Author's note: I am aware that at the moment this story has far more Sherlock/Lestrade bromance in it than Sherlock/John bromance… This wasn't what I had originally planned, but somehow the relationship of the two of them keeps taking over my fics... as if I hadn't written enough oneshots about them. Well, maybe it's my punishment for writing "To Learn about Finalities..."
Anyway, now is the time it's going to start to get really complicated. And angsty. And... bromancy. Is that a word? It is from now on.
Btw, I had to change chapter three because – I made another embarrassing mistake in my own timeline... I don't know if you have noticed, but this takes (until now) place in the space of just a few hours – body was discovered at seven pm, Sherlock saw it around nine pm, drove to Bart's, processed the evidence (quickly, because he's a genius – let's just leave it at that) and then they picked up Harry shortly before midnight. Mike Stamford wouldn't hold lectures in the middle of the night, so I changed it to paperwork – in my mind, he's just a wonderful teacher, because I love him so much for having introduced John and Sherlock. Like I said: Embarrassing.
I don't own anything, and please review.
Sherlock followed Greg into the interview room, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. He'd often thought, in years past, that no case could be as awful as Moriarty's "final problem". He had been wrong, completely and utterly wrong. Because he had the feeling that very soon he would have to tell John that his sister was –
A murderer. A cold-blooded killer. And he had no idea how his blogger would react. John was his best friend, that was true. But... having to choose between Sherlock and his sister... John had joined the army because he strongly believed in loyalty and kinship. And his sister... his won flesh and blood... Sherlock himself didn't care much about relations, except for the fact that most murders were committed by someone who was close to the victim. Other than that... Mycroft and him had really only got close now, after years of resentment. He considered John, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, even Mike Stamford and Angelo, closer friends than his brother.
But he wasn't sure what John thought. True, he had said on their first crime scene that he and Harry "never got on", but still...
"Sherlock?" Greg put a hand on his arm. "Can we begin?"
"Yes, please" was all he answered as he sat down next to the DI. Harry sat on the other side of the table, looking annoyed.
"In case you are interested, Inspector, I would like to get it over with too".
"Of course, Miss Watson".
John, meanwhile, was pacing up and down in a corridor that was far enough away from the ongoing interview so he wouldn't give into the temptation of trying to listen in. He knew it was enough of a risk on Greg's part to keep the investigation, not to mention having Sherlock help, even though John's sister had turned out to be sus– person of interest. There was no way John could listen... or try to listen... or –
He was going insane, not being able to do anything. He'd never been good at feeling powerless.
"John?" He almost jumped, then turned around thankfully.
"Oh, hello, Mike. Your paperwork finished for..."
Then he realized where they were. And how late it was.
"What are you doing here? Sorry, that come out sharper than I wanted... I..."
"It's alright, John" Mike answered, smiling. Then his face grew serious. "Molly called me after she found the results in the lab. Sherlock should be a bit more careful with the evidence."
"Do you want to tell him that?" John asked with a half-smile.
"Not particularly". Mike chuckled.
"Isn't sue going to get worried? What about Davey?"
"Davey and Sue can survive without me for a night, I'd say. But, John – how are you?"
"What do you expect? I'm not happy. Harry is a – a – Harry is being questioned, and I can't do anything."
Mike nodded and looked at his old friend with sympathy in his eyes. John had always, ever since he'd known him, needed to be useful; which was one of the reasons he and Sherlock got on so well. He couldn't stand doing nothing – especially if people he cared for had a problem. And his sister being the suspect in a murder inquiry... Of course Mike didn't voice that thought. He didn't think John would appreciate it.
