Hello, readers! I want you to know that I haven't planned the whole fic yet, so sometimes it could take time for me to update, since I want everything to be logical and thrilling. It's hard to write a case, you know. But with some reviews I'm sure I'll be fine (hint, hint). Have fun!

Chap. 7 The beginning

"Sherlock! Don't be such a child! Give the dog tag to me," Lestrade said warningly and quickly directed one man to guard the doorway that led out of the flat.

Sherlock however had no intention to surrender the evidence, and John's property at that, so easily. Fourteen officers had turned hostile when he had openly refused to show the dog tag to Lestrade. And now they were slowly approaching the detective who currently had retreated to the back of the sofa-skeleton.

"Sure, so your competent colleagues can destroy the rest of the fingerprints and/or other substances which still might be on the dog tag or the chain? Or perhaps you will only misplace it this time and never find it?" Sherlock hissed with sarcasm and watched how two particularly large officers approached him on both sides of the furniture.

"Why are you acting like this? Has it occurred to you that maybe the tag isn't proof of anything? Why don't you relax a bit and call John to ask him about the item?" Lestrade tried with a more kind tone and Sherlock considered for a split second to toss the necklace out the open window no-one had considered, but decided against it since vital data could be lost.

He sighed dramatically and handed the dog tag to the man on his left who thankfully had a glove on his hand. The people in the room warmed up immediately and shook their head at Sherlock's antics, or in Anderson's case; muttered with a whiny voice.

"Well, Jones, can you take this to the lab, please?" Lestrade asked a woman when he had studied the dog tag and put it in a plastic bag. Then the DI turned to Sherlock with a stern expression. "Happy now?" he said evenly but Sherlock climbed over his temporary stronghold with dignity and snorted.

"Will you let me work now?"

Lestrade seemed appalled as if his request was outrageous, before he bowed his head. "We need more to go on than that tag to deem this flat a crime scene. I'll tell you what, my group move up to search the attic and then you can do your thing here. Though, you really should call John and ask him if there's a logical reason why one of his tags is MIA. Otherwise a poor man in the lab has to run tests on a useless metal piece."

Sherlock didn't answer but his hand was already in the pocket of his coat and dialed the number to John's hospital phone. He stared brutally at Lestrade until the cop caught on and swung around.

"Alright, guys, we're going upstairs. We could be on to something so get excited now."

Only a couple officers returned their boss' smile and the rest shuffled towards the entrance door. Lestrade followed them out and did a gesture at Sherlock that he was welcome to knock himself out.

"Should you find something, tell me before you dash off to God knows where," Lestrade added and closed the door.

As soon as the footsteps had died, Sherlock lifted the phone to his ear and waited for John to pick up. He decided to walk around in the rooms and investigate in the meantime.

"Hello? John, here," a hoarse voice said into Sherlock's ear.

"John, unless you're too tired, write down the names of all the soldiers you served with in Afghanistan and add people from other companies or countries as well. I'll explain later."

Sherlock heard John inhale and waited impatiently for the questions that would come.

"What happens over there? And Sherlock, that is classified information. I can't hand out identities of soldiers just like that without knowing what you'll use them for."

Sherlock ran a frustrated hand through his dark curls and said grimly, "We need to find those who for some reason could be enemies to you. I found something that could imply so."

"What? But Sherlock…" Finally a sigh of surrender. "So, what did you find?"

'Now we're getting somewhere,' Sherlock thought and walked into his own bedroom to retrieve the small vault.

"Your dog tags are now singular. One of them is missing and I'm certain it wasn't two days ago since I last saw it. Someone has cut it off and we need to know who. Think John; when has the apartment been unguarded these last days?"

"Ehm, if you were with Lestrade yesterday morning when you refused the paycheck, that would mean at least one hour when only Mrs. Hudson would be in the house. And then last night when I had taken the sleeping pills. Only the fire was able to wake me up then, so that leaves half an hour for someone to enter the flat, find my dog tags and start a fire."

John's voice sounded more and more unsettled as the conversation progressed. Sherlock understood perfectly. To have a stranger wander into your home while you're asleep was a worrying thought. With his shoulder, Sherlock squashed the phone to his ear and suddenly had two hands to lift the small vault from under the floor boards.

