*Kings Hide Dragons*

by: WhiteGloves

CHAPTER 3

I've reread Seventy-Percent Solution with Freud!

Awesome! Wish the series was here!

(And oh! The Abominable Bride! ;))

*Enjoy Reading!*

"I accuse the cop did it. Lounge and dagger. "

"No, here's the dagger card." John laid the card.

There was a sound of dice rolling.

"Hm. I accuse the cop still did it. Longue and wrench. Ah, and possibly poison."

"You can't do that, Sherlock."

From an outside observer they would only see two grown up men with heads huddled together and with eyes transfixed at a board game bit casually inside one of the highest security prison ward in the country. Staff and jail guards alike who were accustomed to the different irregularities of their inmates did not seem surprise at this unfolding event but some still did raise their brows or frown or both.

Dr. John Watson could care less of what others think. He was used to Sherlock's eccentricities that made playing Cluedo in Whitemoor appear normal and almost laughable. What bothered him though was Sherlock's complete silence about the specifics of why the two of them met there. He didn't even bother asking how he, John, found out his location and seemed absurdly absorbed in playing the game.

Like he actually care about Dr. Black, the victim in the board game,getting murdered.

Watching the man in front of him, John let the idea slid off his mind for awhile and decided to wait for the man himself to open up. After all, nothing can make the Sherlock Holmes speak with accurate details than himself.

Plus it saves him the stress.

The dice then rolled on with the two men seemingly engrossed—well, at least Sherlock was who had been making gestures of elation and rubbing his palms together every time he gets a clue and state his accusations. He didn't need any note taking for his brain was good enough to remember it. John on the other hand had to scribble and was getting more uptight and severe as time goes by. What with Sherlock repeating the same accusation towards the cop!

Finally after the long run when the fixer had given its apparent clue against the reverend character and Sherlock yet again muttered the idea incorrect did the doctor give his friend a long look under his heavy brows. Once or twice he tried to interrupt the too absorbed detective, and on both occasions Sherlock Holmes had automatically hand him the dice. Just to stop him, or spite him?

He couldn't tell.

But then another pressing matter happened when Sherlock halted the dice, lowered his hands under the table and narrowed his eyes at the board game. John's frown disappeared as he suddenly got curious at the new reaction.

"What?" he blinked at the position of the pawns wondering if something was amiss.

"The reverend's getting all the attention of clues. But I'm certain it was the cop. Hmmm. Could be both." He shrugged and juggled the dice while John tried to comprehend what he had just said—then before Sherlock could even throw the dice the doctor put his foot down.

"Alright—stop! Stop right there!" he pointed a finger at Sherlock who raised his eyes at him in blank surprise.

"Why?"

"Because you've just accused two murderers in the game which is NOT in the rules!"

"How many times do I tell you nobody—"

"You're the only one not doing it in Cluedo! For godsake it was the victim last time too—" he did not mean to raise his voice but it sort of did and the jail guards were looking at them again. The doctor shifted his eyes around and cleared his throat while the consultant detective kept his eyes at him. John stared back.

"Let's stop this, alright? I don't even know why we're playing this bloody thing."

"We're passing the time—"

"Why do we need to pass time when we don't have much of it!?" he asked with raised eyebrows that got the detective's attention.

"You are still upset." Sherlock observed as he threw the dice anyways that made John scratch his neck and point at his own face.

"This face, Sherlock—it's more than upset. No, I'd like to remind you of what you're doing right now in your current situation. I'd like to remind you that more than anything your job is to look for—"

"I'm looking for the murderer—" he moved his piece quietly-

"Playing with the murderer! And please just stop playing already!" he finally managed to snatch the dice and pocketed it while the dark haired detective expressed a complete vacant expression.

"You are going to tell me why you're here, right?" the doctor finally managed to ask quietly with hands forming fists on the table. "You can't keep ignoring this question—you're in Whitemoor now. Is this part of your plan?"

"Planning can only get you so far," Sherlock said after a short pause with his right hand reaching on his piece and twirling it, "sometimes you have to take risks in order to unveil the mystery."

