Lestrade had never particularly warmed to John Watson. He felt no real dislike for the man, more a disinterest. And Lestrade had never understood why Sherlock had suddenly decided to work with this army doctor. He seemed to bring no new knowledge to the table and merely played into Sherlock's vanity by regularly complimenting the - admittedly impressive - deductions the man made. Lestrade had suspected John Watson had been a tool to annoy the police. Something they should object to and something Sherlock could then demand to keep near him, thus showing them all that Sherlock Holmes was too important to obey the rules.
Sherlock Holmes had not changed in the 4 - nearly 5 - years Lestrade had known him. His brilliance was the only thing that made Lestrade swallow his anger time and time again. The truth was, sometimes - just sometimes - he needed Sherlock's help. And he could swallow his pride and bear the insults, because at the end of the day Sherlock would help Lestrade solve the case. So whatever might happen between the beginning and the end, Lestrade could at least tell himself - with a certain pride - that he had once again, solved the crime, done everything he could.
The shortish doctor was still raging on about Sherlock - his flatmate. For a moment Lestrade let himself imagine what it must be like to live with a man like Sherlock. He shivered.
"…even his brother seems little interested in finding him," John finished. He needed to catch his breath and hoped he didn't sound like a panting dog as he did so. How does Sherlock do it, speaking at this rate? His mind wondered for a while, apparently momentarily forgetting its worry about Sherlock.
Patiently John waited for an answer. Inspector Lestrade seemed oddly distracted but John hoped that meant he was thinking about everything John had just explained. Eventually John lost his patience. "Well?" he almost demanded.
"Well…," Lestrade started slowly, "if Sherlock left of his own accord…"
"We can't know that for sure, he was just gone. Just left the hospital, leaving me behind."
"That's hardly unusual behaviour for him," Lestrade pointed out.
John bit his lip. "He's never disappeared for days before."
"You really haven't known him all that long," Lestrade said.
John let out an aggravated breath. "He's not going to disappear while he has an interesting case to solve, is he?"
Lestrade considered this, his head almost signalling how he weighed the different options against each other.
"Maybe he's had a relapse," a female voice said from somewhere behind John.
John turned around to face the person who'd spoken. It was Donovan. She was wearing a knee length kaki skirt and a beige blouse. She was leaning against the doorpost, her arms crossed and her lips pressed together in a tight line. "He is a drug addict," Donovan added to her previous statement.
"Sherlock doesn't use any…" John said, but was interrupted by Donovan.
"Drug addicts stay drug addicts, even when they don't use. He could easily have had a relapse and be lying in an alley somewhere, thinking about where he can score…"
John shook his head, "I don't think so," he said. As always he felt this strange need to defend Sherlock. "I don't think that's the case."
Donovan almost visibly shook from all the effort it took her to keep calm. She always failed in the end though. Sherlock Holmes simply had that effect on her. And she hated it when people couldn't see him for what he really was. She realised that shouting would only make her seem like the bad guy, but she had to make people see.
"You haven't told him how we met Sherlock Holmes, have you?" the question was directed at Lestrade, but clearly rhetorical.
Donovan looked at John. "We arrested him when he tried to buy heroine off an undercover officer."
"You mean to say Sherlock didn't notice it was a police man and not a dealer?" John asked incredulously. After all these months 'fighting crime' with Sherlock, John knew the man would have picked up on a cop in disguise instantly.
"He did recognise it was an officer in disguise, but he wanted to buy drugs off me anyway," Donovan said.
"It was you?" John asked surprised.
"Back then I was still on the drug squad and it was the first undercover assignment I got."
"And you arrested Sherlock?"
"Yes I did," Donovan said through gritted teeth as she turned her eyes to Lestrade, looking at him with an intensity that could probably be best described as hate.
Lestrade's brow furrowed and he bit his lip. John guessed that Lestrade knew what Donovan was referring to and he felt guilty for it.
"Sherlock could help us with a case I was investigating," Lestrade said. "Donovan brought him in for questioning, but she got into an argument with the inspector using the interrogation room - me. Meanwhile, Sherlock was looking at the files I was carrying and from even that small amount of information he could gather from them, he deduced so much information, I honestly thought he might be involved in the case."
"What case?"
Lestrade pursed his lips. He looked at Donovan, who was staring out the nearest windows, her arms crossed and locked in front of her. "A young boy was abducted and murdered," Lestrade said.
"His name was Michael," Donovan added, barely able to control her voice.
Lestrade looked at her with a strange mixture of annoyance and compassion. John guessed Lestrade didn't like to be reminded of what had happened to the young boy. "Yes it was," Lestrade said to Donovan. "Sherlock knew details that hadn't been released to the press yet, so I decided to interrogate him to find out if he was involved in the murder. Eventually I found out he had an alibi and handed him back over to Donovan for the drug charge."
"But you made a deal with him," Donovan said.
"Sherlock made the deal, he said he could find the boy's murderer before he would kill again. In exchange I would have to drop the charges against Sherlock."
"He found the murderer then?" John asked.
"Yes, but…"
"By then he had already killed two other boys," Donovan interrupted Lestrade, "and you still let him go!"
"He had done his part of the deal, he wasn't responsible for those boys' deaths!" Lestrade defended himself.
"But you could see how he was when we found the murderer! He didn't even care that three children were dead, he was just pleased he had proven how 'clever' he is!"
Lestrade frowned, but decided to end his discussion with Donovan. "A week later Sherlock showed up because he'd seen a news report of a case I was investigating and claimed to know who did it."
"And he did," John concluded.
"Yes," Lestrade said.
Trunks are not a comfortable way to travel. Which shouldn't be surprising, after all they weren't designed to transport people. Therefore it took Sherlock no time at all to deduce he would not enjoy this trip. That, and the fact that, most likely, when the Barracuda got him to Moriarty, some form of torture would take place.
