Johnny Blue-Eyes


Chapter 11: Bonsai, Bear's eye


The buzzing of his phone pulled Lestrade out of a sound sleep. Not that he minded: his dreams had been haunted by Johnny Blue Eyes' accusing stare again, and he was glad to leave that behind.

"Lestrade," he croaked into the phone.

"DI Lestrade? Sorry to phone you in the middle of the night, sir. This is Constable Roland McLoud from the Southwark Borough. I have a couple of chaps here who claim to know you, and I'm just checking out. . ."

"A couple of chaps?" Lestrade interrupted. Sherlock and John? Why would they be in Southwark? "Put John on the phone."

There was a scratching sound of the constable putting his hand over the phone, then muffled voices in the background. Finally the constable's voice came back on the line. "No John here. His name's Mike or something like that. Claims to be MI-6, if you can believe that."

"Mycroft!" came a familiar voice in the background. Good God, Mycroft? What the hell had Mycroft Holmes done to get himself arrested?

"Yeah, Mycroft. Him and another fellow broke into someone's flat in the middle of the night and beat him to hell, apparently. I'm trying to get the whole story."

Lestrade was pretty sure he knew who that "other fellow" was, and there was only one thing he could think of that would have both Sherlock and Mycroft breaking into a man's flat to beat on him. Damn it! If Sherlock or Mycroft knew who their perp was, why hadn't they just called Donovan?! "Give me the address. I'm on my way."

"I'd like to get these two booked for assault."

"Don't do it, Constable. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't touch anything."

Lestrade noted the name and address, disconnected the call and quickly phoned Donovan. As soon as she answered, he said, "You're never going to believe this."


So apparently Constable McLoud's definition of "don't touch anything" included stringing crime scene tape everywhere and bringing in the paramedics. Lestrade ducked under the tape and then held it up for Donovan on the way in the front door of the building, which was standing open unguarded.

"Let's get back-up on that door," he muttered to Donovan, who replied, "I'm already on it. Just texted Stauffer."

"Not Fadil? Thought he was helping you out on this."

"Not anymore."

Lestrade raised his eyebrows at that, but she didn't elaborate, so he just led the way to flat 101, which according to the Constable was owned by a man named Rainer Lindt. The door to the flat was standing open and was also festooned with more yellow tape across the doorway. Inside he found Mycroft standing in a suit that looked like it had been slept in, hair rumpled, hands cuffed behind his back. He didn't spot Sherlock at first, but then he followed Mycroft's gaze to the floor in front of the sofa (which was now brown, not yellow and green as Lestrade had been expecting), where Sherlock was sitting, also cuffed, with a vacant expression on his face and a smear of dried blood below his swollen lower lip.

Paramedics were working on an elderly man, who was seated on the floor, looking a bit dazed, with a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his upper arm. Lestrade could tell the exact moment that Donovan spotted the old man too—her breath suddenly caught in her throat and she stopped short a few steps behind Lestrade.

"Sally?" he said quietly, turning to face her.

She said nothing, but she didn't have to. Her expression said it all. Her narrowed eyes were fixed on the man's face, and her top lip was raised in an almost-snarl.

"Yeah?" he asked her quietly.

"Yeah, that's him. I know it."

"I thought you couldn't see his whole face in the videos?"

"I saw enough."

"The sofa's brown, not yellow and green flowered."

"It's the same shape. He's re-covered it."

"All right." Lestrade flipped open his badge and waved it at the young constable who was standing with arms folded and an arrogant sneer on his face. "All right, take the cuffs off these two."

"Sir, we have good evidence these two blokes assaulted—"

Donovan interrupted him. "You have no idea what's really going on here, Constable." She didn't wait for McLoud and his partner to get moving: she already had her keys out and was crouching beside Sherlock. Her expression had softened a bit, which caught Lestrade by surprise. "It's all right," she said gently. "I'm going to take the cuffs off you, ok?"

When he said nothing, she repeated "Ok," and took a deep breath. Her eyes flicked to Lestrade, who was watching the exchange with concern.

"Call John?" he mouthed at her while she unlocked the cuffs, which seemed to wake Sherlock up a little.

"No need," Sherlock said suddenly, rubbing at his wrists where the cuffs had bit into the flesh. "I'm all right." But Lestrade noted that his eyes still darted around the flat vacantly.

"Sherlock, is that him?" Donovan asked as she tried to maneuver around into his field of vision. Sherlock's eyebrows scrunched together in the middle, but he didn't answer. "C'mon, Sherlock, please just say it."

When Sherlock still didn't answer, Mycroft spoke up. "Yes, that's him."

Donovan turned to Lestrade. "That's enough, yeah?"

He nodded at her, and she gave him a small, triumphant grin, just a quick flash, and then her face rearranged into a fierce expression. "This is your arrest, Sergeant," Lestrade said quietly.

"Right." Donovan pulled her own cuffs from her pocket and approached the old man who was still sitting on the floor. The paramedic who was checking his blood pressure watched her openmouthed and seemed disinclined to move, so she stepped around him. "Rainer Lindt, I am arresting you for suspicion of sexual assault." (the man began to sputter) ". . .You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you say may be given in evidence." Donovan clicked the handcuffs a notch tighter. Lestrade could see the metal cutting into the flesh, but he said nothing.

