"How long do you think it will take before he breaks him?" Lestrade questioned John as Sherlock interrogated the suspect.
"Oh I'd say 5 minutes."
"I'll bet you 10 pounds it'll be in less than three."
"You're on." John said setting the timer on his watch.
…
"What were you doing at the house?" Sherlock asked, leaning back in his chair. The man across from him, whose name was John Neligan, shook slightly.
"I had only gone to talk to Simon. We used to be friends, him and I. Then Simon got himself into a spot of trouble, needed money, I suppose. I offered him a few hundred pounds, but it wasn't enough. I'm a banker, handle all sorts of people's money. He stole most of it and ran, I only came to try and talk to him, honest!" Neligan nearly shrieked. Sherlock didn't say anything, processing the information.
"The names on your mobile…the money that was taken?" Neligan nodded. "I imagine that would quite ruin your future as a banker, the perfect motive for a murder." Sherlock continued. The other man shot him a panicked glance and looked as though he would faint again.
"No, no no no, that's not it! That's not what happened! You have to believe me!"
Instead of replying, Sherlock stood and left the room.
…
John handed Lestrade a ten pound note.
"Thanks mate." He gave John a slap on the back and went over to speak to Sherlock about the interrogation. John joined them.
"So how'd it go in there?"
…
"Obviously he doesn't know anything about the real murderer, but he does have some interesting information on how we might find him. We only need to look for someone cashing in any of these securities, and we've got our man." Sherlock pressed the mobile into Lestrade's hands and strode out.
…
John and Lestrade followed behind. Greg got into his cruiser while Sherlock and John hailed a cab back to the flat. John slid in first waiting for Sherlock, but he stood outside of the cab staring back into the woods. Everton stood beside him growling.
"Sherlock what is it?" John slid back across the seat looking as well. Lestrade got out of his cruiser turning to Sherlock and taking in his face. John took it in too, it was 'the face'.
"Ok what have you got now?" Lestrade asked before Sherlock took off running back into the woods Everton trailing behind him.
"Sherlock!" John yelled but he was already too far away to hear his panicked scream.
…
Sherlock weaved through the trees as fast as he could manage. He had just realized where the murderer would be hiding, and where he could be leaving at any time. Sherlock had decided to get there first. He dropped Ev's leash so the dog could keep pace better.
On the other side of the trees, he veered right and kept going down a side street that probably didn't see much traffic. A perfect spot.
The door of one of the buildings had been forced open recently, and it was this door that Sherlock kicked open. The man inside yelped and bolted, leaving whatever it was he had been poring over on the floor. Sherlock grinned. He almost liked it when they ran.
"Everton!" He shouted, pointing. The dog barked once and put on a burst of speed as the murderer shot out a back door and back to the street.
…
John and Lestrade hoped into the cruiser, Greg put on the lights and siren. They traveled around the block to where John had suspected Sherlock had gone. Greg slammed on the brakes nearly hitting the man that John thought could only be the murderer. The man was frozen in front of the cruiser in fear. That's when Everton jumped out and tackled the man to the ground, Sherlock quickly following. Greg put the cruiser in park, stepping out he let Sherlock pull Everton off of the man before placing him in handcuffs.
"You're under arrest for the murder of Simon Abbott." He continued reading him his Miranda rights.
…
Everton growled and made another lunge for the man, snapping at his leg. He jerked away and narrowly avoided the dog's teeth.
"Ev." Sherlock appeared from inside the building. The dog sat obediently, but didn't look pleased about it. "Inspector, the securities that were taken are in there. I've accounted for all of them."
…
"Great! Give me one second and we'll go in and collect them and any other evidence we can find." Lestrade started patting the suspected murderer down. He pulled out the man's wallet, inspecting his drivers' license. "Rupert Adams, what a great name." He said moving down to the suspect's ankles patting them all over. The suspect lifted his foot and John could see what was going to happen but didn't have enough time to warn Greg before he got Rupert's boot imprinted on his face. Rupert took off down the alley on the opposite side of the main road.
…
"Oh, why can they never accept that they've been caught?" Sherlock groaned, tearing off after the man again, who was moving surprisingly quickly in handcuffs. Ev faithfully kept pace beside him. "John, the Inspector has a broken nose, if you wouldn't mind seeing to it." He called back over his shoulder. This time, Sherlock didn't hurry, he knew where Adams was headed, and it was a dead end.
Or at least he had assumed, until Adams scaled the barbed wire fence with relative ease and kept running.
"Oh, for god's sake." Sherlock heaved himself over as well, tearing his coat on one of the barbs.
Everton started barking madly, unable to follow and not at all happy about it. As Sherlock drew further away, the dog began throwing himself against the fence, tearing himself to pieces on the wire but not seeming to care, yelping.
"Sorry, Ev." Sherlock muttered, and kept after his man.
…
"Bloody hell! Ah shit this is a good shirt too!" Lestrade complained as blood slid down his face, dripping from his chin onto his shirt. John retrieved the first aid kit from the glove compartment of the police car. He handed Greg a handful of gauze. There wasn't much more he could do with out having an x-ray, but by the looks of it his nose would probably have to be re-aligned. And it was much better to do that when there were strong painkillers involved.
"You alright? I need to go find Sherlock! Make sure he hasn't gone and gotten himself killed."
"I'm fine, go ahead." Lestrade said taking a seat in the police car, tilting his head back to stop the river of blood that was still coursing out of his nose. John ran down the alley and came to a stop when he noticed Evvie hurling himself at the fence.
