Just like the night before, John entered his flat completely wired, incapable of bringing himself to continue with his usual monotonous routine.
Once more, he threw his stick on the bed and sat next to it, thinking hard about the night's events.
Unable to resist a bit of adventure, John had jumped to his feet at Sherlock's offer and split a cab with him, which took them to the address of Westwood's sister. Upon arriving, Sherlock peculiarly went down a side street which stopped at a dead end railing, revealing a train track. He nodded.
"I have a sort-of built in satnav in my brain. I know train tracks; I know street's they're close to. When Lestrade emailed me the address, I knew a train line ran directly behind Miss Sofia Westwood's home."
"But this is nowhere near where Alex's body was found, right?" John confirmed.
"Exactly. Come with me."
John had followed Sherlock round to Sofia's front door, watched him clang the knocker three times before a tall, plain man answered the door tentatively.
"Sherlock Holmes- you must be Joe. I'm here on behalf of Scotland Y-"
Joe went to slam the door shut but it caught on Sherlock's foot, swinging back open. Instead, Joe punched Sherlock square in the jaw, knocking him sideways, before he hurled himself back into the house and began to run through the rooms, John chasing after him. Joe was halfway out of a window before John grabbed his legs, pulled him back and threw him on the floor.
"Well, you've as good as confirmed that you murdered Alex Westwood by attempting to flee. I assume you have the memory stick. I'd like it, please." Sherlock coughed as he staggered into the room behind them, holding his bleeding lips.
"Don't know what you're talking about," Joe groaned.
"Oh, if you're planning to play dumb you may as well wipe the blood stains on your window pane. So, you killed him, stole the plans and then hurled him through the window, out on to a stationary train behind your house so he could be driven off to somewhere obscure?"
"How the bloody hell did you know that?" John frowned at Sherlock, who waved his hand in front of his face briskly.
"Joe, the game is up. The memory stick, please."
A moment of silence. Joe sighed, fished awkwardly inside his pocket and handed a small USB stick.
"Thank you."
The police turned up after eight minutes of awkward silence, where Joe remained pinned to the floor by John whilst Sherlock paced up and down, his hand dripping with blood from his bust lip. A greying middle-aged man entered the room first.
"This is our auctioneer?" The man frowned.
"Lestrade," Sherlock greeted, seemingly bored. "Yes. Bit obvious- I deduced it from your email. Here." He threw the USB over to Lestrade who caught it, examined it and then pocketed it delicately. "You can arrest him now."
"But how did you know?"
"Why don't you explain Joe?"
Joe seemed to contemplate this before accepting defeat.
"I went bankrupt. Needed some money." His voice was muffled but audible. "I knew my girl's brother, Alex, did something secretive- she's a bad liar and always lets slip hints about it. I thought there might be something valuable involved. I invited him for a pint, saying I was thinking of proposing. He got drunk. I asked him about work. He blabbed about this valuable memory stick. I stole it and auctioned it, but I rerouted my IP address so I wouldn't get caught. Anyway, Alex found out and came round to get it back. I didn't mean to kill him- I pushed him away and he slipped. Smacked his head on the table. What was I supposed to do? I carried his body out of the window and onto the garage, then chucked it on a train."
"Lovely," Sherlock clapped his hands together. "That was easier than I expected."
"And who's this?" Lestrade asked, pointing at John. "Are we arresting him too?"
"No, this is my colleague John Watson. He was interested so I invited him."
"Sherlock, this a confidential case, you can't just-"
"Without John, our thief would probably be on a train right now as Joe was able to knock me off my feet when we came in. John prevented Joe from escaping."
It had finally dawned on John that he had just caught a criminal from fleeing- not your usual Tuesday afternoon. Lestrade shifted.
"Right, well thanks, but this time only, Sherlock- it's bad enough getting you involved let alone another teacher."
Two hours later, John lay down his bed feeling well and truly exhilarated.
He had helped arrest a murderer.
After realising he had forgotten his mental note to speak to the headmaster, Mycroft Holmes, John paid him a visit fifteen minutes before Wednesday began.
"Come in," The lazy yet articulate voice of the headmaster called from behind the door.
John pushed the door open and smiled at Mycroft. It was returned instantly.
