Spoils of War
Chapter 4: Behind Enemy Lines
Summary: John ends up at Jarrett's flat one night after pints while Mycroft visits Sherlock.
A/N: You guys I am so sorry this took so, so long to post. I have had a lot to do in the past few weeks and my muse seemed to have taken a really long vacation, but I am starting work on the next chapters so that you don't have to wait forever again. I also would like to give you all warm chocolate chip cookies and milk to appease you all. Again, all thanks and praise to my amazing, amazing beta meddlingadler without her these chapters would suck a lot!
Jarrett wasn't sure what attracted him first, the drugs or the money, but he knew that it was a lifestyle made for him and he enjoyed every minute of it. He looked across his desk to the man shaking in the plush chair. Jarrett cocked his head just slightly to the left, and the thug currently holding the man's right index finger snapped it back. The jittery man let out a horrifying howl as his bone snapped, his finger now dangling uselessly from his hand.
"That, Mr. Gray, was to show you just how serious I am. Either you get me the things I need, or you are of no use to me anymore. I run a business, and if you can't prove useful, then there's no use for you; simple." Jarrett ran a well manicured hand through his short brown hair, his eyes shimmering in pure delight.
"Please Mr. Lynn, I just need one more day, one more day, and I can get you everything you need," the man whimpered, cradling his hand against his chest.
Jarrett leaned back in his chair as he steeped his fingers under his chin. He considered the supposed ruthless gang leader in front of him, "You have one more day Mr. Gray, and if you disappoint me this time around, your finger isn't going to be the only bone that gets snapped," his tone was nothing but ice as he swiveled his back to the man. Jarrett waved a hand from behind his chair, "Show him to the door, I have work to do."
Once the door to his office clicked closed and silence settled around him, he picked up his phone and typed out three different messages. His grin was anything but sweet as he dropped the phone into his trouser pocket. He stood from his chair so that he could look down onto the street from his window. The man he had just spoken to darted out of the building, his hand still cradled to his chest, but Jarrett didn't ruminate much on that because he had a date with a doctor to get ready for.
John was busy sorting through his files and lists of inventory that Sarah had left him to look over. She'd noticed that, in the last few weeks, different medicines they had in stock as samples were going missing. John and the other doctors had reassured her that they always wrote what they took out, but they'd be happy to help her double check the lists and supplies, which John was currently doing by cross checking his patient files with the different medicine samples he'd given them. He was almost finished when Anthony, a new intern, stumbled through his door.
John snapped his head up when he heard the door slam against his wall. The young man was gasping and holding his hand to his chest. John cocked his head as he slowly stood up, "Anthony, what happened?" John moved around his desk and helped the younger man to sit in the chair.
Anthony had sweat dripping down the side of his head. He drew in lungful after lungful of air as he tried to formulate an answer, "I…the tube…doors…" he gasped again. He looked up as John passed him a paper cup of water from the cooler. Anthony's hand was shaking horribly, most of the water splashed out of the cup and onto his shirt.
John frowned in concentration. He reached forward to try and examine Anthony's hand. The man shrank away from, but then seemed to remember himself and let his hand be taken from his chest. John held the palm gently, Anthony's right index finger dangled down and swung freely in the air, "Christ mate, that's a nasty break. I'm not sure I can treat that here, you'll have to go to St. Bart's to get it fixed, there's more than just bone damage, they'll have to fix the joint too," John carefully allowed Anthony to take his hand back.
"N-no hospital, g-give me a s-stint," he sputtered, then drew in a deep breath letting it out slowly to settle himself.
"I can't do that Anthony, you need to have a surgeon look at that and decide what to do with it. I can take an x-ray to send along with you, but we don't have to tools here to fix a break as severe as that. I'll ring Sarah and have her set up an x-ray for you," John walked around the back of his desk; he was reaching for his phone when Anthony suddenly shot to his feet.
"I said I want a stint, so wrap it up already and I'll be fine," he snapped, and John was so surprised that he stopped with the phone halfway to his ear.
John blinked at Anthony, his hand slowly lowering the phone back to its cradle, "Anthony I can't even begin to tell you why that is a bloody stupid idea," his ire was beginning to rise as his doctor side started to throw out red flags with Anthony's behaviour.
