Sherlock and Natasha thoroughly explored their new arrangement. There was nothing to be distracted from, so they allowed themselves to focus solely on each other the rest of the day. Fortunately, no one stopped by the flat that day, even Mrs Hudson was out visiting her sister. Come evening, when Natasha expressed a need to eat, they got dressed and took a cab to Angelo's for a late dinner.
The next morning, Sherlock awoke to an empty place where Natasha had slept next to him and a note saying she had something to do and would be back later. Enigmatic as ever, and he took a moment to attempt to deduce what she needed to do in London.
The call from John hadn't been expected, but it had been welcome. John had assured him that it was, in fact, a case that could be interesting. Sherlock didn't hold out too much hope, John's scale of interesting cases was a bit off. But, he'd wanted to get out anyways, might as well humor his friend. Besides an easy one to get back into the game might just be what he needed.
Upon arriving at the clinic, he walked into the exam room to meet John and the client. The client was male, average height and weight, single and early to mid twenties. Engineer, if Sherlock's initial deduction was correct. And currently missing his left thumb, if the bandage said anything. It had to have been recent, and it had to have been nearby, otherwise the man would have gone to the A&E. Sherlock's usual deduction took less than a second and he then greeted John with a nod. "Hello."
"Sherlock." John said, glancing up from his desk and tapping his pen briefly. "This is Victor Hatherley. Victor, this is Sherlock Holmes. I think he can help you out."
Victor shifted in his chair and nodded his head in greeting. "Mr. Holmes," he said in a strained voice. "I'm not really sure where to start."
"Just tell him what you told me," John told him calmly. "From the beginning."
"Right," Victor said hesitantly. "Well, there was this man. Lysander Stark, he said his name was. He was having a bit of trouble with with a press he said he used to make decorative bricks." He glanced at John. "Which I thought was odd, you know, but I needed the money. And I really need-" He caught himself mid ramble. "He offered to pay me straight away, so I went over to take a look."
"And in the process you…" Sherlock tilted his head slightly to regard the man again. Deductions, and the answer flashed in his head. "It seems that you lost your thumb in the press after a closer inspection and some sort of accident, perhaps meant to kill you, more likely meant to warn you. There are a number of possibilities about what the press actually does, I'll narrow it down, oh!…counterfeiters then. Dangerous business. Come on, John. There's no time." He was already headed towards the door.
Victor blinked at Sherlock's retreating form while John rose hastily from his chair. "He does that," he explained to their client. "Come on, then. Can't leave you here."
"But how did he..."
"Really, there's no time," John interrupted. "Counterfeiters might be packing up to leave by now."
Natasha was waiting outside John's clinic with a cup of coffee in her hand, and a trench coat thrown over a black blouse, skinny jeans, and knee high boots. Her aviators sat on the bridge of her nose, allowing her to study the people walking by without giving herself away.
She'd finished her business in London late enough that she arrived to find an empty flat upon returning to 221B. She was forced to track Sherlock down using her usual methods. Stopping for coffee on her way over to John's clinic, she reasoned it was better to wait outside and let him finish whatever business he had with his friend.
Sherlock walked right outside, his Belstaff flaring behind him. Clear blue eyes fixed on her as he approached to walk by. "Come along, we're on a case. Time is of the essence."
Natasha pushed herself off the wall and started walking. "Yes sir," she quipped.
John and Victor were out a moment later, the former pulling on his usual black coat, and the latter still holding his bandaged hand close to his torso. John called as he stepped out quickly. "Sherlock, wait up!"
"Hurry up, I need a location." Sherlock said, slowing and glancing behind him.
"Um…take a right here." Victor said, his tone still betraying his confusion.
Natasha half turned to sweep her eyes over the two men hastily shadowing Sherlock's footsteps. "John Watson," she greeted, flashing her most beguiling smile. "We finally meet."
"I'm..." John blinked at her several times and turned towards Sherlock, who'd walked way ahead with Victor on his tail while he and Natasha had inadvertently lagged behind. Natasha followed his eyes to the two men and deposited her newly emptied cup of coffee in a trash can, following at her own quick pace. John scrambled to keep up. "I'm not sure we have met."
"Sure we have. We met just now," she teased. "Now, where are we going?"
"There's a house." Victor said breathlessly as he followed the detective. "I didn't get an address, they drove me there in a car…but-"
"Directions only, I already know what happened, no need to ramble." Sherlock interrupted with a wave of his hand, not bothering to look behind him.
"It's straight for another block, and then a left." Victor said, visibly trying not to be offended by Sherlock's manner. "It's the last house on the street, brick with maple trees out front."