That itself was the statement that would always make John Watson stare at his best friend in the most captivated manner. Sherlock gazed at him too as if knowing exactly the effect of his words while his hand tapped down to the envelope at the center of the board where the answer to the murder was.

"So this is out of your plan?" John quietly asked while he licked his dry lips.

"Not entirely."

"Tell me."

"Well... I can't actually just divulge it out in the middle of this crowd, could I?" he looked sideways to the CCTV camera unit and nearby guards standing around watching them. The doctor knew instantly what he meant so being inconspicuous he grabbed the nearest and smallest toy knife by the board and then pointed it at Sherlock.

"The weapon. The one that Mycroft told me about." He said simply, his eyes unblinking, "Is it here now?"

The dark haired detective looked down at the tiny weapon without moving a muscle before looking up at the doctor. The corner of his lips twitched but John warned him from smiling with one look. Sherlock sighed at his serious demeanour.

"Yep. But not my concern now."

"Not your concern—!?" he nearly choked at that— "Did you just say—?"

"Not my concern." He drawled in a bored voice that snapped another vein at John Watson's head. For this guy to disregard the biochemical weapon...?

"That's not funny—you're supposed to look for it!"

"Keep it down, John—"

"What the hell are you saying?"

"John—"

"You complete—" he stood up with raised arm—

"John! You may want to drop your weapon for goodness sake you're inside Whitemoor!"

The two glared at each other once again until the doctor realise that one of the guards was actually looking at him cautiously this time so he had no choice but to shake his head, throw the toy knife down and sit himself back on the metal bench with clenched fists.

"Jesus." He muttered incoherently while his former flatmate watch him with interest. "Jesus, Sherlock, you..."

"Calm down."

"Calm down?" John shot his friend a look and hissed in the lowest of voice, "Sherlock Holmes have just snubbed three of the basic elements of a case—the victim, the suspect and now the weapon! No—forget about the other two—I'm talking about that weapon! If it's here it should be your primary concern or people will die—no wait— do you actually care about that? Just what exactly are you here for if not for that? On a holiday!?"

John closed his eyes tightly while Sherlock smiled. The detective then flipped the card he had just taken from inside the envelope.

"Ah! So it is the cop after all." He exclaimed in satisfaction.

The doctor glanced down at the card the detective threw on the table and saw Marshall Gray's name before shaking his head. Sherlock seems out of his senses.

"Look, Sherlock," the doctor tried to pry away another set of cards from his friend but was unsuccessful, "You can have your way. We always do it your way no matter because we trust you!"

"Did I give you any reason not to trust me?" he grinned so manically that John had to lean back and stare at him for a whole minute. He had thought for a second that his friend had gone loony... and then he asked himself if he was the one going crackers because despite Sherlock's maniacal and sociopathic tendencies... he still does trust the man.

"You're still enjoying this game, aren't you?" the doctor slowly started again with a found tolerance in his expression, "you being here, in this place—with that thing out there—you're still taking your time—"

"Of course not."

"Then why the hell are you still here?" he could swear there was a sudden spark of mischief on the detective's eyes. "If you've—"

"Unveiling mysteries John and I suggest stop asking questions now or they'll notice. You're not pretty much of help as you are now if they find you suspicious and get banned from visiting—"

John's ears went red for whatever the blazes—Sherlock Holmes only cares about the visits!

"No, I won't visit you anymore." He shook his head with an air of vehemence. "You know what problem you have, Sherlock? You deliberately withhold your plans from me! No, I won't be coming here anymore."

Sherlock gave John a sudden look torn between a test and amusement. It made the doctor's jaw tighten. Does Sherlock think he won't do it?

"Oh looky. The reverend is also a suspect." The detective suddenly announced and sure enough John caught sight of the second card Sherlock threw on the table and that was when the doctor realized he was not taken seriously.

Giving no warning, John then took the opportunity to stack all the pieces in one swift movement of his arms and shut them all in the box—

"You are not allowed to play this game anymore." The doctor took the dice from his pocket and let Sherlock see it, "This is going out of your reach in Baker Street." He dropped it on the box and closed it.

"You're not going to throw it out, are you?" Sherlock looked unbelievably surprised.