"I'm sorry Dr. Watson, but I just…I don't like hospitals, I just…give it a wrap for now and I promise to go to Bart's after I've calmed down a bit," he blinked slowly at the doctor as he watched him considering his words.
John sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat, "Alright fine, but only if you sincerely promise to go to Bart's. I've got friends there I can ring to see if you've held up your end of the deal," his voice trailed as he moved about his office gathering the supplies he'd need.
Anthony let out a soft sigh, glad for the time being that he won one small battle for the day. He followed John out of his office and down to an empty exam room where his finger was stinted and wrapped up tight. As John finished with the finger his mobile started to ring, so he excused himself to check the message in case it was Sherlock requiring his assistance. Anthony was left alone in the room. He immediately jumped off the exam table to tear through the cupboards. He was frantic. He needed to grab the rest of the things Jarrett demanded, but this time around he was crazy with fear and his hands didn't fully cooperate with what he needed them to do. Bottles, instruments, and other miscellaneous things toppled to the floor as he pulled drawers, cabinets, and various other containers open looking for the sample drugs he knew were kept in the room. He didn't know when John would come back in, nor did he care. Once he had what he needed he'd be gone. He had stayed in the clinic too long already, he needed to get moving, but first he needed the narcotics. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, he could hear John shuffling about behind the door, but then suddenly he pulled open the cabinet on the wall in the corner. On the shelves were sleeves of newly made painkillers. Anthony grabbed handfuls of them and shoved them into his trouser pockets. He moved quickly, and after his pockets were stretched to the limit, he shoved the exam door open, muttered to John, and hurried away.
John was surprised to see the message was from Jarrett, but responded anyway. It seemed that they would be meeting at seven for pints in a nearby pub, to which John wasn't opposed. It had been three days since the kiss he shared with Jarrett, an experience he'd come to regret not remembering a lot of, but also finding himself nervously thinking of repeating. He needed a way to vent his frustrations with Sherlock, and Jarrett provided a willing and acceptable solution. What he had not been prepared to find when he turned back to the exam room was the intern hurrying away with barely a word. John turned to watch him go, an eyebrow raised in bewilderment. He shook his head and went back into the exam room, and upon entering his eyebrows shot to his forehead.
"Oh bloody hell," he muttered in quiet astonishment which quickly simmered away to anger. He turned on his heel to find Sarah and share what he just found.
Hours later found John sat in a secluded table waiting on Jarrett, three pints already consumed to combat the day he'd had. He shook his wrist out of his shirt sleeve for the fifth time to check the time, quarter past seven and no sign of Jarrett. He sighed once more waving the barmaid over for another pint. He reasoned that if he finished pint number four and still no Jarrett he'd just go home and get some rest, which is actually what he should have done when he got off work just over an hour ago.
The whole situation with Anthony earlier had the small surgery struggling to take corrective action. The NSY had gotten involved and Sarah was very close to taking off the lead inspector's head a few times. She was furious, and with good reason, but the NSY had no record of an Anthony Jones, much to their chagrin. The NSY didn't seem to take the report or missing medications too seriously, and that had ignited a slow burning anger in all of the doctors in the surgery who were trying to stress the different warnings and uses of the medications that had gone missing. John was a bit surprised at the reception their report got given the recent gang activities, but he hoped that police would follow through with their promises, but until then Sarah, John, and the rest of the doctors were left to pick up the pieces.
Another weary sigh escaped John as he sank even lower in his seat. He looked at his pint, arguing with himself over just leaving it and going home, or downing it then going home, either way he was starting to feel the pull to go home becoming tighter and tighter. He tipped the glass back to watch the play of the dim lights through the amber liquid, and he had become lost in the play.
"John, I am so sorry I'm late," a voice suddenly startled John and his pint nearly tipped back, but Jarrett caught it.
John looked up at the man and grinned warily, "Ah, evening Jarrett, I was just toying with the idea of calling it an early night, it's been a…well it's been a day," he chuckled dryly indicating the empty chair opposite him.