But still... as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't automatically rule out harry as a murder suspect like John. He knew her, and that was the problem. There had been too many nights, when they'd still been at university, where John had to leave his books or his bed in order to look for her, to pull her out of a ditch she'd fallen into drunk, sometimes even to get her out of a police station. How often had Harry promised to change, to look out for herself, only for John to have to come save her again? How often had his friend been tired and angry and distracted when he should have listened to their lessons? Mike should know – he'd been the one to lend John his notes, to make sure he slept or ate after a night spent on the streets. And Harry had never changed, as far as he could tell. Well, she had finally quit the booze, but other than that – she probably expected John to sort this out for her, too, not realizing that her brother couldn't make the police change their minds because she asked him to.
He didn't say all of that either.
"Why don't we sit down?" he asked instead, motioning with his right hand towards a few chairs on one wall of the corridor.
John nodded. "Sure".
So they sat in a companionable silence. Mike knew that if John wanted to talk, he would be the one to start a conversation. For now, he would just be there for him.
After Greg had finished with the formalities, the interview began.
"Miss Watson, your blood was found on the nails of a murder victim."
"So I understand."
"Do you know this woman, by any chance?"
Greg laid a picture of the victim on the table. It only showed her face, but still, she was unmistakable dead, and Sherlock hoped against hope that Harry would be shocked or appalled. No such luck. She studied the picture with something close to indifference.
And then, he suddenly realized why she was acting so hostile – whether she was innocent or guilty, she should be intelligent enough to notice her attitude wasn't doing her any favours – and cursed his own stupidity. Sentiment had, despite the fact that he preferred feeling to being someone like Moriarty, for example, the disadvantage of blinding you to simple facts.
Harry was drinking again and obviously in need of a drink.
Ironically, his first thought was John is going to be angry, as if the good doctor wasn't angry already – your sister being the prime suspect in a murder inquiry tended to do that to people. After all John had gone through... And now, when he'd finally been convinced that she'd done it, that she'd overcome her addiction for good... But he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, he had to deal with the case. And Harry's role in it.
"I asked you if you knew the victim, Miss Watson". Greg's voice was polite, but firm, and Sherlock could tell his DI was worried too, worried what Harry had to say.
She looked at the picture again. "Oh, yes. I chatted her up in a bar yesterday – her name was Barbra, I think. She was pretty drunk, so I thought, why not? But when I tried to get closer, after we'd left, she scratched me, here – " she rolled up the sleeve of her shirt and showed them a scratch that was definitely deep enough to bleed a little "so I left her. She was pretty drunk, though".
"You had a few drinks too" Sherlock said, face and voice devoid of emotions. It was a statement, not a question, and when he saw Greg raise an eyebrow at the sentence almost imperceptibly, he gave him a slight nod – so slight that nobody who didn't know him would have noticed. Greg's shoulders slumped.
Harry looked even more aggressive, if that was possible. "Yes, I did. So what? I drink just enough to function".
"But you told John you had stopped." Greg, until now professional and detached, apparently couldn't hold it in anymore, and Sherlock couldn't blame him, but if they weren't careful, Greg might lose the case, and Sherlock knew no other DI he'd rather have at his side. Dimmock was not bad, it was true, but he couldn't hold a candle to Greg.
So he said, under his breath, almost inaudibly, "Greg", and saw the DI relax. Just a bit, but it was enough.
Harry glared at them both. "I did – for a while. But then, when Dracula here returned and John moved in with him just like that, I figured he didn't need me sober anymore."
Sherlock was rather glad he'd warned Greg less than a minute before; even he, not the most emotional of men, was struggling to stay calm. But he managed to control his voice as well as ever when he asked, "And you left her there? In the alleyway?"
"I left her a few streets from the bar – don't know where exactly, and didn't care. I was a little bit angry" she answered.
"Angry enough to kill?" Greg inquired.
"I didn't say that, Inspector."
"So you left her there and went..."
"I went home."
"Any witnesses?"
"I live alone. I'm sure Sherlock will already have deduced as much".
She spat his name like an insult, something Sherlock was more than used to and wouldn't even have noticed, probably, if she hadn't been John's sister. Greg saw him wince – only slightly, in fact he didn't think Harry had even realized she'd hit a nerve. He still didn't like it when people were hostile towards his friend, even if Sherlock seemed to ask for it, sometimes.
