Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.
Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take
Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship
Warnings: Language, Death.
Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.
Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them.
Chapter 2: The Revelations Continue
Location: Scotland Yard
Time: Close to 11 pm.
John enters the DI's office with a cup of tea, handing it to Sherlock. "Come on. And none of this transport business."
Sherlock rolls his eyes, but John smiles as the man takes the proffered cup and he sits down in the other chair.
When Sherlock revealed the real name of the woman, Lestrade looked like he was going to have a migraine. He told the two of them to get to NYS while they finish processing the scene.
"What do you think Lestrade is going to tell the husband?"
"No idea. Not my problem."
"She texted you for help."
"I know."
"You didn't believe her did you? That she needed it."
Sherlock raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his tea. "Irene was a con artist. Her job was to lie and play tricks. I didn't want to get wrapped up in whatever was going on."
"And now you are," John says simply. "She's dead and you're here."
"Even in death she's a pain in my neck," he mutters coldly.
John winces. "Rather harsh don't you think?"
"So?"
"Sherlock-"
"Don't start John, I'm not in the mood to hear it," Sherlock cuts him off as the door opens once more and Lestrade comes in, looking weary and tired.
"Well you were right."
Sherlock smirks. "Of course I was."
"Her fingerprints came back as Irene Adler. Quite the sheet she has too. Apparently though there's nothing about her going back nearly four years ago. She changed her appearance, not a lot, but enough to make people probably second guess themselves if they saw her. The last thing mentioned on here was her being arrested for assault, and that was almost four years ago, on September twenty seventh."
"Assault?" John asks curiously. "Don't con artists tend to avoid physical situations?"
"Yes that is a general idea. But charges were never pressed though."
"I didn't feel it was necessary."
Both men look at Sherlock with surprise. "She assaulted you?"
Sherlock sighs and John inwardly smiles at the man's resigned tone as he speaks. "Hardly. She punched me. A police officer was nearby at the time, so he arrested her."
"Any reason she punched you?"
"She didn't care for my terminology towards her."
John didn't want to know what Sherlock called her, and it looks like the DI didn't either.
"So she was a con artist. According to her husband, she wasn't very keen on coming back to London, and she hadn't been feeling well the entire time she was here. Pretty much stayed in their suite."
"She didn't want to risk being seen by someone who might know her. As you said, she only slightly modified her appearance, enough to make people second guess. Someone apparently recognized her like I did."
"She had a lot of enemies?"
John watches Sherlock then, at the expression that crosses over his eyes and then finally a faint smirk appears. "Yes. Considering she was quite the ambitious con artist."
"Ambitious?"
"She aimed high. Went for those who had more money than they knew what to do with. Looks like she finally succeeded in her goals though, with snagging one of the wealthiest men in the United States."
"But they've been married for two and a half years. Isn't that a rather long commitment?" John asks then. "If she was going to get as much money as she could for him, she would have done a divorce as soon as possible."
"Prenup may prevent it, you may want to look into it," Sherlock tells Lestrade. "Her marriage may have been her retirement fund, all she had to be was be patient. Wait it out. She had no history in the States really, except a brief failed run at being an actress... which I cannot fathom since she had such excellent acting capabilities."
"Obviously," Lestrade murmurs.
"Have you told the husband yet?" John asks.
"Not yet. The husband could have known though, be the actual killer."
"He's not the killer," Sherlock counters. "I saw him when I was coming in and when we were leaving. Grief is real. He had no idea about his wife. If you don't mind Lestrade, I would like to go home and I'm sure John would too, as he has to get up early tomorrow to go to surgery."
"Yeah, fine. But Sherlock, we need to know what kind of history you have with this Irene Adler, other than her punching you for insulting her."
Sherlock just huffs at that, gets up and goes out the door.
"Hold on, John before you go," Lestrade stands as John does. "How are you two doing?"
John blinks. "How do you mean?"
"I mean with everything. We haven't seen each other much since that incident with the pool."
John instantly clamps down on a memory that threatens to spill forward. "We're fine. Just.." He closes his eyes and sighs. "We're fine."
"Are you sure?"
"No," he admits. "But you can't help, I'm sorry Lestrade. This is between Sherlock and I."
Lestrade nods. "Just.. if you two need anything-"
"Thanks." John cuts him off before he can finish and leaves the Inspectors office, knowing he'll have to run to catch up to Sherlock, but surprisingly he doesn't as Sherlock is sitting on a bench instead of hailing a cab.