Jarrett cocked his head, "We can head back to my place for a movie and some pizza to combat your day?" he suggested with a small smile.
John nodded in agreement because the offer sounded blood fantastic, "That really sounds good mate, let me finish this up quick and we can head out."
Jarrett nodded with a wry smile, "No hurry John, we'll go once you finish and you can vent if you feel the need to," he slid easily into the chair opposite John and settled in to wait for the man.
While John was attending to a visitor of his own, Sherlock was displeased to see what had showed up on his doorstep in the good doctor's place.
"Evening Mycroft does England need saving again?" he asked tiredly stepping aside to let his brother into the flat.
Mycroft blatantly ignored Sherlock's ire, "You need to stop investigating these gang murders Sherlock," once in the flat he turned to face the lanky man. His hands were folded gently on the top of his umbrella as he eyed his younger sibling.
Sherlock frowned letting the door snap shut behind him, "Just because we're dealing with two gangs known for their ruthless drug dealing hardly means I'll fall back on old habits," Sherlock scowled as he passed his older brother to plop down into his favoured chair. He continued to pout hoping it would persuade Mycroft to leave.
Instead the elder Holmes pinched his lips together turning to face Sherlock, "I'm hardly concerned about your old habits," he spat the last two words out as if they left an awful taste in his mouth.
Sherlock drew his knees to his chest, "How was tea with Gerald?" he tried to change the subject picking lint from the top of his pyjama clad knee.
"Don't Sherlock, this is important. You need to cease all investigation into these murders, and stop visiting Moriarty. You haven't a clue what you're up against Sherlock, you or the good doctor," he was pleased to see the piqued interest upon mention of John Watson.
Sherlock tipped his head, his eyes raking over Mycroft in a critical manner, "And you do?"
Mycroft sighed, his long legs carrying him to John's chair where he gently lowered himself, "As your brother, Sherlock, I am asking you to quit. I have some of my best men working on these cases; find something else to vex you."
Sherlock's hackles began to rise, "You're afraid something will happen to me because you've figured out his patterns and the…presents he's leaving behind. You think I'm going to end up a target for his puppets to take out…" Sherlock trailed there as he averted his eyes from Mycroft's face.
Mycroft was still, his mouth set in a firm line and his eyes silently pleading with Sherlock to just listen to him for once, "He's using your old mistress to call you out Sherlock, surely that's enough to cause me concern. He knows how difficult it is for you to resist the siren song, that's why he's bringing you to your old haunts."
Sherlock fought very hard not to roll his eyes in exasperation, "I know that Mycroft, but there's more to this game, he's drawing me out, playing with me because he wants something. He wants something so that he can control me, but he hasn't quite figured out what that is yet, and in the process of his latest cat and mouse he's always ever the diligent business man, so he's creating a new drug. These two gangs believe this new drug will gain them all sorts of fortune and-and street cred," Sherlock waved his hands in the air at the slang term, his face twisting in disgust at the slaughter of the English language he uttered, "but in reality these two gangs are just pawns in an even bigger game."
Mycroft frowned, "There are innocent people being killed just so Moriarty can flirt with you, I trust you've thought of that…but no, Sherlock Holmes can't be bothered by the lives of the normal people when someone is dangling new and exciting cases in front of his nose. I won't ask again Sherlock, stop investigating and let me handle it." Mycroft's tone was cold.
Sherlock frowned. He let his feet slip forward to plant on the floor. He leaned himself forward, his elbows on his knees as he regarded his brother, "No Mycroft, he chose me and so he'll have to face the consequences."
Across the city in a well lit, sparsely decorated flat John Watson was fumbling with the buttons to Jarrett's shirt, his lips swollen and puffy from heated kisses, marks already blooming across his shoulders and collarbones, and his trousers painfully snug at his groin. In his haste to relieve all sorts of tension, John failed to note the odd collection of medical journals and chemistry equipment scattered in the living area, something that would send out signal flares, and instead he latched his lips onto the skin being bared as he tore Jarrett's shirt from his chest.
A/N: As always please leave me a review to let me know what you think, and I promise very soon Sherlock and John will be having a serious chat about...things and the M rating will really be worth it!