"I—I don't understand. These men broke into my flat and assaulted me. . ."

"Save it. This will go a lot better for you if you tell us where the camera is."

"Camera? What are you talking about?"

"A hidden camera. We know you have one. Where is it?"

"I don't have a hidden camera in my flat," he said indignantly.

"You lying sack of shit," she muttered.

"That's slander!" the old man cried. "I've been assaulted, and now I'm being slandered and falsely imprisoned!"

Shaking her head, Donovan crossed to Sherlock. "Where's the camera?" she said.

He squinted at her. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. You were looking right at it. I think you said it's in a plant, a bonsai."

Sherlock blinked and suddenly it was like a switch had been thrown. His eyes lost their glazed look, narrowed and sharpened back to his usual glare. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Donovan shook her head and looked like she was about to say something snarky, so Lestrade quickly broke in. "Check all the plants."

"What are we looking for?" the constable's younger partner asked. He looked around the flat, clearly puzzled. There was no bonsai that Lestrade could see, but a few other potted plants dotted the flat.

"A hidden camera."

"It's not in a plant," Mycroft said in a weary tone. Lestrade's head snapped around and he saw that Mycroft too was rubbing his wrists, which were rawer than Sherlock's and deeply bruised from the cuffs. "It's in a teddy bear. In the eye."

"Oh!" Donovan exclaimed. "Not 'bonsai', 'bear's eye'. They look the same." She moved around the flat, sharp eyes scanning the shelves. "I don't see a bear."

"It was on top of the television. I remember it."

"Not there now. Damn!"

"Young lady, as I told you, I have no hidden camera," Lindt broke in. "This is ridiculous."

"So you won't mind if we search your flat, then."

"I—I think I'd better speak to my solicitor before I allow that. Yes, I'll have to talk to my solicitor."

She gave a huff and turned to Lestrade, who held up a placating hand. "We'll get a warrant."

"We could do the search without a warrant," she muttered back, only loud enough for him to hear.

"Come on, Sally, you want to do this right. Don't leave him any room to fight it."

She blew out a frustrated breath. "Yeah, you're right. What about the Wonder Twins over there?"

"Hmm. Those two. . ." Lestrade studied the Holmes brothers out of the corner of his eye, surreptitiously, even though they didn't look in any condition to notice he was watching them. Mycroft had crossed to where Sherlock was sitting, and was standing next to him with what looked like a composed expression, but there was something lurking in his eyes, something that made Lestrade uneasy. Sherlock had his arms folded. His eyebrows were scrunched together in the middle and his lips were pressed into a fierce scowl. It seemed the best course of action to get them out of there quick. "Why don't you take them back to the station and see what you can get out of them? I'll wait here for the warrant. After you've gotten their statements, you can come back."

"Get their statements? That seems awfully optimistic." She shot Sherlock an appraising sort of look that made Lestrade nervous.

"Yeah, well, give it your best shot. Mycroft might be willing to talk. Oh, and Sally?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't pick a fight with Sherlock. He's a victim."

"Yeah, I know. I had to watch it happen, remember?


Donovan wrangled Constable Stauffer's patrol vehicle to take the Holmes brothers back to the station. Mycroft got into the back and slid over to make room for Sherlock, who hesitated for a second, looking back and forth between the front seat and back seat before climbing in beside Donovan in the front. She shot him a bemused glance, but he wasn't looking at her; instead he was slumped down in his seat staring at the glove compartment with his eyes narrowed and his lips and eyebrows slanted downward into an intense scowl, as if it had somehow offended him. It was the sort of expression that definitely did not invite any interaction, so she kept her eyes on the road and her mouth shut.

At the station, she separated them. When they reached Interrogation Room One, she opened the door and said "Sherlock, in here," and he went without objection. Mycroft tried to follow him in, but she stepped in front of him and wordlessly shut the door with Sherlock on the inside and them on the outside. Then she recruited Howard, a bright young intern with punked-out purple hair, to sit outside the door and make sure he didn't leave, or at least call her quick if he tried. She didn't think Howard could actually stop him, of course, but he was the only one she could find at that time of night.

"This way, Mr Holmes," she said, pointing the way to the next interrogation room. For an instant, he glanced anxiously at the gray metal door that separated him from Sherlock, but the anxiety quickly disappeared and was replaced by a neutral expression, like a curtain falling. It was a mask, Donovan realized, a way to pretend he didn't care. A self-protective mechanism.

In Interrogation Room Two, she told him to have a seat, but first he pulled out a chair for her, as if he were the host and had invited her for tea. He even waited for her to sit before he did. She knew it was his way of trying to control the situation, but she played along.

"Would you like something to drink? Tea?" she asked.

"No, thank you." His voice was perfectly calm and controlled. The wrinkles seemed to have fallen out of his suit. Even his hair was back in place, although she had never seen him fix it. Donovan wasn't sure where to start with him.