I woke up much later than I was accustomed to. The news was playing in the background, but I woke to the sound of John and Sherlock fighting. By the time I opened my eyes it seemed they had finished whatever it was they were fighting about. From John's outburst last night, I could only assume it was about the woman that had died. Not only that, but that was the top news story of the hour.
"Don't make people into heroes John. Hero's don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."
John looked at me, just now realizing I was awake. He was about to speak when the bomber's mobile went off.
"Excellent!" Sherlock's voice boomed through the flat. "View of the Thames. South bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo. You check the papers, I'll look online." John looked away from me and glared at Sherlock. "Oh, you're angry with me, so you won't help." His voice was considerably lower than before. He was mocking him.
"Oh stop it Sherlock. I'll check the bloody papers." I sat up, promptly scooting over to have a better choice of papers. John sat next to me and grabbed a paper.
"Archway suicide." John said.
"Ten a penny," Sherlock mumbled.
"Ah. Man found on the train line, Andrew West."
"Nothing!" Sherlock boomed again. He dialed a number, Lestrade's I suspected as he was asking about the photo.
They were off in a matter of minutes. I opted to stay behind, telling Sherlock I would look further into the West case. He was adamant about me not leaving the flat, but he also knew Mycroft was getting impatient.
After lunch I changed and headed out to West's fiancé's house. John had told me that West was there the night he died.
I knocked on the door and a woman answered. "Lucy? I'm Ansley Holmes. I'm investigating the death of your fiancé, Andrew West."
She was taken aback for a moment. "Oh? Come in please."
Lucy led me into the sitting room and offered me a place on the couch. "He wouldn't do it. He just wouldn't."
"Stranger things have happened."
She was visible angered by my statement, "Westie wasn't a traitor. It's a horrible thing to say!"
I had heard the same thing several times from my work in the secret service. Parents not wanting to believe their children were murderers, wives saying their husbands could be capable of despicable acts, "I'm sorry. But you must understand that's…"
"That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?"
"He was a young man, about to get married. He had debts…" I looked down at my hands.
For the first time, I was hoping this man was who she believed he was. She had so much faith in him, "Everyone's got debts, Ms. Holmes, and Westie wouldn't want to clear them by selling out his country."
"Could you just tell me about exactly what went on that night?"
She looked to the mantle, "We were just having a night in. Just watching a DVD." She looked back at me, "He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet. Out of the blue, he said he had to go and see someone."
This was what I had been waiting for, "And you've no idea who?"
She shook her head and we sat in silence for a moment as she cried. She loved this man dearly.
"I believe I have everything I need from you Lucy. I should be on my way."
She led me back outside where greeted by a man with a bicycle, "Oh, hi Luce. You okay, love?"
She smiled at the man, "Yeah."
"Who's this?" The man asked.
"Ansley Holmes. Hello." I extended my hand to him, he only looked me up and down.
"This is my brother, Joe. Ansley is trying to figure out what happened to Westie too, Joe." Lucy told him.
"You with the police?" Joe shook my hand.
"Something like that, yeah." I said.
"Well, tell 'em to get off their arses, will you? Its bloody ridiculous."
"I'm doing my best." With that Joe went into the house, throwing one more dirty look my way. I straightened myself and cleared my throat, "Thank you very much for your help. And again, I am very, very sorry."
As I began to walk away she called after me, "He didn't steal those things, Ms. Holmes. I knew Westie, he was a good man. He was my good man." She started to cry and retreated back inside.
By the time I got back to the flat, it was late. Sherlock was already in bed. John was still up, "I was waiting for you to get back. Sherlock was worried."
"Sherlock was worried?" I questioned.
John became slightly flushed, "He had mentioned it."
I smiled at him, "I think I may shower. Would it be okay for me to use the clothes you loaned me last night, again?"
He smiled and nodded, "Yeah, go ahead. I think I may be up for a while, is that going to bother you?"
"No, John. I'm not in the mood to go to sleep either."
After my shower, John was still in his chair typing on his blog. He stopped as soon as I entered the room. "Please, don't let me distract you." I said as I curled into Sherlock's chair.
"I'd rather talk to you instead of type all night."
"How are things with," Her name had escaped me.
"Sarah? They're fine." He looked away. "Talked to Greg any?"
I chuckled a bit, "No. That's why I stayed back today. I'm tired of seeing him."
My bluntness cause a laugh out of John. "Would you like my bed tonight?"
"Thank you, but the couch is fine."
He smiled and nodded.
I asked him about the case. Sherlock had obviously solved it in time. He told me the newly found Vermeer painting had been a fake. The security guard had known it was a fake and a golem was hired to take him out. It had been a kid this time, he said. I found myself wincing at the thought. I had never been found of them, but children being in danger didn't sit well with me.
We continued to talk for several hours, not noticing that time was passing as fast as it was. Talking to John was nice. My fascination with him grew. The dawn had broken and I was still awake. John had went to bed a few hours before, but I couldn't sleep.
"First Lestrade and now John. Is no one safe from you?" Sherlock mocked walking into the sitting room.
I looked at him, "I'm not trying to sleep with John."
He sat in John's chair as I was still bunched in his. "Anything about West?"
"I thought you weren't interested?" He only stared at me, "His fiancé said they were having a night in when West unexpectedly left. I'm going to have a look at the tracks today. Mycroft is getting ill."
"Good," he said. "Take John with you."
"Take John where?" John asked as he entered the room.
"Still investigating that West case for Mycroft. Care to come with me?" I asked.
"Yeah, sure."
We arrived at Battersea Station a little after noon. There was a tube guard who showed us where we needed to be. Once we were there, I let John do most of the detective work. Eventually he realized that West couldn't have been killed on the line. Sherlock showed up. He had been on the case the entire time. I suppose he just wanted to see what John and I could do without him.
"Come on," Sherlock said as he walked away. "Got a bit of burglary to do."
We ended up at Joe Harrison's flat, Lucy's brother. While we were inside having a look around, he came home. Once he saw us, he knew we had him. We took him into the sitting room. He sat down, a nervous wreck. We all remained standing.
"It wasn't meant to..." he paused, placing his head in his hands, "God. What is Lucy going to say? Jesus."
"Why did you kill him?" John asked.
Joe went into a long story about how he had started to deal drugs and that he was in trouble. How he had found out about the missile plans from West at his engagement party. Once he had got him drunk enough he was able to take the plans right off of him. But when he saw him later, he knew that West knew he had taken them. Joe had accidentally pushed West down the stairs, killing him. He later moved his body onto the top of a train. All would have gone well if the track hadn't curved, throwing West's body off.
Sherlock had Joe fetch the memory stick for us. Then we left.
We went back to the flat. I gathered my things out of Sherlock's room and returned John's clothes to him. Sherlock was watching the telly, some horrid show John had shown him, and John was typing away on his blog.
"I'm going to go home, Sherlock. We haven't heard anything else from Moriarty. I think this is over."
"I agree." John said, closing his computer and getting up, "I won't be 'round for tea. I'm heading to Sarah's." He looked to me, "Walk you out, then?"
I nodded. "Goodbye Sherlock. See you soon."
John stayed back a moment to tell Sherlock that they needed milk, then he continued to walk me out. "Good night then." He smiled at me.
"Good night, John."
We both began on our separate ways when everything went black.
