Two days later Derek Hale steps down on British soil with a foul mood and severe disruption of his sleep cycle (he is not a confident flier). He walks to the airport's exit thinking that Stiles better be here to pick him up or else he will rip somebody's throat out because he really is cranky and hungry. He scowls and takes a look around him in disdain. Then on his right he sees a lanky teenager with hair sticking up in all direction running towards him. He huffs and puts his bag down at his feet.
Stiles halts in front of him and bends down clutching his knees and trying to catch his breath. He was never much of a runner but he did not want to be killed by Derek Hale either. He grins up apologetically at Derek. But Derek's infamous scowl wipes the grin off his face.
Derek grumbles, "Five minutes."
"That is not that late," Stiles reasons.
"I can catch the return flight."
"Okay sorry dude. Come on."
They walk in silence to the taxi stand. Derek asks, "Where am I staying? Jackson said he would make arrangements."
"About that," Stiles starts sweating a bit. He had warned Jackson that it was a bad idea. He says, "Erm, at Jackson's place. He is currently not living there so, you know."
"Okay."
"Oh and there is something else."
"What?"
"You have a roommate."
"Who?" Stiles could bet his life he could feel the annoyance emitting out of Derek in waves.
"Erm, me. Hey roomie," Stiles waves lamely at him.
The silence that follows is downright eerie. Stiles counts the minutes and seconds. So exactly two minutes and thirty five seconds later Derek speaks, "One, do not ever call me roomie. Two, stay away from me, only interact with me when it is absolutely necessary. Three, don't touch my things. Capiche?"
"Yes sir!"
"And don't do that, ever."
"Okay," Stiles sinks deeper into the seat.
"Wait," Derek says, "Aren't you supposed to be on a prize trip thing? What are you doing at Jackson's place?"
"Uh I told them that I had some family emergency so I need to leave. As far as they know I am back in California."
"Hmm."
"You hungry?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Molly makes real good pies. She said she will make some shepherd's pie for us for lunch."
"Molly? The female werewolf?"
"Yeah."
"Hmm."
Stiles opens his mouth to make conversation but one look at Derek's stony face, he shuts up and looks out the window. He wonders whether he would be alive for the next nine days or not because he is currently shacking up with the most scary, angry and cranky wolf ever to exist in Beacon Hills. He has some choice words to say to Scott when he meets him. "Break" and "distraction" indeed.
Molly brings out the pie from the oven. Well it looks delicious, she thinks. She hopes Mr. Hale likes it. From what she heard from Jackson and Stiles, he is "scary, cranky, dangerous and hasn't smiled since kingdom come". Okay then, if she can handle Sherlock, the most narcissistic and arrogant (and gorgeous, she adds in subtext) man she has ever had the misfortune (or is it good fortune?) to meet—she can handle this Derek Hale, "the most angry young man of Beacon Hills".
She decides to do some chores while she waits. She cleans the kitchen and then takes the trash out. She goes outside to the trash chute to dispose the garbage. As her work there is done, she turns to head back into her apartment but instead collides with something hard and muscular which holds her firmly so she does not fall over and split her skull on the floor. She moves her head sideways and blinks up at a disgustingly gorgeous man with grey eyes and scruffy face looking down at her.
Derek stares back at the small woman clutched in his arms. She had not seen him coming and had crashed into him. Not that he minded. She blinks up at him with chocolate brown eyes and he feels a smile coming onto his face from her expression. She is really pretty with her cute nose and all. London feels great already. She stammers, "I-I am so sorry. I did not-"
"No not at all. You did not see me coming and I did not even…I am sorry, here." He helps her to her feet and she stands straight. She is really short. She winds a strand of hair behind her ear and gives him a brilliant smile. He says, "Uh you-I don't know your name."
"Uh Molly, Molly Hooper," she says.
His eyebrows rise up his forehead, "Then you must know who I am," when she gives a confused expression, he laughs, "I am Derek Hale, from Beacon Hills. I assume those two boys have given glowing reports of me."
Molly laughs, "Glowing? Yes!"
He joins in her laughter. A voice behind them says, "Wow you can…laugh. Where is the camera when you need it?"
Molly looks over his shoulder to see Stiles standing and shaking his head. She grins at him. He says, "So I see you two have already met."
The scowl returns as he glares at Stiles. Molly says, "Well lunch is ready. You two freshen up and come along. I will go wake Jackson up."
She walks back to her apartment not before throwing Derek a small smile over her shoulder. Derek smirks. He says, "So that is Molly Hooper."
"Yes."
"She is cute." Derek swears mentally at that admission.
"Yeah. She is cute," Stiles murmurs which is not missed by Derek who turns his head to look at him with a question on his face. Stiles does a mental head slap, clears his throat and keeping his head high in the air like nothing had happened walks to Jackson's apartment.
"So who is Sherlock Holmes?" Derek finally gets to ask after lunch.
Stiles says, "The most legendary person I ever met. I mean seriously he is supremely clever!"
"And supremely rude and arrogant," Jackson adds.
Basically a Derek Hale with brains, Stiles thinks and thanking God that Derek cannot read minds.
"Hey he is a good man when he needs to be. He is intelligent, more intelligent than both of you. His methods may be mad, but he knows what he is doing! He is a great man. Who the hell fakes his death for the safety of his friends?" Molly interjects hotly.
Derek does not miss the flush on her face while she defends this man with that funny British name. He is eager to meet this person now. Also he finds himself asking, "He faked his death?"
Molly replies, "Yeah. Two years ago."
