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Part 2 - Chapter 4

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Date: April 27th, 2013. 1610 hours.

Position: The Espresso Room, 31-35 Great Ormond Street (51° 31′ 19″ N, 0° 7′ 11″ W), Bloomsbury, London, England.

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"John!" Sarah smiled up at him and took the seat he offered her at the small table. Her warm hazel eyes seemed to be scanning his physical condition on autopilot as soon as they sat down. "How have you been? I thought you said you wanted to stay abroad longer?"

"That was the plan, yes," John answered, trying to ignore the slight feeling of being one of her patients. But when he saw her eyebrows drawing together in obvious concern he hastened to add, "I'm fine. Don't worry. Mycroft ordered me back on short notice, that's all."

"Ah, that's good to hear, then." She seemed honestly relieved at that, her eyes brightening once more with maybe even a little intrigue now. "That's Sherlock's brother you mentioned? What does he have to do with anything?"

"Yeah- you, me, and my team left behind in Syria wonder about that." John rolled his eyes and tried for a smile- but it might have turned out more like a grimace. Sarah didn't seem to buy it one second.

"What is it, John?" She reached out and took a tentative hold of his hand on the tabletop. "Can I help you with anything?" Her fingers were as warm and soothing as her eyes and he wondered when he had stopped feeling truly content in her company. Probably when she had broken up with him shortly after the Pool Incident, a small voice in his head provided sarcastically.

She had visited him at his friend's place in New Zealand and, during a walk through the soft green hills surrounding them, made him open his eyes concerning his feelings for his mad flatmate. In retrospect, he'd already known then that the Pool had forced his steadily increasing, but nonetheless buried and ignored, feelings for Sherlock to the surface with never seen vigour.

Well, offering to die for a person twice in one evening might be a bit difficult to ignore on the long term after all.

Sarah and he had parted ways amicably after that and she still was a good friend to him now, especially when it came to their shared medical background.

He smiled. "What gave me away?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe that look on your worried face- more like a mix of utter determination with a hint of 'kicked puppy,' really."

"Oh, so that was it, then?" He faked a serious expression.

"Yes, that might have been it, yeah."

They broke into soft giggles and just like that the mood was a bit lighter.

John took a deep breath. For what he had in mind he could really use the help of an established physician and he had no idea if Sarah would want to take the accompanied risk. He wouldn't blame her if she didn't. "Look," he began tentatively, "I need something useful to do and, well… I can't really stand clean desks, whitewashed walls and sterile floors at the moment."

"So, what are you saying...?" John could see her trying to grab his meaning. "You... want to practise off the radar?" she asked, somewhat unsure. At his hesitation her eyes widened. "Really, John? You know there won't be a single health insurance that'd back you up. And we're not even talking about legal coverage in case something went wrong."

"I know. I know it is a risk but I'd be going bonkers for doing nothing until I figure out how to blackmail Mycroft into sending me back," he replied, only half joking. "And I think they could use my help."

At that, understanding lit up on her face. "You want to treat the homeless. Sherlock's old network, probably? Well, that does sound like a rather good idea, you know?"

John blinked. "You think so?"

"Of course it is! You'd do some really good, John. You have no idea how often they come to the surgery these days and Marlene has to send them on their way without us being able to help," she added regretfully. "Anything particular that brought that on, though?"

John felt the dark shadow which crossed his face way before he saw its reflection in Sarah's eyes. "He did always try to care rather well for them, well... for his standards anyway." He smiled around the lump in his throat. "And they never doubted him and his line of work- which I can't say about the Met and the shit the press call news these days." He cleared his throat and looked up at her. "So maybe I have a chance of getting some information from them that could help clear his name. They always had access to plenty of data that the police simply couldn't get due to their procedure bound methods." He sighed heavily, "Sherlock deserves far more than that, but I can't really do anything else. Although, I can at least try this. And I will."

She nodded, running her thumb over the knuckles of his hand she was still holding. "I just don't see where I fit into this, John. I can't really help with spreading the word for you in the surgeries and hospitals. It won't reach them."