"Sherlock, I would say that scenario would be more believable if the suspect observed us in the flat. How else would he know I was sleeping with drugs in my system?" John reflected and Sherlock nodded despite John could not see him.

"You're with me so far. And add the possibility that someone could have entered the flat and found your dog tags yesterday and fiddled with them all day until last night when he returned to 221 B and set the flat on fire after he had placed the necklace in your room. That means this someone has planned the operation for quite some time and knew he had to be quick in case I came back. No-one can predict how I move and I think that was why the fire broke out less than twenty minutes after I had left the house."

Sherlock hoisted the vault up on his hip and took the phone with his free hand as he pushed the floor board back in place with his foot.

"Does Lestrade know any of this? You know he must be informed, Sherlock." Was that a lecturing tone in John's voice?

"He already knows too much for my taste. He took the dog tag and the chain and sent it to the lab. You'll never see it again, so all we have to go on are hopefully the clues in the flat or in the attic where Anderson and the other morons run freely."

Sherlock revealed his annoyance which made John chuckle on the other end. "Don't be so hard on Scotland Yard. They're doing their best and have a useful lab which helps you." John paused to clear his throat and Sherlock entered the draughty, black, and evil-smelling area that was John's burned bedroom.

"Fine, I'll ask for a pen and notepad and start on the list. Are you coming here soon?"

At the last sentence, John's voice carried a hint of hesitation. Sherlock detected the change immediately and stopped sniffing for gasoline or other flammable liquids in some spared spots in the corners. "What's wrong?" he asked briskly.

"There's something I need to tell you soon. I'd rather do it here than over the phone."

"Dear me, the dull 'we need to talk' conversation, is it? Can't it wait?"

"Sherlock, I'm serious. Get back here as soon as you can," John burst out and Sherlock stared longingly at the destroyed chest of drawers where John used to place his dog tags on the top.

"Give me ten minutes and then I'll take a cab. But it better be a good reason for trying to distract me from a case," he replied sternly and hung up.

Time to fling himself into a real challenge for once; to deduct from a scorched room and find anything that could prove the fire wasn't an accident and that John's dog tags had something to do with it. Sherlock could hardly contain his excitement but all the same felt a strange flutter in his stomach. Who would want to harm John?

John wasn't bored anymore. Not that he was cheerful or calm, but at least he had something to do while Sherlock deducted in their flat.

The news Sherlock had told him had worried him since he rarely got in the way of criminals. That was Sherlock's thing, not John who often found himself saving Sherlock from further harm. But John didn't socialize with villains if he could help it.

John couldn't believe what Sherlock had hinted at; that someone had been willing to become an arsonist to kill him in cold blood and only leave one dog tag as a macabre statement. John worried his bottom lip as he wrote down the names of three other American soldiers he had encountered several times in a mess tent.

The other idea about the dog tag was that maybe the culprit hadn't intended to murder John, only frighten or wound him. In that case, the single dog tag could be seen as an omen, a terrible warning.

John grew more confident he had made the right choice concerning Mycroft's offer. Surely no-one would be able to trace Sherlock and John to a flat administered by the British government.

"Ah, shit," he mumbled and relaxed his firm grip on the pen as the stitches on his arm began to prickle. He leaned back against the raised mattress and studied his long list. After having trouble thinking of soldiers who might have a grudge against him, John had decided to rather put down every name he knew than do the mistake of excluding a possible criminal.

At that moment, Sherlock came into the room like a tempest crackling with untamed energy and practically threw John off his track completely when he breathed out an apology. "Sorry I'm late. I had to drop off something at King's Cross station." Then he suddenly spun around to face John and wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"I know that cologne. Tell me he didn't…" Sherlock breathed out and John forced himself to gather his courage.

"Yes, that's what I wanted to talk about. Mycroft paid me a visit to see how I was doing. And he fixed us a flat which will be ready when I get out of here tomorrow. I thought it would be wise to accept his offer."