"Molly helped him," Jackson informs, "Her being a pathologist and all."
The flush returns as she remembers their conversation in her lab two years ago. "You" in that stupid voice of his is all that it had taken her to put her career and life on the line. And the funny thing is, she never regreted it and if he needs her again, she would do it all over (well she hopes he will never need her that way ever again).
She suddenly feels the sudden urge to be alone. Her complex feelings for the consulting detective were such a jumbled mess now. She stands up and mutters her goodnight. The three men remain silent till she slams her bedroom door so hard that the door frame shakes slightly.
Stiles says, "Well then."
Stiles sits beside him, and is constantly jabbering. Sherlock is not amused with this companion. They are on their way to talk to Gustav Akraka. Stiles had insisted on coming after…Sherlock tries to but cannot really help it as his mind wanders back to his altercation with Derek Hale at St Barts.
He was being himself. Arrogant, smug and correct, but all of that was tinged by a light shade of jealousy (no matter how much he disagreed on that). He did not miss the sheepish gazes Molly would send Derek, or Derek smiling too often at her. He noted all the appreciative looks Molly gave Derek after every time he would flex his muscles under his leather jacket. Then the flirting. And the blushing. Only he was allowed to make her blush like that! The man just landed today and his effect on his pathologist was irritating him more than it should. There, it is irritation and not jealousy, he reasons with himself.
The taxi stops at an office and they get out. Stiles says, "We are walking into a wererwolf lair. I repeat, two mortals walking into a werewolf lair…this is insane."
Sherlock fixes his scarf and says nothing. He pushes the glass doors and walks up to the elevators. When they reach their destined floor, they see a secretary manning the main office.
Sherlock walks up to the secretary with Stiles running to catch up to him. He leans down and says, "I need to meet Mr. Akraka."
The woman at the desk says, "Do you have an appointment?"
"No. Tell him it is Sherlock Holmes asking about Igor."
"But-"
"Just do it. And if I were you I would convey this message to my boss so I don't get fired and can continue to fund my pill addiction."
The woman gapes at him for awhile. She shakily stands up and walks up to her boss's office.
Stiles says, "How?"
"She has a half-empty bottle of Adderall hidden behind her purse."
"And she is of the wrong age and sex to have ADHD," Stiles says in a low pitch, "That was cool."
Sherlock simply smirks. The secretary comes back. She gestures them to go inside the office.
Stiles says, "Thank you" as he scurries to follow Sherlock who has already started marching towards the office.
They walk into an office that could fit Molly's entire flat (Stiles thinks so). One side has a wall to floor glass window that gives spectacular views of metropolitan London. Behind a art deco desk sits the man himself, Gustav Akraka. He looks up from his smartphone and says in a condescending tone, "Yes?"
Sherlock sits down opposite him and goes straight to the point,"We are investigating Mr. Igor Jablonski's death."
Gustav startles and looks carefully at the man sitting opposite him. He looks familiar, Gustav says, "You are that detective with the funny hat."
"Yes," Sherlock says in a tired voice. Stiles tries to not to laugh out loud.
"I don't know any Igor Jablonski," Gustav says.
"Well, I know he is a werewolf and I know you are a werewolf as well and that your rivalry was legendary. So let's cut to the chase, why did you frame Jackson Whittemore?"
This question shocked both Gustav and Stiles. They both look at him with their mouth hanging open.
"How?" Stiles gasps.
"What?" Gustav asks raspily.
"Igor and you were rivals, so if either of you got killed the other will be suspected by default. Here Igor died and that leaves you. Now you would try to do anything to be blameless, so you fix the blame on somebody else. Somebody who has no pack, no allegiance. Then you dress it up as an ambitious fight on Jackson's part to form his own territory. So I have to ask you, did you kill Igor Jablonski?"
Stiles mouths a silent "Wow" while Gustav leans back in his chair. He laughs, "So I can safely assume that you were hired by Jackson Whittemore himself?"
"Yes."
"Well I will answer your question. I did not kill Igor. Do you know that only an Alpha can kill another Alpha?" Sherlock and Stiles nod their heads. Gustav continues, "I am an Alpha and so was he. So yeah you could say only I could kill Igor. But I did not because of three reasons—one, I am not crazy or desperate enough to kill Igor and two, I am not very powerful. I am rich, yes but I am no use in the fighting ring. And third, I am no longer an Alpha." He blinks his eyes and Sherlock and Stiles look on as his eyes turn the golden yellow colour of Betas, not the blood red of Alphas.
Stiles frowns, "Like Derek."
Sherlock turns to look at him, "What?"
"Derek lost his Alpha status when he had to heal his sister."
"Yes," Gustav says, "I had to heal my brother."
Sherlock steeples his fingers. He asks, "So are there any more Alphas who can kill Igor?"
"Not a lot," Gustav says, "The three of the remaining Alphas dispersed along Europe. Me with my money and Igor with his brute force managed to drive them away."
"So you shifted the blame on Jackson so you stay safe," Stiles says.
"Yes, and I am sorry. I had no other choice."
Sherlock stands up, "You are a liar and a fraud. Be careful Mr. Akraka, I may not know much about werewolf pack dynamics but I know this, your secret is safe with us but I would say your execution is imminent." With that he whips around and leaves.
Gustav cradles his head in his palms and sighs. Stiles says, "Dude."
Gustav looks up and says, "Listen, tell your friend to talk to Augustus Lowndes. That guy is dangerous and fishy. He is the reason why I blamed Jackson."
Stiles nods once as he leaves.
