Author's Note:
The next chapter will be longer. Originally, this had been part of chapter ten, but I decided to split them up into two parts. Thanks to all the reviews and subscriptions! This is a very Sherlock-centric chapter. A new chapter will be up soon!
Lestrade shook his head. "Got everything you'll need before I left. Mycroft sent me a list," he got out of the car and slammed the door harder than needed as he walked up to the house. "You are so thick, y'know that?" He shouldered the front door open, tossing his keys on a coffee table and shedding his jacket. "Just because John 'clouded' your judgment you're gonna leave him. Where in your head does that make any sense at all?"
Sherlock let a nasty snarl come from his lips when Lestrade got out of the car. He still had things to take care of. Damn Mycroft. He exited the car himself, slamming the car door shut as well. Instead of following the Inspector inside, he began walking away from the house.
Lestrade stopped walking into the house when he realized that Sherlock wasn't following him. He darted out the door. "Sherlock! Get back here! Everything you need to take care of can be done here. I swear. We've got everything covered. Mycroft doesn't want you to wander too far... John..." he stopped walking and ran a hand through his hair. "Stay with me, Sherlock. Please. This is more serious than you even know."
Sherlock spun around to face Lestrade, his features contorted into a face that could only be described as unpleasant and clearly angry. "Piss off, there are some things I need to do first. What happened to if I get in the car you'd leave me alone? I got in the bloody car, now I'm going on without you. Deal with it."
"Okay, so I should have been more clear," Lestrade took a deep breath and motioned back toward the house. "I'm staying with you but I am leaving you alone. What do you need to do, Sherlock? We can take care of it. We can call John." He sighed and closed his eyes for a long moment. "Please, I'm just doing this for your brother."
"What I am taking care of, I need to do alone. I am not calling John. It isn't safe." Sherlock gave his tirade a respite as he raised his eyebrows, his face and features almost softening. "I know you are. Look, I just need a few hours to myself. All right? If it makes Mycroft feel better, he can track the GPS in my phone or you can. I really don't care. I have things I need to do first and then if you want to still follow me around like a lost puppy then fine."
"I-Whe-Sherlock," Lestrade sighed and swallowed, taking a deep breath. "I am not following you around like a lost puppy. I'm doing my job. Just..." he was pleading now, gesturing with his hands wildly. "Tell me what you are doing. J-John's worried. What do I tell him? And Mycroft?"
Sherlock sighed. "Answer me this, Inspector, do you trust me?"
Lestrade hesitated. It was a tougher question than he thought it would be. It wasn't long ago that he was making sure Sherlock came to crime scenes without drugs in his system. He met the gaze of the slightly taller man and nodded. "Yes." He took a deep breath. "Yes, of course I do."
"Then please, just let me do what I need to do and stop asking me all these questions." Sherlock's gaze held Lestrade's steadily. "Greg, please, it's important." He sighed again and broke the eye contact. "Two things I need to know before I go, now that I think about it though. Did you actually do a sweep of my flat and is John still in the hospital?" Now was not the time to make assumptions and screw things up. He had a plan, it was more or less the same just slightly more improvised since he had been in his flat with Lestrade last time. The plan had been set sideways when Moriarty had showed up, but Sherlock was determined to set things straight once more.
Lestrade sighed and bit his bottom lip. "Yes, we did an actual sweep. Found a bug in John's room. That was the only other one in the flat, other than the one you found," he took a deep breath. Sherlock was really the most complicated person to deal with. "He is right now. He'll be gone by tomorrow morning." He nodded surely. ""D'you need to use the car?"
"Yes, that would most helpful." Sherlock once again shivered as the wind picked up. "Might I borrow your coat too? Mine's still at the hospital." It wouldn't do to get sick with the likes of the common cold; he had more important things to worry about right now.
Lestrade glanced back at the house and nodded. "Yeah, it's back in the house. Why don't you take a quick shower while you're here? And eat a bit? It'll be helpful for whatever you need to do, get you focused." He took a few steps forward and managed a half-smile. "Just take this bit of advice, will you?"
"I'll be fine for now. If you still insist upon all these trivial things when I get back, then I'll do them just so you'll shut up. I need to be able to think clearly in the days to come and I won't be able to do that with harping in my ear." Sherlock said as he followed behind the Inspector.
