposed; even Lestrade could easily make out what they were (not that the honest Detective would ever even try). Her cards were all over the place; a 6, a Queen, a 2, an ace, and a 10. With the dim lighting and not much difference in height when they were all sitting down, Sherlock couldn't make out Lestrade's cards.
"Ready, guys?" Lestrade made eye contact with everyone, to make sure they were prepared before he began passing around the cards. They all nodded in confirmation and leaned forward, as if ready to march forth for war. Tensions rose and as confident as Sherlock was, he even felt himself tremble with… excitement? Yes, and nervousness. But he wasn't the only one. He noticed Lestrade's unsteady hand as it reached for the stack and pulled up the first card. He didn't need it and quickly passed it on. They had six prior practice games. Everyone was professional at passing cards they had no need for and keeping cards they needed with precision and swiftness.
The flow of cards was like a rushing river, threatening to deal a deadly paper cut. Molly was actually right, Sherlock mused; this game was exhilarating when played correctly. Speaking of Molly, she was quite skilled. She moved along and picked her cards faster than the rest, even faster than Sherlock himself, who was so quick with his hands, he could open most locks within five seconds.
Everyone's eyes darted this way and that, concentrating on their own cards, while concentrating on cards coming and going.
"Shit!" John exclaimed, as his hand hesitantly let a card go.
"No take-backs, John." Sherlock commented, smirking, as he took the card – a 5. Perfect. He smoothly slipped it into his hand and pulled out a Queen he had replaced his original King with, tossing it into the river.
Molly picked it up and put it into her hand, her face brightening at the addition. She now had three Queens. When did she get two more of those? Sherlock grimaced. He and Molly both only needed one more card. Luckily, what they each needed was different.
Sherlock couldn't tell how well John was doing. Considering he had deemed losing that 5 a great loss, he was probably collecting for that and something else. But what was that something else?
His attention then turned to Lestrade, all while continuing to pass the cards around. The entire playing field was a flurry of hands and shifting eyes.
Wait. Where was one of the cigarettes?
Lestrade.
The Detective caught Sherlock's fierce leer, and shot back a triumphant grin.
Sherlock couldn't help but gasp as he saw his hand release the last Queen in slow motion. He wanted to stop it, snap back his arm, but it was too late. His fingers had already released its hold -
- and Molly snatched the card up, saw it, and smiled like she had never smiled before. If it weren't for the fact that one had to be discrete when winning in this game, she most certainly would have leapt up and started dancing. Her hand stealthily went for the cigarette and claimed it. Not a second later, Sherlock saw John's arm shoot out from his peripheral vision and grab the last cigarette.
The three victors cheered. They knew Sherlock noticed all of the cigarettes were gone, so celebrations were in order.
For a moment, Sherlock sat dumbfounded. Then he shouted, "No! At least one of you was premature in picking up your spoon. Not you," he turned towards Molly, "your cards were as clear as day to me. But you," he looked at Lestrade then at John, "and you."
John just smiled, half in understanding at Sherlock's acute sense of competitiveness, half in satisfaction, and displayed his cards.
Sherlock's lips pressed together in a thin line. John had four 7's and a 5. A perfectly fair win.
His head then whipped around to Lestrade, who showed his cards with a certain air of pride. He had four 3's, along with a 4. Also perfectly fair. "Don't take it too hard. It's just a game among some friends. We weren't even betting anything!" Lestrade offered with a smile, but that smile just infuriated Sherlock even further.
His shoulders hunched over in resignation. He had lost. He had lost an easy game that took memorization and speed – two skills Sherlock had perfected.
"I don't want to play this anymore." He sulked.
John giggled, "Good because you can't. No cigarette, no more playing."
Sherlock chucked his cards into the centre with a grunt, "Shut up."
"Good game, Molly. You were really sly at getting that cigarette." Lestrade complimented as he held out his hand to take Molly's cards.
She flushed and placed her cards onto his palm, "Thanks. I played a lot with my friends back when we were in Uni. They always called me a fox because I was so sneaky." She began to laugh at the fond memory and Lestrade chuckled with her. "You were really good, too, John!" she added.
"It's a good thing that the 7 came when it did. And that I was lucky enough to keep that 5 away from Sherlock." John handed his cards over to Lestrade, who began shuffling for another game. "So, I guess we're playing again? Sherlock, any sign of those guys opening that garage?"
Sherlock gave a curt "No" and fell back into silence. Weren't these things called "friends" supposed to be forgiving in situations like these? Say something like 'Oh it was your first time, we'll give you another chance.' and gladly let him back in? He was reverting into a child who didn't have a toy to play with because all of the other children already took them from the toy bin. Lestrade made an unintentional snort while he was trying to stifle his amusement, which sent Molly and John roaring with laughter.
The DI began passing the cards around again as the other two remaining players put their cigarettes in the middle.
"C'mon, Sherlock. Two more rounds and you'll be able to join in again. You're doing better than you were at Cluedo." John tried to appease his brooding flatmate.