"If it was mine I would have! Actually it is mine!"

"Fine. I'll just go buy another one—"

"What is it with you and Cluedo? You're not even following the rules—"

"—it's bending the rules—"

"—see? You know your fault—!"

"Oh please, John, if we really can't bend the rules there'd be more people in this place—"

"—you're justifying this place now?"

"—and you're taking out your anger on Cluedo—"

"I'm not angry! And I am keeping this as far as possible from reach!"

"I can always find it." Sherlock challenged and John trust he would. This pissed him more.

"Look—I've had enough! I'm going out." John took the box and tucked it on his arms, all the while standing up with Sherlock's eyes on him, "Whatever you're up to—do that. Just remember there are again—since you seem to be so unconcerned— lives are at stake!"

He said his final words in a low voice as he turned his back on the detective. Sometimes Sherlock can be so full of himself. It was a miracle how he really could keep up with Sherlock. But then again they were always like that.

"John." Sherlock's voice was deep it seemed to resonate a grave meaning that made the doctor suddenly stop walking, "This place is full of people who have done wrongs... even the worst. There's hardly any damage that could be done."

To which the doctor whirled and gave his friend a look of disbelief.

Sherlock Holmes looked solemn as he continued, "They prefer death."

"Why do you say that?" John knew his voice had gotten soft yet the note of sarcasm was ever present. "Did you have to use your inference or deductionto figure that out?"

"Hardly. It's obvious." Sherlock closed his eyes and then stared at him with both hands clasping, "This is prison. Prisons kill people."

John could not understand why, of all his friend's undeniable dickhead words, this struck him the most. It was true; Whitemoor is a maximum security prison that includes the DSPD (Dangerous and Severe Personality Disorder Unit) where most numbers of inmates are of the highest alert status and indefinite or lifetime imprisonment. Terrorists and the likes... but all the same, John could not shake the idea that Sherlock got his priority wrong.

"Try saying that when you remember your own life is at the line." The doctor quietly said as he gave his friend one final look before continuing his way toward the grand hall where the guard who escorted him was waiting. Sherlock can sometimes become dense... of his own safety.

The detective's minute of silence was enough for John to confirm that Sherlock was struck by his words.

Well, he was making a point.

"Are you going to visit again?" he heard Sherlock call.

"Without Cluedo." The doctor confirmed and was lead by the uniformed staff—

"Don't let my brother tease you, John! And tell him the pasture's green!"

For all that it was worth John paused to look back only to find Sherlock already engaged to his jail staff. So without further ado, the doctor followed his guide, took tour towards the body check, gave a nod to the uniformed officials outside the Visitor's Centre before walking down the path where he was expecting the limo to be parked.

Only, it wasn't there.

Frowning, John Watson blinked at the large space of a parking lot and was just wondering what next step to take when he saw another uniformed officer walking toward him.

"You're John Watson?"

"Yeah, yes—"

"Come with me. You helicopter's waiting at the right wing field."

The doctor laid the Cluedo box on the top of Mycroft's table half an hour later with the doctor looking pretty much disagreeable and grumpy. Mycroft Holmes had watched him enter and seemed to have observed more than see what had transpired with his visit with the younger brother.

"Don't let it get to you, John," he said after awhile as he gestured for the man to sit, "my brother can really be obstinate at times. He can be calling you on the phone with hints of urgency and then leave you hanging blank when you come ready to listen; he is still somewhat childish that way. By the way, what is this?"

He looked at the board game with a little scowl as if he was not asking what it was but more like what it was doing on his table the-abominable-thing. Looks like Mycroft found Cluedo very unchallenging and hates it for it.

"Sherlock's request." John answered with a little shrug, "He asked me to play inside Whitemoor. Do you want to keep it? It would ah... be a great help."

Mycroft's eyes pierced John as if daring him to say it again with a raised eyebrow at the board game.

But John had more pressing matters at hand than the older Holmes apparent loathe at Cluedo.