John looked at Sherlock's stormy eyes which flashed with emotions, thoughts and deductions. The detective finally plopped down on the hard chair but kept his back rigid and tense.

"What did he say? What was his exact phrasing, John? I have to prevent this if I can."

Again, the Holmes brothers' antagonism towards one another both amused and bothered John.

"Sherlock, are you sure this is what you want to waste time on? What does it matter if Mycroft has a secret motive? The important thing is that we now have a new and temporary home. So, you don't have to think about these trivial obligations anymore and I can recover in a flat accommodated for my needs at the present. Everything works out just fine," John explained while he carefully searched Sherlock's face for the signs of fury or sulk.

However, Sherlock surprised him again when he exhaled loudly and dropped his shoulders. "I… suppose I wouldn't make the time to find us another flat. Not while I'm on this case. I understand why you made the decision, John." Sherlock gave him a quick, but reassuring nonetheless, smile before he leaned forward and eagerly began to read John's list which was upside-down for the detective.

Wanting to spare Sherlock's eyes, John turned the notepad around and silence filled the room while Sherlock's piercing gaze scanned the paper.

"You've divided the men into categories." It wasn't a question, just familiar observation from Sherlock. John nodded.

"Yeah, I figured it would make things easier. First comes the troop I was in, after that; other British companies we met in camps or travelled with to other destinations. Then I wrote down the few soldiers from other countries and at last the men I trained with before I went into service. Though, I can't remember the names of those I treated during combat but if you want, I can get in touch with my old commander and see if he can hand me the records. It will be hard but I can try."

Sherlock only hummed distantly and swept a finger back and forth over his lips as his brain worked and cataloged the names. John kept quiet and became mesmerized by Sherlock's intense concentration. He was certain that whenever Sherlock turned on that stare, the thing he looked at, whether it was an object or a person, would eventually reveal its secret other humans failed to see. And that was one of those things John admired when it came to Sherlock.

Finally Sherlock tossed the notepad at John's blanket and directed all his attention on John.

"Lestrade is coming here. He's going to hear you about the fire."

"Okay."

"Don't say more to him than you have to. Your voice is barely managing as it is. I need it to be there."

Sherlock removed his black gloves and put them in his pocket. Ever the doctor, John saw the very white nuance on the skin that contrasted against the muddy coat.

"Sherlock, have you eaten anything since the fire?"

John consciously used a slightly concerned tone which served its purpose. Sherlock jerked his head and his lips were set in a thin line. "Adrenalin and fear is underrated as recreational substances. I feel fine compared to you."

"Sherlock!" John commented to make sure Sherlock was aware of the gravity of the situation, "You may have been able to keep yourself awake last night but if you don't eat something your mind will soon be affected. I certainly don't fancy having a listless detective by my side in this case when it seems I'm the target! Go and fetch something from the vending machine."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but John wasn't buying his dramatic display and wouldn't ignore what he had demanded of Sherlock. Sherlock grimaced and frowned for a while. But to John's relief the detective got up and slowly, with frustratingly tedious steps, he moved towards the door but turned his head to John.

"I'll have you know I refuse to tell you what Lestrade discovered in the attic."

Of course Sherlock would have to behave like a child and come up with something in retaliation!

"Is that so? Then I won't ask the colonel for the list of my patients in Afghanistan." John answered and watched two red spots appear on Sherlock's cheeks. The detective really must be tired if he couldn't even win a discussion. It was odd to not have Sherlock one step ahead of him. John would remedy that on the spot.

"And wash your face while you're out there. You've got soot on your skin," he added.

Sherlock blinked and retorted dryly, "Approximately fifteen more words and then your voice is gone. I suggest you keep quiet from now on."

Then he left but John grinned from ear to ear, partly because Sherlock wasn't angry with him for accepting Mycroft's invitation and partly because no matter what insults Sherlock threw at him now, the stubborn detective was on his way to get nourishment.

John had taken care of the basic needs from a hospital bed; food and a home. Now both he and Sherlock could concentrate on the new mystery.

There we are, a new case is born and isn't it glorious? Lol! But seriously, tell me what you think with a long or a short review. I don't mind reading your thoughts at all, you know.