Chapter 7
Sherlock was waiting for him in his bedroom, his slim shoulders squared with determination beneath his usual black coat and navy blue scarf. His icy eyes were dry beneath his curly dark hair, although if one looked closely there seemed to be a thin rim of red around his normally-blue pupils. Mycroft raised his eyebrows at his younger brother, his chest still aching from Gregory's departure.
"I am assuming that you heard everything," he murmured.
Sherlock shot him a half-contemptuous glance, his expression surprisingly sympathetic.
"You know what we have to do, then," the younger Holmes mused.
Mycroft nodded stiffly, his thin fingers nearly white around his umbrella.
"I take it that you would be… adverse to having assistance from my men?" he asked casually.
Sherlock grimaced at the thought, his lips curling into a fragile half-smile that sent a pang of guilt and regret through Mycroft's heart.
"We could have used assistance from Lestrade," he pointed out casually. "You could always apologize to him, and-."
"No," Mycroft interrupted sharply.
The smile shattered as easily as it had appeared, leaving behind a lost sort of glare that Mycroft hadn't seen since their father had left years ago.
"You will patch things up with Lestrade when all of this is over," the detective ordered quietly.
"I wasn't planning on it," Mycroft replied coolly.
"Adjust your plans!" Sherlock barked, his pale features flushed with fury. "You took John away from me- you've already failed me once today, Mycroft, do not fail me again. Do not take another friend away from me due to your own stupidity and weakness."
Mycroft forced himself not to flinch at Sherlock's words and deliberately relaxed his grip on the handle of his umbrella.
"My relationship with Gregory should not have had any impact on your ability to work with him," he objected calmly.
Sherlock sneered and shoved past his brother towards the stairs, his clenched fists buried deep within his pockets.
"You are a fool, brother," he snapped over his shoulder, his voice tinged with the faintest hint of sadness. "Grab your coat and leave your phone. We're going out."
"Where?" Mycroft called wearily, his body already moving to follow his younger brother.
"Drury Lane. There is a young lady living there who has some information for us."
"Is she at home, then?"
Sherlock paused inches from the door to the British Government's townhouse and glanced back at his brother, his expression scathing.
"Does it matter?"
*Johnlock*Johnlock*Johnlock*
"… Are you sure about this, then?"
Sally Donovan bit back a sharp comment and shot a half-hearted glare towards the man at her side, her brow furrowing at the weary, devastated look in Detective Inspector Lestrade's brown eyes. The older Yarder had worn the same expression when Sally had arrived at his flat barely five minutes after her departure from the Yard, although he had refused to talk when she had questioned him about it.
Probably had a domestic with the freak's brother, she mused absently. I told him it was a bad idea to get involved with that lot.
Look at what happened to John.
A half-familiar pang of guilt and sorrow went through her at the thought of the kindhearted doctor that had followed Sherlock Holmes like a devoted guard dog, always ready to lash out at anyone that so much as looked at the detective the wrong way. Greg was the same when it came to Mycroft, she realized dully, protective in a way that Anderson had never been protective of her.
What was it about those freaks that made people so devoted to them?
Her foot caught on a piece of rubble, nearly sending her sprawling onto the charred ground. Lestrade caught her automatically with a low grunt, his narrowed eyes sweeping warily across the darkened ruins of what had once been a building.
"Should've brought a torch," he muttered.
"I didn't want to risk it," Sally hissed back. "Don't know if someone is watching the area or not, and I don't want our… informant to see us before we see her."
"Now tha's not very nice, is it?"
Sally flinched and whirled around in the direction of the voice, a low hiss of surprise and pain breaking through her lips when a bright light slammed into her eyes. Beside her, she heard Lestrade bite out a low curse and reach for the pistol at his hip, only to stop when a sad chuckle reached them from behind the light.
"I thought Yarders were suppos'd ta ask before they shoot," the new girl called pointedly. She lowered the light of the torch in her hand to ground in front of them, allowing Sally to catch a glimpse of a small, petite woman with fiery red hair. Her short, curvy legs were clad in tight-fitting black leggings, and the oversized leather jacket that was wrapped around her slim shoulders only made her seem smaller in the dim light.
The woman winked at Lestrade, her full lips curling into a half-hearted smirk as she took in the two Yarders.
"Hm, good ta see you listened ta me," she murmured. "An' he's a good choice. You have fine taste, ma'am."
"T-thank you," Sally stuttered, confused. "I- Why did you call us here?"