"I'm not at fault in Cluedo. The very rules of that game are faulty. And I've already said I don't want to play your stupid game of Spoons anymore." Sherlock stood up and paced around the circle, "John has two 6's, an 8, 9, and 10, almost a perfect straight, but alas, this isn't Poker."
"Sherlock." John warned.
"The Inspector also has a 6 – pity for you, John – a Jack, 3, 4, and an ace. Molly – well, you can all just see for yourself, the way she flashes her cards, as if she's saying 'Oh, look at me, I want to be beaten!' How did you ever win."
"Sherlock!"
He spun around and looked at John. He knew he was in the wrong, but it was just so frustrating. "Don't mind me. You'll all see each other's cards by the end, anyways."
The three players simultaneously sighed and tossed their cards to the floor.
At that same moment, curtains fell and hid the windows and the 24 lights that were on all night suddenly expired, leaving the warehouse pitch black.
"…Sherlock?" John started.
"Quiet." The Consulting Detective ordered. He looked around to decipher what was going on, but to no avail. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, but there wasn't enough light for him to make out anything but shapes. This wasn't part of the plan. He drew out his phone and texted Mycroft:
What's going on?
-S
The reply was instantaneous:
What are you going on
about?
-M
I didn't ask to turn the
lights off.
-S
Neither did I.
-M
After a minute for thoughts to process:
Both you and I can guess
who did.
-M
Sherlock slipped his phone back into his pocket, but everyone saw the look on his face before the light from his phone faded.
"W-what's wrong?" Molly asked before anyone else could.
"Moriarty."
And silence again.
The name alone sent chills down everyone's spine. They all knew what the Consulting Criminal was capable of. They had all seen and were all once, somehow, a part of his schemes.
A screech penetrated the silence and John, Molly, and Lestrade covered their ears. The noise was piercing.
Then a few pounding puffs, as if someone was tapping on a microphone, resounded in the air, followed by the last voice any of them wanted to hear, "Is this on?"
They all stopped breathing and hearts went still. Sherlock turned his head in the direction of the voice.
Their vision went white as all 60 lights were turned on at the same time. The result was blinding and made them see stars.
"Oh, come now. Don't look so scared! It's been so long! Have you missed me, boys?"
When he could actually see, Sherlock looked at John, who had that same expression he had the day at the pool, then at Lestrade, who looked positively lost, though he knew perfectly well what was going on, and at Molly, who sat in horror, staring at the floor, hands covering her mouth. She was shaking.
"You've been so frequent in the papers, it's as if you were never gone." Sherlock shouted back. He knelt down and picked up Molly's blanket, draping it over her and lightly resting a hand on her shoulder. Her head snapped up, surprised at the sudden kindness, but Sherlock wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Lestrade, giving him some kind of mental cue. The DI narrowed his eyes for a second, deciphering what Sherlock was trying to tell him, then got the message and took the Consulting Detective's place beside Molly.
Sherlock stood again and John hopped to his feet, as well. Both of them looked up at the windows, still hidden by the curtains.
"You think he's up there?" John whispered.
"If not now, he will be. He knows he'll have to take us head-on if he takes us on at all." Sherlock replied, voice low and gruff.
"You've been keeping tabs on me; that's sweet, Sherlock. But you know as well as anybody… THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO!" The last phrase sounded nearly demonic. Molly jumped and Lestrade probably would have too, but he was given the task of looking after Molly and if the guardian was visibly scared, then there was no hope for the one he was protecting.
Sherlock and John stood their ground. They had personally heard Moriarty's sudden vocal swings before and though it came when they least expected it, they wouldn't be startled.
"You fell into this trap without even knowing it, Sherlock. You can't win… you just can't." He paused, probably to allow himself a little smirk and Sherlock could tell what was coming next, "I'll give you a little more time. Why don't you tell your friends exactly why they're here?" And with a simple click, his voice was gone.
The curtains rose, but no more men in black were watching through the windows. The lights dimmed again and the 60 were reduced back to 24.
"What did he mean by that, Sherlock?" John turned and looked at him with concern.
Sherlock swallowed and couldn't look at John, "Nothing."
John took a step closer, his voice stern, "No, Sherlock, why are we here? Really?"
He could feel all eyes on him and the growing realization that his planned experiment was definitely more than just "Not Good" gave him a strange stirring feeling in his chest.
Mycroft was in his office, planning on how to get around Moriarty and get Sherlock and his friends out. His dramatic little brother always did cause him such inconveniences.
His phone buzzed with an incoming text:
What song shall I have him
dance to next?
The text had no signature, but Mycroft knew exactly who it was. He held his head in his hands, but he couldn't abandon hope yet. Surely, Sherlock hadn't. No, he knew Sherlock had just begun. There was more at stake this time than ever before and Sherlock knew it, as well as Mycroft observed it. He had people he cared about now and had people who, oddly enough, cared and loved him just as much.
Mycroft rose from his seat and dashed out of his office. He would have to partake in some of the legwork himself this time.