Author's Note: This is for all of those who like me were perplexed by SiB when Irene knew about the hiker's death- she asks Sherlock and John about it within minutes of their first meeting. How? It wasn't on the news…
Chapter Ten: Diversionary Tactics
"Boys! You've got another one!"
By the time John managed to get out of bed, into his dressing gown and down the stairs, Mrs Hudson was bending down over the figure of a rather overweight middle aged man, spread out on the floor of the flat. The doctor took over. He reached for a wrist, and was reassured to find a normal pulse. A quick physical exam showed no wounds, no damage. He turned the man over, put a cushion under his head and stood up.
"I think he just fainted, Mrs Hudson. He should come around soon enough. Do us a favour and babysit while I go upstairs and get dressed. I'll try and rouse Sherlock on the way."
The "new" Sherlock was sleeping better. In fact, it was like he was making up for lost time, so fourteen hour stints were not that unusual. John opened the bedroom door and surveyed the sleeping brunet. He found what appeared to be a foot under the sheets and shook it.
"Wake up Sherlock, I guarantee this isn't boring. We've got an unconscious client in the living room."
One grey green eye popped open. "How can you guarantee that he won't be boring when he wakes up?"
"I'll leave that to you. I'm going upstairs to get some clothes on; I suggest you do the same."
As an army doctor, John was used to going from sleep to fully functional in record time. Somehow an excuse about taking ages to get washed and dressed didn't cut it when someone was lying bleeding on an OR table. Sherlock, on the other hand, could be maddeningly slow. So, when he got back down the stairs ten minutes later, John wasn't surprised to find that the consulting detective had not moved from the bed.
"Come on, Sherlock." He could hear Mrs Hudson talking to someone in the living room. "Sounds like he's awake, so it's your turn to deduce whether he's worth listening to, or not."
Without waiting, John went down the hall and into the kitchen to put the kettle on, before going out and introducing himself to the shaken man sitting on one of the dining table chairs.
oOo
"Welcome, ma Cherie; take a seat. The late breakfast show is just about to start." Moriarty patted the space beside him on the white leather sofa. Irene sat down, smoothing the creases out of the navy blue slubbed silk skirt, and watched the large flat screen on the wall.
"It's been quite a giggle so far. That fat bloke came running up the stairs and then collapsed in a heap. The old lady is the woman who lives downstairs- she rents them the flat. The blond guy is Sherlock's pet army doctor, and we are all anxiously awaiting the arrival of the star of the show."
The pair watched as John Watson spoke to the man settled into a dining chair and offered him a cup of tea. The old woman said something about 'leaving him in your capable hands' and started to leave. But as she got to the door, she turned briefly.
"Oh, and tell Sherlock I've thrown away those awful thumbs. Really, he has just got to stop misusing the fridge that way; it is too disgusting for words."
Moran arrived behind the pair on the white sofa. Wordlessly, he handed Moriarty a black coffee, and asked Irene how she took hers.
"With milk, please."
The ex-Army man poured a cup. Before he could ask the obvious question, Jim answered for her. "No sugar; she's sweet enough, Seb."
They watched the screen for a minute or so, listening to Watson trying to calm the obese man down, waiting for Sherlock.
Jim erupted as another figure came onto the screen. "Oh, and he does NOT disappoint! Just look at that outfit! 800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheet in a stylish toga. Who ever said sleepwear had to be boring?!" Jim sniggered.
Irene looked at the tall brunet, who was obviously naked under the sheet. Not anything like his older brother in body shape, Sherlock was lean, trim and the broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist that could not be disguised by the toga, showing off to good effect the firm musculature of his legs. "Hmmm." It was an appreciative comment.
"Down girl." Morarity tore his eyes off the screen to look at her. "He's not your type. And I heard you play for the other side when it isn't strictly professional."
She risked a glare. "Whatever my personal preferences, Mr Moriarty, I can always admire the landscape. " She watched his eyes wander back to the screen and devour the sight. "As I see you do, too." She knew that Moriarty had few weaknesses, but his fascination for the younger Holmes might just qualify as one.
Now in the Baker Street living room, Sherlock didn't bother to introduce himself. In a stern baritone, he just ordered the sweating man, "Tell us, from the start. Don't be boring."
There followed the most peculiar tale of a car braking down on a country lane, a hiker in a field beside a stream, a backfire and a death.
The client was still panicked. "I've seen all those stories in the papers recently, about how clever you are at solving impossible things. I need you to solve this. I didn't kill him, honest! But the police are going to think it was me. I just didn't know what else to do."
Sherlock sighed. "It might have been more sensible to stay put rather than fleeing the scene of what you believed to be a crime; that's usually more convincing than any protestations of innocence. Call Lestrade, John, and report the incident. It's not his jurisdiction but he will be able to identify who needs to be involved. You," he gestured to the client, "need to stay here until the police can question you. John, once Lestrade has set things in motion, go to the scene and give me a better idea of what actually happened than this…unreliable eyewitness has been able to do."
John frowned. "And what are you going to do?"
"I'm going back to sleep for the two hours or so it will take to get to the next part where a brain is actually needed."
And with that he strode out of the room and back down the hall to his bedroom.
The client and John exchanged glances.
"Ah, make yourself at home, Mr. ah…?"
"Philips, Robert Phillips. Is he always like that? So…eccentric?"
"Yeah, in my experience."
oOo
Irene turned to Jim. "Is he? Always so eccentric?"
"Deliciously so, my dear. And, he's not to be blamed for being a bit hard on the fatty. I mean, clearly he hasn't had his usual morning dose of whatever new happy medicine they've put him on. "
She looked a little nonplussed. "Is he still unwell?"
Jim smiled indulgently. "He's a medical fascination, Ireenee. Shouldn't be as smart as he is, but he is. Shouldn't be allowed out unsupervised, I mean just look at that dress sense! But he has convinced his big brother to take the shackles off. He's on some new drug that hasn't been released yet, but according to the pet, it makes him more housetrained. As a result, our boy's been allowed to start playing around with cases again, getting that magnificent brain of his back into shape. It's been fun to watch him over the past week. "
"Any sign of our case hitting the in-tray anytime soon? I'm getting impatient."
Here Jim turned to look at her, his interest no longer held by anything appearing on the screen. "Just as I am getting impatient for that code, my dear. I could just ask Seb to take it off you now. Presumably it's on that phone you are never without."
She smiled, an expression that conveyed nothing of happiness or pleasure. "Oh, you know I am too clever for that, Mr Moriarty." She tapped the side of her head. "It's up here. Just so you know. Threats against me need to be taken seriously if you want that code. When Mycroft Holmes delivers what I want, you will get both him as a dark angel and the code. That's the price we agreed, Mr Moriarty, and I always keep my side of the bargain. I hope there is mutual understanding here." She put her cup down and rose from the sofa.
"Tell me when the Palace has decided to set things in motion. I made my pitch as promised, but surveillance is your part of the operation." With that, she got up from the sofa and walked out of the room, her stiletto heels tapping a rhythm of impatience.