"Should we call the police?" John asked, having caught up to Natasha.
"Well," Natasha spared the briefest of glances for Victor, "considering he's lost his thumb and we're on our way to find whoever's responsible... I'm going to assume this isn't going to be a simple civil dispute," she said. "Someone's going to want to press charges here."
"Of course I'm pressing charges!" Victor exclaimed. "I'm an engineer. I work with my hands. This is..."
Natasha stopped listening. "Call them in," she told John.
"Right." John said, pursing his lips as he pulled out his phone. He gave her an almost wary look, amplified by his confusion. Another beat and he was putting the phone to his ear. "Greg?"
Sherlock led the way, taking the specified turn. If all went as expected, he'd get the evidence, solve the case and the police would be there to clean up the mess within the hour. Home in time for lunch.
John hung up the phone a moment later. "They're on their way, he's bringing the theft unit. Greg specified not doing anything rash, Sherlock."
"Relax John, it'll be fine." Sherlock said, spying the house and lengthening his stride. "I just want to get a good look. Besides the police are too slow."
Natasha cast her eyes over a concerned-looking John behind her sunglasses. "Are we assuming these people, whoever they are, are still inside the building?" she asked.
"I... I don't know." Victor was panting, but doing his best to keep up with Sherlock's longer strides. "I left as quick as I could. I was running for my life!"
"Sherlock," Natasha called, speeding up her pace to catch up with him. "Not that I think you'll need it," she said so only he could hear, "but I'm assuming you're properly armed? Because if not, I'm more than happy to share."
"Of course I am." Sherlock said, patting the outside of his coat. He'd slowed his steps just before they reached the house's front open area, which really couldn't be called a garden or yard. "John's not though, he doesn't take his to work on a regular basis. If you have an extra..."
"Sherlock, we should wait for Greg." John said, lowering his voice as he stopped behind Sherlock and Natasha. He glanced at their client, who's face had set in a serious but apprehensive expression.
Sherlock let out a sigh, and shifted just to the side as he tried to get a better look at the house without being too inconspicuous. He sniffed the air once, placing the subtle smell as smoke from the chimney. Which was odd…because it was nearly July. It meant… "We have to go inside now. They're going to burn the building down, Lestrade won't be here in time. Evidence, we need evidence to convict."
"We have to what…?" John asked, but Sherlock was already striding towards the building. He let out a short sigh, glancing over at Natasha again before looking at the engineer again.
Natasha opened her trench coat to covertly retrieve one of her guns and stepped up close to John so she could hand it over, grip first. "One of my favorites. Be kind." She glanced at Sherlock. "Go," she urged. "I'll stay here with our buddy..."
"Victor," the man supplied with a nervous shuffling of his feet.
"With our buddy Victor," she concluded with a bright smile.
John blinked at Natasha a second after he was suddenly in possession of a gun. He opened his mouth to speak, shutting it quickly and huffing out his nose.
The consulting detective himself was already running for the building. Whether that was a good idea or not was up for debate because the glow of a fire was already shining through one window. A second later John ran after his friend. "Sherlock!"
Sherlock burst into the front door, gun in hand. His eyes sweeping the room. "Back room, John. Fire's started over there," he pointed, "search for the press."
"Right." John marched over and pushed his way inside, gun ready. Smoke immediately clouded his vision and coaxed a cough past his lips, but he moved forward. "Sherlock!" He called out again. "In here. I think I found it!"
Sherlock came running over quickly, coughing as well. But he followed John inside. "Alright…we need…" he spotted a laptop, very near to where the fire would be any moment, 'that!" Recklessly, he pushed aside a burning desk to get to the laptop that was connected with the press. It would be good for prints, and any other information they might be able to glean.
"Alright now let's go," John said hurriedly after taking a few short steps after his friend. "Because the building is on fire, Sherlock. I'd prefer it if we survived this." He reached out to pull Sherlock with him. "What about the men?"
"Gone by now, but I'm almost certain she'll get at least one of them on the way out." Sherlock said, a smirk on his face even as John pulled him towards the door. He let out a cough and then increased his pace for the exit. "Let's go."
"And by 'she' you mean the still nameless redhead who lent me her gun," John sought clarification while coughing his way through the statement and on their way out of the burning house.
"Yep." Sherlock said breathlessly, but there was a smirk as they stepped into the clear air.
Authors' note: This case is an interpretation of Arthur Conan Doyle's The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb.Also we'd like to thank those that have favorited/followed and especially reviewed! Settle back and enjoy the ride, because this is going to be a long one. Stay tuned for more! :)