"Green pasture." The doctor said with lips pressed after, making Mycroft pause with one eyebrow raised again. John forced his eyes not to roll as he cleared his throat and repeated, "That's what Sherlock said. The 'pasture's green'? That's the secret code between the two of you this time right? The one I have to say before you tell me the details of what's going on?"

Funny enough the Holmes brothers, though somewhat full of rivalry, both ends have highest and utmost unshakeable loyalty to one another that can be shown in many twisted and even unvarying unexpected ways. John had known them long enough to affirm that both brothers have complete faith both to each other and their abilities. So that was why even without communicating words, the two seem to make silent agreements of what must be said and unsaid. Therefore the code between the brothers. John had encountered many of these codes that changes depending on the two and was not surprise to see Mycroft blink once and sit up straight with an astute expression.

And there he began:

"A month ago we've received a report from one of our international spies that communication between terrorists had been established from inside and outside the country and is aiming for England. They were able to get wind of the communication via hacking suspicious accounts that's been frequenting our networks. They were unable to locate and identify individuals but some files are still retrievable. We were able to gather terms NBC and well, Project Al Capone."

John, who had been following Mycroft's detailed account, frowned at the words presented. NBC itself was the biggest clue they could ever have for it represents all nuclear, biological and chemical warfare. What astounded him, however, was Al Capone's relation to it all. Everybody knows Al Capone, an American mob gangster leader whose name and outrageous acts precedes him. Now John could see why Sherlock would automatically think of prison...Al Capone was sent to prison wasn't he? One of the highest security prison— Alcatraz.

But then again that was just a dull reasoning on the doctor's part. Sherlock would have more than a thing to say, he was sure...

Mycroft seemed to follow his silent reverie.

"It's more than just the 'Alcatraz' thing, John (the doctor shook his head slightly at how accurate Mycroft could be when it comes to mind reading), no. We alerted the United States of this planned detrimental attack and they were as cautious as we were. A bioweapon attack of all things can destroy not only one, nor two but may even be three nation's tranquillity and so our security measures were heightened. Since that month we've been monitoring the goings of all visitors of the country. Those who were suspected were discreetly removed from crowds and were properly dealt with without harm lest they were innocent. We've been very wary ever since then and with Washington watching over their side it didn't seem possible for the threat to come at all. Still, we were very prudent.

"Suspicious characters were also followed even without the weapon at hand... for weeks it went on negatively. Until this week our very man came... truly prepared. He was considered a suspicious character but found nothing in his possession that may incriminate him. Thus was allowed to join the public but as we monitor we were able to trace the call he was making and affirmed he was out man."

"Why didn't you apprehend him when you checked his details?" John interrupted for the first time, "I mean, you knew his background was a chemist in America? That could have been enough reason to hold him down right?"

"Ah, but there's no such thing on his bio. You know what they call 'fake documents', isn't there? He forged his papers John, even his security data claiming he was a Literature instructor—"

"But Sherlock said—"

"But you know him." He gave the doctor that look, "You know us. You know how we know things others don't. Even with the given data one look from our man and we'd know even his most secret hobby. Unfortunately by the minute I was preoccupied with another suspicious character that seemed highly probable to be our suspect and was not able to glimpse at Thomas Bishop—that is really his real name by the way. By the time I saw him he was already at his hotel. I ordered people to follow him and that is when he hastily called his contact. It seemed he was disheartened by the interrogation earlier that gave him the idea that we know. I have already informed my brother of this case in which he reluctantly but energetically agreed on."

"But your men let Bishop go from the airport because they didn't find anything? How did you deduce it was him?"

"Simple observation of humans, John." Mycroft's eyes glinted, "but it is true, the bioweapon in his possession was ever untraceable that a personal encounter with him is necessary. When the shooting happened as you already know Sherlock was the second on the scene right after my men and he was able to see the man's true nature as a talented Chemist like ourselves."

"But there was no weapon?" came back the question.

"Sherlock traced it, as you already know—to Brixton Prison."

"Yeah, but why there? If it's the Capone thing (Mycroft smirked smartly) there are plenty of other prisons to go to."

"Do you know the difference between Whitemoor and Brixton, John?"

"I'm sorry?"