"I could kill someone for a cigarette."
"Where are your nicotine patches?"
"Out," Sherlock says and sighs almost dramatically.
"We'll get some on the way back then." John raises his arm then, and shouts "Taxi!"
As luck would have it, one actually appears. Usually that just works with Sherlock. They get into the cab.
"How's your arm?"
"Aching."
"You haven't been taking your pain medication?"
"Stupid question, John."
John sighs. "Sherlock, it's supposed to help-"
"It dulls the brains, slows it down. Need to think, especially with a new case."
"So you're taking it?"
Cool blue eyes meet his. "You sound surprised."
"It's just you've turned down every case, from the police and others ever since you've been able to get rid of the crutch."
Sherlock had badly sprained his leg during the pool incident, and it was less severe of all the injuries, but it had taken three weeks for it to heal enough for Sherlock to walk on it without the use of a crutch or wincing in pain.
"Nothing has been interesting," he says flatly.
"Right."
"Not now, John."
"I am going to get you about it later," John warns. "So are you going to take this because of guilt?"
He's met with another sharp look. "Guilt? Whoever said anything about guilt?"
"I just did. She came to you for help."
"And now she's dead, so I must feel guilty?"
Any normal person would, John thinks and instantly winces at his thoughts.
"We've established I'm not normal John," Sherlock states with a touch of amusement, apparently able to read John's mind.
"Sorry. I mean-"
"Don't be sorry."
"Right." John inhales, then releases. "It's not your fault."
"I know it's not."
"And neither is Moriarty kidnapping me."
The mask descends then, and John knows he pressed too much this time. But at some point their going to have this conversation.
Deep down, John thinks he has the answers. He's not quite sure, but he's about ninety five percent sure. He saw a side of Sherlock that day that was different from any other day.
And he's sure Sherlock is trying to come to terms with that.
They were in the hospital for a few days after the standoff. John doesn't remember much, all he knows is that the bomb didn't go off, but something else happened. John was in a coma for only two days, suffering only a couple fractured ribs, and a whole lot of bruising and some cuts.
Sherlock was a different story.
He was in a coma for a whole week and a half. His right arm broken in three places, bruised, cut, and bloody as John was, severe sprain on his right leg. At first there was worry about brain trauma, something that truthfully terrified John.
But somehow Sherlock was lucky. No trauma to the brain, other than a concussion. He hadn't changed a bit temperament wise once he was fully conscious. He terrorized the nurses, and had to be restrained from leaving. It took having John come talk to him to get him stop acting up.
John discovered though Sherlock had no liking for hospitals and wanted out as soon as possible. John had to contact Mycroft of all people for help, and whatever Mycroft had done, an arrangement was made that Sherlock could finish recovering at the flat, as long as he listened to John,
And John seemed to be the only person the temperamental man would listen to, even if it was a trial to get Sherlock to do what was needed to recover.
"You have my mobile?"
John's thoughts scatter as Sherlock's voice resonates. "What? Oh yeah," he reaches into his pocket and hands it to Sherlock.
Admittedly, Sherlock became resourceful with only being able to use one arm. He was able to work it out on his mobile and laptop within a couple days, setting up a system.
"Are you going to tell me about you and Irene?" John asks. "Before Lestrade that is."
Sherlock smiles, a genuine smile, but doesn't look up from the mobile. "You just want to know so you can see if I give Lestrade a different story."
"No," John protests, but silently he does think Sherlock would give an edited account to Lestrade, but be truthful with him, at least he hopes so.
"It's a long story, John."
The cabbie pulls up to 221B Baker Street, and this time John takes Sherlock's wallet, takes the money out and pays the cabbie, before getting out, waiting for Sherlock to do so. When he does he places the wallet back as the man continues to do whatever with his mobile.
"So? I have time."
"You have to go to surgery tomorrow, early. And this will be a long tale I think."
"You're stalling," John says flatly, going up to the door.
"No, I'm not."
"Then why-"
"Because I will need your mind refreshed and alert when I tell the story, and it has been a long night. You need sleep. And my arm is aching so I'm not in particular mood to weave a tale."
John stays silent for a minute, processing that. Then gives Sherlock a no nonsense look. "All right then. But you will tell me before you tell Lestrade."
"Of course."
Author's Note: And soon to have more on the way! If you want, please review, as they are like candy and I can't help but enjoy each one, no matter the form. :)