John sat across from Greg as they ate dinner at Angelo's, carefully sharing what he'd learned two days before about the Homeless Network's efforts to keep watch on Sherlock's grave.
"I seem to have commissioned a bit of art, as well," John said, smiling.
Greg grinned, pushing his plate away and picking up his nearly empty pint.
"Given who you were talking with, I'm not going to ask about the nature of the piece you requested, Mr. Patron of the Arts."
"Best not," John agreed, tapping his own glass to Greg's and draining it.
He had hardly placed his empty glass back on the table when a waiter appeared at his elbow bearing a tray filled with drinks. John looked up in surprise as a third pint was set on their table. As the waiter moved off to deliver drinks to other patrons, Detective Inspector Ian Dimmock dragged a chair over to join them. The young DI smiled at them as he took a seat.
"Sorry to intrude. You looked like you needed another round," Dimmock said, claiming one of the new pints for himself and taking a long pull.
John sat back and studied the young Detective Inspector. He hadn't seen Dimmock since he'd stopped by Baker Street to pay his respects after … After. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment, as the waiter returned and cleared away their plates and empty glasses. When he'd gone, Greg cleared his throat.
"Dimmock, mate. I appreciate the gesture. But this is not going to look good for you, professionally. Consorting with the likes of us. Me. You do remember that I am under investigation?"
"About that," Dimmock replied, taking a quick pull at his beer. "You're not. Not anymore."
Greg slumped back in his chair in defeat.
"I expected a call," he said hoarsely. "When the Chief cornered me after I gave my statement to the inquiry board, he told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to return to the Yard until he called to tell me to come clean out my office. I'm wasn't allowed to participate in my own defense, and now it's over. And instead of a call, you get to be the bearer of bad news."
"Ah, no," Dimmock responded. "News, yes. Bad news, no."
John caught Greg's eyes across the table and lifted a curious eyebrow.
"Come again?" Greg asked, incredulous.
"I expect you'll be getting a call next week ending your 'gardening leave.'"
Watching Greg, John decided that the other man needed the beer that Dimmock had brought them. Badly. He reached over and slid one of the pints closer to the suspended DI. Greg clearly agreed with John's assessment, bringing the beer to his mouth for a couple long pulls.
"Okay," he said, putting down the glass and taking a deep breath, "Gimme."
"The Chief has gone on record several times stating that he was unaware of how often you called Sherlock in on cases, which only serves to highlight the fact that he hasn't been paying attention. Your paperwork clearly noted when Sherlock consulted for you, and several of the cases brought enough media attention that we held bloody press conferences for them. If he wasn't aware, it was willful ignorance or gross negligence. The Deputy Commissioner has decided that he's not terribly pleased, either way."
Greg snorted.
"He's also not pleased with the way the Chief is dragging out the investigation, when the rest of the inquiry panel is in agreement."
"What have they found, then?" John asked.
"Beyond the fact that Greg's actions involving Sherlock in cases were all above-board? Maybe he wasn't supposed to do it, strictly speaking, but he never hid it," Dimmock responded with a smile. "Which, alone, is enough for them to call him back into service."
"There's more?" Greg asked.
"While the main line of inquiry for the panel was whether or not your actions were ethical, they have also had to address whether or not the man you invited into investigations was in fact a criminal himself. Sherlock did have a known history with drugs, but so do many of our informants. It was the accusation that he was behind the crimes he helped solve that has been the sticking point."
"'Has been'?"
"Has been. Past tense," Dimmock confirmed. "They couldn't ignore the evidence."
"Evidence?" John asked, sitting up straight, focusing on Dimmock.
"Proof that Sherlock wasn't a fraud. He didn't fake his knowledge, nor did he commit the crimes himself."
"There's proof?" Greg asked.
"Well, of course there's proof," Dimmock retorted. "You didn't doubt him, did you?"
"Of course not," John cut in. "It's just … Moriarty would not have left proof ..."
"It seems that he tried to get rid of it, altering the digital records, but apparently he was not able to lay hand on the physical documents. They're in the archives at the Yard – dozens of hard copy reports."
