Safe As Houses
Chapter 7
BBC sherlock fanfiction, no copyright infringement intended.
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Warnings: Slash, Heavy graphic drug use, Addiction, Homelessness, not betaed (sorry)
DS Moriarty looked down to the man he had tied to the chair, chewing on some gum slowly. He should be waking up any moment now. He hoped it would soon, he was absolutely bored. He gave the unconscious man`s shin a kick, and the man groggily opened his eyes groaning around the gag.
"Nice to see you awake." Moriarty told him with a smile. The man started to pull on his bounds but they weren`t budging. "Wouldn`t bother."
It was a small council flat in West London, but it was actually the home of a pick-pocketing leader. The proceeds of crime obviously provided well, the flat was crammed with luxury items. It had been a simple matter to get the address from the police surveillance records, after Moriarty had decided who was going to be the first domino to fall, to spark the chaos he planned.
The man was furious, and tried to shout through the gag, but the sounds were muffled by the duct tape wrapped around his face.
"I suppose it`s not much consolation to tell you, you`re really unlucky." Moriarty told him. "To be the first. But the met has targets to meet and I need to send a message."
He turned to the table, picked up a hacksaw and held it up with this latex gloved hands. This was how he was going to send his message. When he gripped the man's hand and held the serrated edge to the wrist the man started screaming and pulling against the duct tape holding him down. "Don`t move", the policeman said darkly. "I don`t want blood on the Westwood."
It had been over two weeks since John had encountered the mysterious super-criminal, and he`d not seen Sherlock since. Even more worryingly the homeless man hadn`t even signed in the log book when he wasn`t there. He tried asking any of the other homeless residents of the hostel, but no-one knew anything. It was a long shot, most were too pissed or high to remember the day of the week, let alone a well dressed haunting crack head.
As the days went by, his worry and guilt grew. Maybe he`d left it too long, maybe the meeting had been a more direct threat on Sherlock`s life than he realized, or maybe he`d just ODed.
Not knowing was driving him crazy, and eventually he snatched up the moleskin note paper from his desk, and went out late at night to find the address.
It was a rundown area near Paddington, and he followed the main line train tracks until he came to a network of train tunnels, where many homeless had already bedded down for the night. The only light was from street lights and fires where bums sat around swigging from cans of special brew and white lighting cider.
Some people stared at him suspiciously,, a few with evident mental problems just mumbled and rocked to themselves.
He couldn`t immediately see anyone Sherlock shaped, and he tried to peer at the people hidden under blankets and boxes.
The doctor heard a bottle smash, and he spun around heart starting to race. Some minor disagreement over a bottle of mouthwash. Sherlock couldn`t be here could he? Sherlock wasn`t like this, with his tailored clothes, articulate speech and violin?
But Sherlock was just like these people, he was after all a drug addicted down and out, who had rejected the social norms and opted out of society and life.
John started to look around make shift curtains, and apologized when he interrupted some people smoking smack off foils.
He could see light peeping out around the edges of a blanket that had been hung up over an alcove. "Sherlock." He said pulling the curtain back. The other man was laying on his back, eyes closed and a few hypodermic needles beside him.
For a second he thought he was too late, Sherlock was already dead. "Sherlock?" He tried again.
Thank god those eyes opened and he looked up at him. "John." He said more than a little surprised to see the doctor.
"Jesus where have you been?" The older man asked.
"Here, thinking..." Sherlock cocked his head as he looked up. "How did you find me?"
"Someone told me, a guy in a suit." John explained.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"
Taken aback John replied, "Yes."
"Did you take it?"
"No."
Sherlock closed his eyes and seemed to go back into thought, "Pity, we could have split the money, think it through next time."
"Look I think that guy`s dangerous, I think he`s after you. Just who IS he?!"
Sherlock waved John away and closed his eyes again, "The most dangerous man you`ll ever meet. But he is of no significance, there are much more interesting things."
For his worry to be dismissed in such a way left John annoyed. "Like what? Shooting up?"
Sherlock`s eyes snapped open again, "No John, the problem." And he bounded up off his mattress of cardboard and blankets with unexpected energy. "Things are changing, and I`m not sure why." He said pacing back and forth. Now John could see him in the view of the street light, he could see Sherlock looked thinner, more dirtier than before.
"What`s changing?" John asked quietly, observing the other man`s manic state.
"Everything, the Romanians, the Poles...and the police activity, it`s changing."
Sherlock told him.
"I don`t understand..." John said, not sure he ever would.
Sherlock looked irritated, and dived back down to the boxes searching through scraps of papers and needles. He found what he was looking for, and came back to John opening a map of London.
"Two MURDERS John. Two murders of pick-pocketing leaders. From here and..." He indicated somewhere on the map. "Here. Both killed exactly the same way, their hands cut off. Thieves with their hands cut off?" Sherlock snorted. "How obvious."
He threw the map away to resume his pacing, "Now everyone's vying for territory, power struggles. It seems so perfectly orchestrated. But the police! Their patterns are changing too! Before the raids were so...imprecise. But now they`re strategic, going straight for the weak spots. There must be a connection, but I can`t see, I`ve got to THINK." Sherlock rattled off.
John couldn`t watch anymore, "You expect to think high on coke?"
"I think better on coke." Sherlock snapped back. "You cannot comprehend how the intelligent mind works."
John scoffed, finding it difficult to not show his anger. "Intelligent? For god`s sake take a look around you, look at yourself! You`re living under a bridge with the alchies and smack heads!"
Sherlock remained incredibly calm. "I`m not Harry," he said with a fixed stare.
"Wh-what?" John stuttered.
"Just because your brother is an alcoholic, doesn`t mean you have to save me." Sherlock said calmly.
Brother? But how had Sherlock found out about Harry? And the drinking? "I can read your brother`s history from your phone, it`s ok you don`t need to save me." Sherlock said as if he was giving John permission to leave, just turn around and forget everything.
"No!" John shouted, louder than he intended. "It`s not ok! This is nothing to do with Harry. This is about you, killing yourself slowly." God, once he started he couldn`t stop. "I saw so many people die, and they didn`t have a fraction of your abilities. If they had the chance, they wouldn`t have chosen it." John swallowed, a hard lump was forming in his throat. "When I had the choice, I didn`t want to die."
John had been expecting a break down at some point, but he hadn`t expected to have it under a railway bridge with drunks and schizophrenics. "Do you know what a slap in the face it is to see you do this?" He was shaking now, with either anger or fear he wasn`t sure.
Sherlock didn`t say anything, he just seemed to observe.
"Like, I know that`s an unfair thing to say." John said trying to calm himself and bring himself back from the brink. "Just please I`m worried. You look like shit." John reached out to tug at the heavy wool sleeve of Sherlock`s coat. "Come back and stay with me for one night, just so you can get some rest."
Sherlock finally broke his stare, looking a bit awkward, trying to back away from John`s grasp but didn`t seem to have the will to break contact. "John..." He started, "While I`m flattered by your interest..."
"No, no." John cut him off. "Not like that, just have a shower, some food and sleep. Tomorrow you can go and do anything you want.
Sherlock had to look down into John`s pleading eyes, there was something about the doctor`s desperation that seemed to tear at him. "Ok..." He said, agreeing to John`s proposal eventually.
"Good." John said relieved the tension starting to ebb. "That`s good." At this point he didn`t know who`s sake this was for, he`d overstepped so many professional boundaries. "And Harry is short for Harriet, my sister is an alcoholic. See, you`re not right about bloody everything."
Sherlock quietly tut to himself, "There`s always something."