Sherlock tried to brace himself, but every turn made him bounce around in the trunk. His shoulder had healed from the bullet wound caused by one of Moriarty's snipers at the pool, but it still hurt at times. This was not helping. In his head Sherlock was taking every turn the Barracuda was taking. Sherlock knew every street in London and every connection between them. He had known exactly where they were when the Barracuda abducted him, so he had his starting point right, however, he had been unconscious for a while. Not very long, Sherlock thought, but then how would he tell? They'd crossed a bridge a few minutes ago and of he could just figure out which one it was, he would be able to tell where he was. Not that there was much point to that, but Sherlock could use all the data he could get.
Finally the rocking stopped, but Sherlock's body felt sore all over. Sherlock could hear women's shoes move around the car, a key scraping in a lock and then there was light. The kind of artificial daylight found in many places, but he guessed they were in some kind of underground parking lot. Sherlock squinted his eyes to see who was standing over him. He could see a dark outline, but that was all.
It occurred to him he should've been prepared to attack the moment the trunk opened, but somehow he didn't feel it would accomplish anything. After all, it was highly unlikely there weren't more people around. The Barracuda probably had orders to kill Sherlock in front of Moriarty, so Jimbo had to be around here and he would never let himself be unprotected.
"I like you're disguise," a familiar voice said. It's childish tone seemed an odd contrast to the venom you could clearly hear coming through. "Playing cowboy, are we?" Sherlock eyes were slowly adjusting to the light and now he could see Moriarty's smile getting closer. Not the grin you'd expect form you're typical psychopath, but unnerving all the same - even to Sherlock.
Sherlock got out of the trunk, and closed it. He leaned against the car, trying to find his legs again. Sherlock looked at the woman standing a few feet away from him. She was his age, with long black hair and green eyes. She was beautiful, but wearing a lot of make-up, something Sherlock had already known to expect. She looked… polished, right down to the smallest details. The Barracuda wasn't smiling, nor did she look particularly vicious. She was just a woman. Undoubtedly considered attractive, though Sherlock was never very good at judging that.
"So this is your plan? To just kill me?" Sherlock asked Moriarty.
"Of course not," Moriarty smiled.
"Oh I'm sure there will be some torture first," Sherlock said. Boring, he thought to himself. It was so predictable.
From somewhere behind Moriarty a man appeared. His posture, his build, his manner and his walk meant he had to be in security. Personal security, Sherlock guessed. "What, no snipers this time?"
Moriarty's face changed completely. The hate, the cold anger in it would have been terrifying to most people. "I seem to be having some trouble hiring new ones after the last had to be executed. I cannot have people working for me who don't listen. And one of them decided to shoot you of his own accord. I couldn't be sure who had been the one to pull the trigger and I needed to show I do not accept disloyalty."
Sherlock's thoughts went to his shoulder and he knew that shot had been what saved not only his life, but John's as well.
"Surely you understand the importance of loyalty, Sherlock, with a friend like Doctor John Watson. Though he seems to be absent right now."
His tone showed that Moriarty expected John to show up here, wherever 'here' was. But Sherlock knew John wouldn't come. Not because John didn't want to or knew not to, but because Sherlock wouldn't let him. Sherlock had picked up on the breadcrumb trail Moriarty had been creating for the police. Sherlock had picked up at it in the hospital when Lestrade had called them in because of the 'message' Moriarty had left there.
"You think the police will find me through the Barracuda," Sherlock said, looking at the female assassin. "But they'll be looking for a man." Sherlock couldn't prevent the smirk that appeared on his face now. "The most obvious evidence that the assassin had to be female was the doctor's coat you left in the victim's room. But I got rid of it."
"The coat?" Moriarty asked, playing the fool.
"Oh come on," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's size could've been misleading, after all perhaps the male assassin was just very slight, but on its collar there were clear traces of makeup - foundation. So obviously someone very conscious about appearances. True, it could've been part of a disguise, but just makeup is far more likely and then there was the fact that the coat was rather fragrant. I'm not up to date on women's perfumes, but I would guess something in the Chanel line." Sherlock looked at the Barracuda to confirm his conclusions.
"The police are idiots, but even Lestrade would've at least taken a look at female suspects. The case with the Gollum has made him more aware of assassins in Europe, therefore it's very likely he would've looked up what female assassins there are here and the Barracuda would've come up on top of that list. Undoubtedly that would have led to the next breadcrumb, but unfortunately I already removed the first one, so the trail is broken."
"Very impressive, Sherlock," Moriarty said. He dug his hands in his pockets and strolled over to Sherlock. His bodyguard followed him closely. "But…" Moriarty stretched the word to it's very limits and his voice became very high suddenly. "There was another trail." Moriarty let out an almost laugh as he saw the reaction on Sherlock's voice. "Come now Sherlock, you didn't think I would underestimate you? And risk us being stood up by John Watson?"
Sherlock wasn't very impressed by Moriarty's words. He figured Moriarty felt threatened, at least feared his plan wouldn't work out, so he was lashing out with whatever he thought would work on Sherlock. Then it hit Sherlock. Something that had been bothering him in the hospital, something he should've seen much earlier. But with everything that had followed, he had thought it wasn't important, or at least not urgent. Now he remembered, and now he saw what he couldn't see before. The man in the hospital bed, the victim, the patient who was the wrong patient. Now Sherlock could see why that man had to be in the bed, had to be the victim. He had known Moriarty wouldn't have chosen a random victim.
"It was the sniper," Sherlock concluded. The man who was in the hospital bed, the victim who had started this whole journey, was the sniper who had shot Sherlock. And he was the first breadcrumb that would lead John to this trap.