"When are you coming back?" Lestrade didn't bother to face Sherlock as he asked, merely shouting over his shoulder. "Should I expect to see you in between these next few days?" He entered the house and grabbed his jacket, tossing it roughly at the other man. "Or are you just going to run off because you think that you're better than everybody else and you don't need help when you, really, probably do?" He was shouting now, rather close to Sherlock as he met his gaze.
"Are you quite done there Inspector? It is very unbecoming and unprofessional of you to carry on as such. I only need a few hours and if you'd listened to me the first time you would know that." Sherlock caught the coat with one hand. He matched Lestrade's gaze but not tone, keeping his rather mild. The small distance between them doesn't faze him; it wasn't easy to intimidate Sherlock. "Car keys, please."
Lestrade narrowed his eyes, not breaking their gaze as he roughly grabbed the keys from his front pocket and shoved them against Sherlock's chest. "I don't need you to tell me what is unprofessional. I call you into bloody crime scenes, I clearly no longer know the meaning of professional." He fell on to the couch behind him, slouching and spreading his legs in a bit of a relaxed form. "See you in a few hours, then," his voice is low and he doesn't bother to look at the other man, instead pulling out his cell phone and starting a text.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the Inspector when the car keys are shoved at him, but doesn't reply. He merely took the keys, put the coat on and walked outside. The coat was a little small on him but at least it'd keep the cold out. He gets in the car, puts the box on the passenger's seat and drove off. He drove to a seedy hotel. He actually used to frequent it back in his illegal drug use days. He'd gotten clean right around the time he and John became flatmates. Before exiting the car he withdrew some money from the box.
When he walked up to the front desk the clerk was surprised to see him. "My usual room," he said before the clerk could try and make small talk. He took the room key, paid and then walked off without another word spoken. He unlocked the door and entered the once familiar room. Saying it was a shit hole, would have been a compliment. It was amazing the place managed to pass any kind of health code.
The appearance of the room didn't bother him and it never had. It had been used for the privacy it offered. It was a room without windows and considering the shady dealings that happened at the hotel you didn't have to worry about cameras recording anything going on. He sat down in the slightly broken and dirty chair the room offered. He actually had to lean to one side, so it wouldn't topple from his weight.
Sherlock placed the box on the grimy and sticky table. He opened the lid and took out the contents. It contained: Multiple burner phones, a large sum of money, fake ID's, fake passports, cigarettes, a book of matches, two pistols fully loaded and four extra clips, along with a gun cleaning kit.
Almost immediately he took out a cigarette, lit the match and inhaled the smoke deeply before exhaling slowly. While smoking, he took his guns apart and cleaned them. It wouldn't do to have one of the guns malfunction due to poor gun maintenance. Once he finished cleaning the guns, he picked out two phones. He looked up the number of one phone and then input the number into the other phone. He kept out the phones, one gun, some money, the cigarettes and the matches. The rest went back into the box.
Sherlock got up from the chair, which fell over once his weight was removed. He ignored the fallen chair and walked over to the night stand. He opened the single drawer. It didn't offer a pad of paper but it did contain the King James Version of The Bible. He opened it and tore out the first page, since it was blank on one side. Pen…? He patted the coat he still wore, and found one in the inside pocket. He removed the pen and scrawled a message on the blank side. He put The Bible back in the drawer and closed it.
After a few long strides, he was back at the table. With the phone that had the single number programmed into it, he wrapped it up in the note and then shoved it into pant pockets. He tucked the gun into his pants, the coat flowing over so it didn't reveal the small bulge. He put the cigarettes, matches, money and other phone into the unoccupied pocket.
Sherlock picked up the box, and left the hotel room. He threw the key on the counter top as he walked out. He had come here, hoping and expecting people to make the wrong assumption. That he had gone to get high. That he was unbalanced and unstable. It was better that way. If those closest to him thought the worst of him, then it was likely Moriarty would as well. The only edge he had right now was being sharp while everyone else thought he was falling apart.
Once back in the car, he drove back to his flat for one last thing. He needed to pay a visit to Mrs. Hudson for this next play. He had always trusted her and it had only be reinforced when she had refused to give up a phone after being beaten. There was no doubt in his mind he could count on her to follow through for him. The only person he trusted more than Mrs. Hudson was John. He walked into the flat and went to find his landlady. "Mrs. Hudson?"