"No, no. I know- that is basically my point. I need your help in a much more... substantial way. I'd have to restock my medical supplies. Probably on a regular basis," he explained carefully, and then added quickly, "Of course I'll pay you. And I'm aware that this is an awful lot to ask... But there are quite a few things I simply can't get as a civilian." He couldn't believe he actually bothered her with this. She had to be almost as crazy as he himself was, if she only so much as considered doing this for him. She could lose her surgery, if things went wrong. Hell, she could go to prison for selling drugs off the records.

Sarah regarded him with steady eyes. Then slowly, the warm smile made it back to her lips. "John, you are a remarkable person, you know that?"

John shook his head, never breaking eye contact. "I'm really not."

"Yes, you are." And then, miraculously, "Of course I'll help you. Just come by and take what you need."

"I... you sure?"

"Yes, most definitely." She nodded determinedly. "Though, should you need to restock after that soon, it would be good if you called in advance so I can make sure that we won't run out of anything."

"I...yes, of course. Thank you, Sarah. Honestly. That's great. I really do appreciate it." He squeezed her hand in return. He was so relieved that he almost didn't catch the way she suddenly bit her lower lip in obvious distress. "Sarah?"

"John … I'm sorry for asking, but… will you be alright? Financially, I mean?"

Ah, that. Well, a few hours earlier he would have shared her worried expression.

"Mrs Hudson actually just told me something that slipped past me after… well." He sucked in a breath. "It seems that Sherlock left me his savings and the trust fund of Holmes Manor, apparently. So… while I never wanted to take anything from that for my own purposes, I think he would be alright with me helping out his old network with it. At least that's what I'm trying to convince myself at the moment." He cringed. "I might have to think about something at A&E, though, if this doesn't work out the way I hope it will."

While he was still talking, her eyes had become the size of baseballs. "'The Holmes Manor'? What sum of money are we talking about here?"

He was pretty sure he managed a real- albeit small- smile at the thought of his mad scientist this time. "I honestly don't know. I never checked. But from the way he didn't care about anything to do with money at all and his aristocratic upbringing… I think it's quite a lot."

"Jesus." She seemed completely baffled for a moment and John couldn't really blame her. After all, the few times she had come to the flat, the body parts and case files flying around (and the lab equipment labelled 'Property of St. Bart's') didn't really have the potential of giving away Sherlock's actual wealth.

And she definitely hadn't seen him verbally degrading the head secretary of the Queen's at Buckingham Palace while only wearing a sheet, as if he'd grown up chasing corgis down those halls.

Now John's answering smile felt definitely real and open. "It will stay that way, though. I'll only take what I need for the network."

"I'm sure he'd be perfectly alright with it. He wanted you to have it, didn't he?"

"Yes, well. Bad habit, maybe?" he added, still feeling somewhat guilty for inheriting such a large sum of money. "He always tried to help me out on top of my army pension without my noticing too much, after all. Sneaking a few notes into my wallet, getting free takeaway from restaurants who owed him a favour. That sort of thing", he almost laughed as he remembered. "He once even bet me 50 quid on a losing battle just to persuade a guy to give him a bit of information he could have done without."

Sarah didn't lose a second in answering, "- And you helped him on his cases and patched him up afterwards. You were a good team."

John's heart clenched. "Yes, we were. … We…" he tried to say something else, anything that might bring this conversation out of the black pit it had suddenly stumbled into. But there was just roaring pain blinding his mind. So he had to settle for a meagre sad tuck at the corner of his lips, "We... yeah."

He could hear Sarah swallow heavily from where he focused on their joined hands. "I'm sorry, John."

The reflexive reply was instant. Long since engraved into his subconscious. "I'm fine."

He could tell she wasn't buying it any more than every other person who knew him. And he was aware he owed her more than this. He just couldn't. Not right now, anyway. He squeezed her hand one last time and hoped she would understand. "I think I better get going and make the birds sing from under the bridges, so to speak. Before it's getting too dark and I'll need my gun to come back alive, that is."

She nodded sadly and pulled her hand back. "Yes, of course. Sure." She looked up at him and her eyes shown with unvoiced emotion. "Take care, John, would you?"

XXX

Author's note: Hey, guys! I'm in some sort of writer's block right now, so I thought I'd get my mind off things and go over some parts already written for a bit- That's basically why I'm publishing a short chapter in between my usual updating days. That- and the hopes of maybe getting one or two little kudos for the extra cuppa of motivation. ;)