Well, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I'm so sorry, between studying for the SAT's and getting my laptop fixed I haven't been able to really get in the mood for writing. Well, here is the next chapter.
All characters belong to their respective creators, one of which I am not.
Thursday
"Major Sholto." Sherlock grunted, his head perched upon his fingertips.
"Hm? What's that, Sherlock?" John stepped into the room as he adjusted his tie.
"Major Edgar Sholto, close friend of Captain Morstan, and the only one actually in London at the time of the Captain's disappearance. The only man he would have contacted, who, as Miss Morstan has told us, denies having heard from him. Four years later Sholto is dead and a week after that Miss Morstan reads the advert in the paper and receives the first pearl."
"So this Sholto had something to do with Captain Morstan's disappearance?" John squinted.
"Or he knew about it. Why would the pearls start coming after Sholto's death if he wasn't in some way a part of the "wrong" that the letter writer describes as having been done to Miss Morstan. What else than the fate of her father. Sholto's heir is guilty… he wishes to make amends." Sherlock narrowed his eyes, rolling the words of his tongue with distaste.
"But why write her now, not all those years ago, and pearl for compensation for her father? Who it's doubtful is alive. I mean, what justice is this guy going to give her if her father is dead?"
Sherlock grinned at his friend. "We'll find out tomorrow!"
"Good. Great. Then we have something to go on. Hey, how'd you find out about Sholto anyway?" John lifted a brow.
Sherlock ignored him, instead making a face that usually meant he was done running theories through his mind and back to reality. "You're wearing a suit; you don't usually wear a suit…" Sherlock eyed John's navy blue jacket and trousers suspiciously.
"No, don't tell me you forgot…god, Sherlock! We have a meeting with your brother and the chief superintendent of police, then a press conference, I reminded you last night?" John groaned.
"Oh. Lovely."
"Come on, it's necessary. If we are going to be taking Mary's case, we'll need police cooperation, you said so yourself."
"Wrong, I said we will need what they have, not their cooperation." Sherlock rolled his eyes and sank farther into his chair, knees up to his chin.
John wondered how he even did that since his legs were so long, and he shook his head at the distinctly juvenile behavior of his friend. "Look, just get dressed or... don't get dressed, I guess that doesn't really matter at this point, as long as you come with me. I can't do it on my own Sherlock… plus, you owe it to Lestrade and Molly to be there." John gestured to Sherlock's apparel, t-shirt and sleeping trousers, with unmasked annoyance.
"Oh for god sakes, I'll be ready in time, don't have a coronary." Sherlock jumped out of the chair, stepped on and over the coffee table, then strode down the hall with an air of indifference.
John snorted. When everything else in the world was unpredictable, one could always rely on Sherlock Holmes to resist putting on his clothes.
Mycroft Holmes hated the police department. He disliked the smell of coffee, ink and nervous sweat. He disliked the tired, mundane workers, and hated having to explain simple things to stupid people, but most of this was nothing new. It wasn't the first time he had had to smooth things over with the chief superintendent, but he dreaded it now. He felt he had to spell everything out using brightly colored diagrams and small words. He had been talking with the head of police for fifteen minutes now, cringing as the man's accent butchered the English language. His younger brother was late, and Mycroft wasn't going to wait much longer.
At least he was nearly finished with smoothing things over and all that was left to be done would be up to Sherlock, who chose that moment to come sweeping dramatically into the room, followed by an ash-haired doctor with a weary expression and a salt-and-peppered DI with tired eyes.
"Ah, Sherlock, I see you have decided to join us after all, I was worried." Mycroft drawled, standing.
"As always, brother." Sherlock snapped.
Mycroft nodded with narrowed eyes before strolling past the three men, two of whom looked more than mildly apprehensive.
It all went much better than John had expected, although he could only describe his own welcome from the Chief as "frosty". Sergeant Donovan had the good sense to keep quiet, seeing Lestrade shoot her a couple warning glares.
The reunion with Greg had been awkward for all three men as they had stood in the DI's office, one man shifting from foot to foot, the other two staring each other down. The look in Lestrade's eyes was conflicted. John imagined he was fighting the urge to punch Sherlock, much as he had, but the emotion that seemed to win out was relief, a very tender relief.
"Welcome back Sherlock." Lestrade said clasping the detectives hand and giving it a firm shake. "I…" he glanced around at John and the observers looking in through the office windows. He cleared his throat, "Glad you're not dead. Glad I… yeah."
Sherlock just nodded curtly before returning his hand to his glove.
"Good to see you John." Lestrade smiled, nodding.
"Pretty damn good circumstances huh?" John grinned back, referencing the last times he had seen Greg; filling out reports on his friend's suicide.
"The best" Lestrade nodded, and gestured to the door. Sherlock had led the trio out.
The press part of the morning's "circus", as Sherlock later put it, went as well as could be expected. With the occasional elbow in the side, John kept Sherlock from saying anything too rude or vengeful, and despite a somewhat snarky comment from Lestrade, the gathering of reporters and photographers seemed pleased, after all, "Famous Detective Fakes Own Death after Foiling Criminal Plot" is a smashing headline.
Friday
John stared into the bathroom mirror. Every few seconds he would comb his hair into a different direction. He wondered if his jumper was too heavy for the weather that night, or if he should dress up more, or down. He was nervous, and he had no reason to be. He was excited about a new case with Sherlock, the first excitement in a long time. Maybe it was the prospect of seeing Mary again that was making him question his fashion sense. Sure, he had been on dates since Sherlocks "death", but when he thought really hard about it, he couldn't remember any of the girls he'd been out with, not one single face. And Mary was different, he could tell. She made him feel like a University student again, eager and nervous. It was weird, he thought.
John hadn't seen Sherlock for an hour or two, but that didn't mean he was in the flat. He checked the time, 6:27.
"Sherlock, she'll be here in three minutes." John heard a grunt of acknowledgment from the bedroom, as the dectective came into view.
"She will be here in less than one, actually." Sherlock smirked, and downstairs the doorbell could be heard.
John met Mary at the door. "Shall we?" he motioned towards the street. When he heard Sherlock's step on the stairs, he hailed a cab and the three set off into the evening.
Geez, not too happy with this, but it's been sitting in my documents since before my laptop broke.
Hope it wasnt a total disaster. You would let me know, wouldnt you?
Oh review also if you liked it too! Thanks!