"Ah, John. I thought I might be seeing you soon."
"Did you?" John replied, setting down on the chair opposing his superior and shuffling in.
"Oh yes. My dear brother informed me of your little excursion last night. Did you have fun?"
So the students were right- they were siblings. John shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Oh, um, yeah, yeah it was different, wouldn't say fun-"
"Sherlock tells me you singlehandedly dragged a murderer hanging half-way out of a window and pinned him to the floor."
"Well, yeah, but-"
"I wonder," Cut across Mycroft, pouring the pair a cup of tea. "If this drastic introduction into a more thrilling lifestyle will perhaps tamper with your teaching?"
John paused.
"I wouldn't say 'introduction', Mycroft. I am a war veteran and have experienced far more thrills than that, and I think you'll find my current teaching quite adequate."
His response was icy.
To his surprise, Mycroft smiled.
"It is of no surprise to me that you enjoyed the adventure, John. But I must warn you about my brother."
"I won't be making a habit of this," John said quickly. "There's no warning needed."
"Then why are you here?" A cup of tea was pushed towards John, and the tension in the room relaxed.
"Well, about Sherlock, actually. Does he… usually get involved in things like that?"
"Yes, all the time."
"Really? Do you think it's appropriate for a man that involved in things like that to be teaching? I don't mean to be rude; I know he's your brother-"
"I have yet to stumble upon a case where his out-of-work endeavours interfere with his teaching in the classroom. But I admit we are only two days in."
"Well last night he said he'd twisted the year 7 curriculum to fit around a case to get their opinion."
"Did he now?" Mycroft asked lazily.
"Yes, the case he solved last night in fact."
"But that's not why you're here."
"Well, no, I'm here because of how he actually treats the students. I've spoken to him but it hasn't sunk him- he's quite insulting, but-"
"Are you trying to get him fired?" Mycroft pondered after a long sip of tea. John had left his untouched.
"What? No! I'm trying to help him. I've spoken to him but he's still not liked, and I thought that as you two are related, you might be able to talk some sense into him."
"Sherlock won't listen to me," Mycroft dismissed. "I've been trying to get him to stop being such an insufferable brat ever since… well, as far as I can remember. A few upset teenagers won't change his ways."
"Shame," John said. "But about the year 7 thing-"
"John." Mycroft cut across him once more, making John feel very agitated. "You seem determined to put my own brother in my bad books. You left on a high note with him last night; I don't understand why you are telling his… superior…" He smirked at that word. "…all of this, but then claim you are trying to help him. Does he bother you, John? Does his lifestyle remind you too much of your troubled past? Yes, his hobbies are rather more eccentric than the average man's; are you worried that you may be driven back into the lifestyle you so desperately want to escape?"
John glared at the Mycroft and smiled coldly.
"I don't follow."
"You spent years training to become a doctor, but chose to work with the army rather than a hospital. You are obviously inclined towards a dangerous lifestyle. But, perhaps your injury made you uneasy. You thought maybe you should steer clear of danger. Like any addict trying to come clean, you chose a lifestyle completely opposite to your craving; teaching. Where could a man find any thrill or adventure or injury in teaching? And now Sherlock is here, inviting you into a lifestyle filled with murder and adventure, like the case last night; a case which you could not resist but to jump into straight away and simply could not help but tackle the criminal to the floor. You're sliding back into wanting adventure. Now you want him gone."
"Excuse me?" John blustered. "Have you and Sherlock been happily chatting about me, exchanging deductions?" John stood up and heaved his chair back. "I'm not a toy for you to both deduce! I don't, I'm not-"
"John, please calm down." Mycroft droned on, setting his empty tea cup down on the saucer. "I assure you, I haven't exchanged a word about your personal life with my brother. He simply said that you assisted him at a case last night when I asked him why he had missed his meeting with the rest of the new teachers last night. We are both fairly good at deductions, you know. I see the same as what he sees. It's not just him. I taught him."
"Yeah, well you can sod off with your smart-arse scrutiny into my life. Christ, three days into term and I feel like my personal life has just been exploited. Best be off- lessons start in four minutes."
Storming out of the office into the crowded corridors, John barged passed a rather pensive Sherlock Holmes.