"These prisons... what differs them?" the older Holmes leaned back on his chair to have a proper look at the doctor who inclined his head on the side, his eyebrows contracting. John watched him take out his pocket watch and look at it as he answered reluctantly—

"Well, depending on the maximum rate I suppose?"

"Yes... and where do you suggest we send a petty thief then?"

John frowned deeply. "Thief?"

Mycroft beamed and then stood up.

"Sherlock will find the weapon John...he's already traced it to Whitemoor by cracking the KHD code—"

"What?"

"—and will be reporting shortly I assure you. I'm sorry John, but I have people to meet. All we have to do is be patient. In your case." He suddenly gave a doctor a nod who seemed to get the message right across that didn't stop him from saying—

"Sherlock said he's not concerned with the weapon anymore."

"Indeed?" Mycroft suddenly turned to him with both eyes full of interest and another raised eyebrow while the doctor nodded his jaw tight.

For three days John had maximum control of himself.

He did not visit Sherlock, nor did he bother Mycroft for any details and new results. After their last encounter he did not dwell into the matter regardless of how his gut was wrenching him to it. National crisis? Bioweapon? Why should he care at all? He remembered that last day Mycroft again asked him if he was okay of—how did Mycroft phrased it?— 'Not penetrating the prison walls where adventure with Sherlock lurks because after all you are his alter ego'.

Alter ego. Nicely said.

So John just stayed home like any common middle aged man his age would do while caring for his family and his profession to make his point. Hardly any time for the likes of Sherlock Holmes who still seemed to be in the midst of exploring his humble new home.

In a prison.

A sudden violent chunk of fork on plate made John mutter a curse as he was in the middle of eating. The thought made him carelessly stab his meat in the dining table with Mary watching him.

"Sorry."

"Aren't you really going?" his wife asked across him not for the first time while they were eating dinner in their kitchen on the third night. She had been trying to catch him off guard to ask the same question, and persistently at that. "It's been three days."

"I'm not." John swallowed his food with his eyebrows heavy on his eyes. "Let's drop it."

Mary pressed her lips looking unoffended and went on eating while John chewed on a bit forcefully.

Partly from being kept in the dark, John was struggling on something internal, and it was not because he was called an 'alter ego', no. He had been called a lot of names before that and this one given by Mycroft he took with pride.

No. The problem was Sherlock, the detective himself, and his act.

Curse Sherlock the day he learned to be selfless and be sensitive enough not to invite him on such exploration!

Oh, how his left hand twitched at night.

The doctor's contemplation lasted till he woke up next morning, have taken a bath and was on his way to work.

Bitterness may be a fine word, but John knew he was above all that already. There was no bitterness between Sherlock (except the time the man himself falsed his death) and himself. Above anything it was pure trust. And Sherlock had known his (John) grand intimacy for dangerous situation too... so the question on the matter at hand was why didn't the consultant detective consult his closest friend?

Could be dangerous.

Sherlock's message on his phone years ago flashed before his mind and John had to lean on his chair inside his office as he recollected this.

Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in. I'm trying to recruit you.

Wasn't that his very word that time they worked against one villain from the past?

John had known Sherlock for a very long time... and the only times the man himself wouldn't go involve him was whenever he see the case fit for one... or when he the case highly and most likely involving real harm and casualty.

Was the case fit for one?

Well, certainly they can't both go to prison.

Can't they?

John had to shake his head vigorously at the thought. No. People around him had already assumed he would but there are some limits even when Sherlock is concerned.

But then, as doctor thought about it... Sherlock has never resorted to the 'fit for one' man-case if he could help it because he'd always turn to John... and every time that he, John, was left out or sent away (that time Sherlock waited for him to leave their flat and met with Moriarty for the first time; and the other he will always regret at the Reichenbach when he was deliberately made to believe their landlady was shot gravely to the point of death only to find her perfectly sound while in his absence, Sherlock met Moriarty) Sherlock knows he will meet his doomed faith and he was ever ready to be alone.

Or to that effect.

The office was left empty even before this summary was concluded.

~ TO BE CONTINUED~

A/N: Alright may run for another chapter or 2 ;D

'Miss me?'

~Thanks for Reading~