"That man could get rid of anything, or anyone, he wanted. What did he miss?"
"Cold cases. The ones Greg brought out to occupy Sherlock when the modern criminal element wasn't … entertaining enough. The most recent cold case you gave him was from 2006. The oldest was from 1977."
"Dimmock, that is ... You did this? Mate, you are brilliant!" Greg chuckled.
John looked back and forth between the two detectives. Something tingled lightly in his chest. It wasn't happiness – he still hurt too much to remember what that felt like. But it was as if a tiny bit of his grief was dissipating. Sherlock might be gone, but the tarnish on his reputation was being polished away. The tosser would not have cared in the least about clearing his name, but it mattered to John more than he had allowed himself to admit. .
"I see that you understand where I'm going. So did the inquiry panel. Had to draw pictures for the Chief, and he still refused to concede that Sherlock, precocious lad though I'm sure he was, wasn't orchestrating homicides from his cot," Dimmock smirked. "But it wasn't just the cold cases. I pointed out that Sherlock solved my case last February – the one you called the 'Heartsick Valentine' on your blog, Doctor Watson – from his hospital bed. He'd been admitted the day before the homicide with injuries from a private case, and made his deductions based solely on crime scene photos."
"Amazing," John breathed.
"Then there's the bit that Donovan contributed," Dimmock said, his tone overly casual.
John studied Dimmock closely, considering the other man's words. He'd not spoken to Sally since the day at the bank, when he'd suggested that Sherlock's restraint in not making her relationship with Anderson public any sooner than he had disproved her theory that the consulting detective had been a psychopath. She'd returned the items from the safety deposit box by courier four days later, and hadn't been in touch since. He wondered if his words had shaken her out of her preconceptions, and made her truly think about Sherlock and his actions. He found himself hoping that's what Dimmock's words meant.
Across the table, Greg was spluttering, choking on his beer.
"Donovan? Sergeant Sally Donovan? The same woman who threatened to take her accusations over my head? She assisted in your defense of Sherlock?"
"That's the one, though to be fair, she was contributing to your defense, not his. It's the same thing, in the end, and she knew it, but I'm sure you were her motivation."
"How, exactly, did she 'contribute'?" John asked, intensely curious.
"She's been sitting in the gallery for the inquiry whenever she hasn't been out on a case. I think she'd realized the immensity of what she'd started, and was determined to see it through."
John nodded, taking a swallow of his beer and listening intently.
"She was there when I presented my argument with the cold cases files. I think she figured out what I meant even before the panel did. Certainly before the Chief. When I finished with the cold cases and put forward information about the 'Heartsick Valentine' case, she all but ran from the room, but she wasn't gone long. She was back about twenty minutes later, with an armload of paper. She got the lead inspector's attention, and asked permission to present further evidence. When he agreed, she turned over her notes on the locked room double homicide Sherlock solved while staying with you in hospital, John, and a serial killer case he solved via Skype when he was in France for some private investigation."
"Did she really?" Greg asked, gobsmacked.
"The Chief was apoplectic. He had seen her as an ally in his quest to discredit you and Sherlock."
"Can't really blame him for that. She was," Greg said, shaking his head and smiling.
"Well, she clearly isn't any more," John said, grinning. "Good on her."
"They're still investigating the other cases. They can't really do otherwise – solicitors have been hounding the courts to overturn the convictions based on Sherlock's deductions. They're having to go through everything all over again. And there's still the issue of Rich Brook – there's been no evidence found to suggest that he was an invention of Moriarty's, except that his claims that Sherlock was a fraud are being found to be false."
"There's more," John asserted, firmly.
"And we'll find it," Dimmock said.
"Yes, we will," Greg agreed.
They sat in a comfortable silence, nursing their beers.
"At any rate," Dimmock said, eventually, "Unless I'm very much mistaken, I expect you'll be back at your desk by the end of the week investigating the crime de jour. I also rather think that the Chief won't be behind his for much longer."
"Good. That's … good," Greg said, running a hand through his hair.
"No," John said, "It's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."