The woman cocked her head to the side, her smirk fading slightly into a look of innocent curiosity.
"Why did you come?" she countered.
"You mentioned that there was a place beneath the building, yeah?" Lestrade demanded sharply, his fingers still wrapped securely around the butt of his pistol.
The woman nodded slowly, looking slightly disappointed.
"You told 'im, then?" she muttered. "Shame. I like ta be the one ta explain things… Ah, well, saves time, I suppose. I'm Liz, just so you know," she added. "Liz Lyon. My boy Jack came ta help that doctor of yours. If he had died, you would've found his body in the rubble."
"What makes you think that we didn't?" Lestrade snapped.
"There were only three bodies found," Sally whispered. "This Jack… he would have made four."
Liz nodded and turned away, her small feet carefully picking their way through the rubble. Sally scrambled after her, dimly noting that Lestrade was hurrying to keep up. The red head hurried towards the center of the rubble, her torch sweeping frantically across the ground in front of her in search of some sign that only she seemed to be aware of. Sally swore under her breath as she struggled to stay close to the other woman, her boots catching on pieces of charred rock and metal every few seconds. Lestrade didn't seem to be doing any better, his rough voice rising every few minutes or so in muffled oaths and curses.
"You know, if she actually told us what the hell she was looking for, we might be able to help," he grumbled.
Sally didn't reply, her dark eyes focused intently on the small figure that was skipping agilely through the rubble. Suddenly, Liz froze and cried out in triumph, her hazel eyes glittering in the light of her torch as she turned to look at the Scotland Yarders that were scrambling after her.
"Here!" she called out.
Sally skidded to a halt next to the smaller woman, her dark eyes flickering over the small pile of stones, dirt and scrap metal that had apparently fascinated her companion.
"Wha-?" she started.
Liz huffed in annoyance and shoved Sally out of the way, her small hands already tugging at the stones and dirt. After a few moments, Lestrade fell to his knees beside her and yanked away several slivers of scrap metal, his brown eyes lifting to Sally's with a challenging stare that didn't quite erase the weary heartbreak in his eyes.
Sally groaned in defeat and knelt down next to him, silently mourning the nails that she had just gotten done yesterday.
A large stone slab rested at the bottom of the pile, its charred corners barely covering the edges of a large hole. Sally stiffened and leaned closer to the hole, even as Liz nearly threw herself towards it and screamed out Jack's name. The Yarders drew closer to the small woman, their ears straining to hear an answer.
A low scuffling sound reached their ears, followed by a faint, hoarse call of "Lizzy?"
"Jack!" Liz cried, her voice cracking in relief. She struggled to push the stone slab away from the hole, her body stiffening when Lestrade placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and carefully pulled her away.
"Jack, this is Greg Lestrade," he called into the hole. "Your friend here called my friend and I and asked us for help. Are you hurt?"
"I think me arm's broken, but I'm alright," Jack called back, his tone suddenly wary. "The doctor is worse off, though."
"What doctor?" Lestrade demanded sharply. Sally leaned in closer to him, her heart pounding frantically in her chest.
"Doctor John Watson," Jack shouted roughly. "Sherlock Holmes's friend. He's alive, but he's barely conscious. I don' think he knows where he is, to be honest."
Sally fell back from the hole, her fingers fumbling towards her pocket in search of her phone as Lestrade and Liz continued to push against the stone slab in an effort to move it.
"Sally," Lestrade grunted. "Call an ambulance, or-."
"No," Liz interrupted sharply. "He'll know if we call anyone in. We'll need to bring 'em up ourselves and drive 'em ta… ta…"
"Bart's," Sally broke in automatically. "The frea- Sherlock he, he has an associate at Bart's, right?"
"She works in the mortuary," Lestrade huffed.
"Don't care," Sally snapped. She scrambled back to the duo's side and added her own strength to the battle against the slab, her thoughts flying back to the detective that had stared down at John Watson's pistol with a devastated expression that nearly broke her heart.
He needs to know, she thought frantically. I have to tell him…
Hi! I'm really sorry for the delay here, but there has been so much stuff going on… yeah, it's been awfully awesome… I guess. Actually, I graduate tonight, so consider this my graduation present to you guys? (Eh, it makes sense to me ;)) Anyways, thank you so much for reading/reviewing this fic and please tell me what you think so far, please? You can just yell "Bored!" and shoot a wall if you want (not literally!). Also, I'm thinking about joining tumblr, so if any one has any advice, please let me know!