"Sherlock, can I talk to you for y moment outside, please?"
"Take your time. I'll be here" Harry commented, obviously bored.
Greg nodded at the PC waiting outside, who went in and closed the door.
"What do you think?" he asked.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
Greg sighed and brought a hand up to massage his temples.
"Yes, I think she might very well be the killer too. Sherlock, what do we do?"
"Find evidence. At the moment, we can't disprove her story. She is a person of interest, but..."
"You are right, of course you are, Sherlock, but I meant in regards to John."
Sherlock shoulders slumped, and Greg's hand twitched with the urge to clasp one of them, but he – then he decided, sod it all, they were friends, and did it. Sherlock shot him a surprised but not unthankful glance.
"I – I don't know. I guess – I'll – talk to him?"
Greg managed not to smile, but only just. Ever since Sherlock had returned, he'd tried to show more emotions towards people he called "friends", but it was still difficult for him.
"Good idea. But, first of all, let's send her home and get a few hours of rest. She won't be so stupid as to try to flee".
"You are right" Sherlock answered, though more for Greg's and John's benefit. He only very rarely slept while on a case, and certainly wouldn't tonight.
So they went back in and let Harry go – who didn't seem surprised, but wasn't very polite either.
"And, remember, Miss Watson, don't leave London at the moment".
"Don't worry. There are too many bars here."
And with that, she followed the PC that was to bring her home. Sherlock was already searching for John, Greg following him slowly.
They found John and Mike Stamford sitting next to each other a few corridors down, and Sherlock smiled at the teacher gratefully. He smiled back, stood up and said, "Well, time to get home to the family, I'd say. John, if you need anything, just call. Same to you, Sherlock".
"Thanks" they said both at the same time, then all of them – Greg in the background included – chuckled.
"Good, then. I'll see you around." And with his trade-mark wave, Mike left.
John looked at Sherlock. "Is she – "
"She was brought home. She's not exonerated, but she wasn't arrested, either."
John nodded, somewhat relieved. "That's something". Then his brows furrowed and Sherlock had to acknowledge once again that his blogger knew him better than anyone else.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Here Greg decided to interrupt; he didn't want Sherlock to have to tell John.
"She's drinking again, John. I'm sorry."
John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his right hand. "I'd lie if I said I hadn't expected it, but there's always hope..." He shook his head. "God, I need to sleep".
"I'll have a car bring you home."
"Thank you, Greg" Sherlock answered, then added, when they were almost past the DI, "for everything."
"Anytime, Sherlock, John". Then the DI turned around and went to his car.
The ride was silent. Sherlock opened his mouth a few times, but didn't know what to say, so he closed it again.
When they arrived at Baker Street, it was almost 3 o' clock in the morning, and John went to his room immediately, although Sherlock could still hear him pacing. Knowing the doctor would need all his strength tomorrow, he took his violin and started playing a soothing melody of his own creation – he'd long ago composed it to calm John after one of his nightmares.
Soon, he heard John's bed creak and smiled while he kept playing. A few minutes after that, the silence he'd long ago connected with John sleeping fell over the flat, and with a relieved sigh, he put his violin down and let his blogger have his much-needed rest.
Sherlock spent the night lying on the sofa, thinking about the case.
Author's note: Oh, Mike Stamford, you are just as bad as Lestrade when it comes to sneaking into my fics... But then I noticed that there was very little bromance with mike out there, so I thought I'd leave it in. And John needs someone to talk to at the moment.
I promise there will be more Sherlock/John interaction. But, God, this Sherlock/Lestrade bromance...
Me: Okay, mind, tell me: why are you so quiet and content all of a sudden? You aren't bothering me any...
Mind: *ring*
Me: What was that?
Mind: My international smuggler ring calling. Excuse me.
I hope you liked it, please review.