"Everton!" John's tone was commanding but the dog paid him no mind. "Tranquille Everton." Still the dog threw himself at the fence. Barking, snarling and yelping each time he came in contact with it. His coat was matted with blood. It was terrifying. John had had enough, he grabbed hold of the dogs collar yanking it as hard as he could. The dog relaxed slightly as John got down face level and looked into his eyes. "Go back to Lestrade." John ordered, pointing back in the direction they came from. Everton seemed to sigh, (could dogs sigh?) but followed John's orders.
The doctor found a crate that would make getting over the barbed wire fence much easier. It was still quite difficult and he sliced his palm open, but he forgot about it as soon as he heard the gun go off.
…
Sherlock scowled. The bullet had missed by several yards, but he still did not appreciate being shot at. Thinking quickly, he ducked into an alley, knowing where it would lead out. Hopefully, he could head Adams off at the next street.
Lestrade heard the gunshot, very faint and far away, but knew instantly who it had been aimed at. Immediately after, a frenzied barking began again.
"Jesus, Sherlock, if you get yourself killed again, so help me…" Clamping his hand around his nose, he went to investigate, his own gun drawn as he turned the corner.
The only thing he saw was John Watson sprinting away from the fence in the direction of the shot, and that bloody dog of Sherlock's scrabbling hopelessly at the fence. "John? Ah, shit." He muttered. "Hey, there, good dog, take it easy. Sit?" Everton stopped and growled at him briefly, then returned his attention back to the fence. Lestrade sighed. Of course.
…
John pulled the gun he had stored in the waistband of his jeans earlier that night. He always brought his gun on a case, no one had ever noticed, but it made John feel powerful. Knowing he could protect himself, and Sherlock.
"Sherlock?" He whispered as he squinted in the dark for any sign of a human figure. He could barely see. The streetlight was out and it was well past midnight at this point. The doctor sprinted towards the end of the street. Half hiding behind the wall of a building, he looked to the cross street. He could barely make out the figure standing in the street. After a moment of squinting he could see that it was Rupert. He was a nervous wreck. His head snapping in the direction of every noise.
John was about to go and take him down when he saw Sherlock jump Rupert from behind, pinning him to the street.
…
"John, if you would care to assist me rather than stand there with your mouth hanging open?" Sherlock growled as Adams struggled to free himself. "He managed to break Lestrade's cuffs, now how did he manage that."
…
John took hold of one of Adams' arms Sherlock the other, and they pushed him towards the police car a few blocks away. They secured a new pair of cuffs on him and stuffed him into the back seat. Lestrade thanked them for their excellent work. Then brought their attention to Everton who was whining softly. He was bleeding, and he wouldn't place his right front paw in the ground.
…
Sherlock leaned down and stroked Everton's head. The dog wagged it's tail and whined, clearly still upset at having been left behind.
"We'd best get back to the flat. I have an experiment I'd like to try."
…
"What about Everton? He needs to see a vet, look at him he's clearly got a broken bone."
…
"It's only a rib, and I have neither the time, nor the desire to teach him not to attack everyone who approaches him. We'll just take him home." Sherlock replied, motioning for Ev to jump into the cab he had just waved down.
…
Unbelievable, John thought.
"He's torn himself up, and has a broken rib and an obvious broken bone in his paw. No I'll take him to the vet. You go home and do your bloody experiment." John got into the cab after Everton, shutting the door in Sherlock's face. He might be able to run around with gun shot wounds whilst suffering from extreme malnutrition and dehydration, but John wouldn't make a poor helpless dog go through such things with out proper care.
John just hoped that the emergency vet's office would still be open.
…
John, have you considered what you've just gotten yourself into? –SH
…
No Sherlock please tell me what I've just gotten myself into. –JW
…
Do you have any idea of what the command for Ev to stand down is? Otherwise he'll be bound to bite the first person that gets within range. –SH
…
Oh Jesus Sherlock just give me the damn command. –JW
…
No. –SH
…
Stop being a 4-year old and just give me the command. Please Sherlock?-JW
…
I don't understand why you're unable to treat Ev at the flat. –SH
…
I don't have the proper supplies at the flat for a cast. Plus I'm a doctor, not a vet. I know nothing about a dog's anatomy. –JW
…
…Fine. Just tell Ev to stay. In German. –SH
…
Thank god John had a smartphone.
Thank you.-JW
…
Bring him home when they're done. -SH
Sherlock angrily slammed his mobile back into his pocket, deciding he'd rather walk back to Baker Street than catch a cab, despite the distance.
…
"Bleiben Evvie." He ordered the dog with the German word for stay, as the vet started to patch him up. He did in fact end up having a broken rib and toe. The vet tended to those and also disinfected many of the more major cuts Everton had acquired during his run in with the fence. He was given Antibiotics and pain medication and they were sent home.
"We're home. Evvie was fine by the way." John unclipped Everton's leash, he searched for a place to hang it, and he ended up slipping the loop ever the knife that stuck out of the mantelpiece. Good enough, he thought, and sat down in his chair. Exhausted from the case, but exhilarated at the same time. The consulting detective and the army doctor were back solving crimes. The way it should be.
…
Nothing but silence greeted John. Sherlock had wandered farther than he intended. The night was cool but not cold, and Sherlock was enjoying being out of the flat. Crossing the street, he kept on, not really caring where he was going.