A/Note: I haven't mentioned it in a while, but I'd like to say thank you to all of you who have been following this story. And even if you're not officially following it, for simply reading it too. Also, thank you to those of you who have read my other stories and favorited those. This makes me really happy.

Here's another longish chapter. Enjoy!

14. Of sheep and wolves

John was distracted. Brenda was really interesting, but Kevin did show up as Sherlock had predicted. John had been already waiting for her in a table at a corner, so when she joined him she had her back to the bar. This way she didn't see Kevin walk in and John could watch him. He thought Kevin had seen them, but didn't pay them much attention. He ordered a pint and sat at the bar, quiet and keeping to himself, in deep thought. John observed him, now and then glancing at the mirror behind the bar to watch the suspect's face.

Once Kevin finished his pint, he stood up to leave.

John interrupted her, 'Listen Brenda, I'm really sorry, but something came up and I need to go.'

She was a bit startled and confused. It pained him to leave her like this.

'I'm sorry, Brenda. I do hate to leave like this. Could I- may I have your number? Maybe we could meet again sometime soon?'

She recovered quickly, smiled and gave him her business card. Her mobile number was in it, but he could tell he had lost points right there.

When he rushed outside, Kevin was already two blocks away. Luckily he didn't seem to be in a hurry. John followed him, weaving around the moderate amount of people on the streets, texting Sherlock every street they turned. Night had fallen, but people were out on the streets, going to or coming back from dinner.

About fifteen minutes later Sherlock caught up with him.

'Anything?'

'Nothing of importance, except for the fact that he has looked at pornography in his workplace's computer. Also, a few pictures of Kathryn, taken without her knowledge. Kathryn had been working on some dull divorce papers and some droning contracts. Same with Ms. Sullivan. Disappointing. Any luck with her?'

'No, she deflected work questions and told me a little more about Jeff and Kevin, but nothing that we didn't already know.'

'Pity, but I wasn't referring to that.'

John had to stop and think, then realised it was a joke attempt, just like at that time in Baskerville. Perhaps a way to compensate for his earlier venom towards Amy? 'Well, I got her number,' he gave a sideways look, smiling impishly.

'Ah, well done. Not all was a waste of time, then.' Sherlock made an effort and attempted a smile which wouldn't have convinced Molly, he was sure of that. Luckily, John was staring straight ahead, already daydreaming about the next date.

Now the streets were empty and they had to be extra careful so to not be heard or spotted. Their surroundings looked definitely more dilapidated than the charming touristy area earlier. They had just stopped by a doorway to hide for a bit, as Kevin was slowing down and looking around more often, as if he were looking for someone. John felt cold and his hands were a bit stiff, even inside his pockets. He welcomed the doorway, it blocked the wind a bit.

Sherlock had his back against the door and was poking his head out, while John stood next to him, looking past Sherlock towards their suspect. That's when a student on a bike with a rucksack on his back rode slowly by them. The young man had a wool cap low on his forehead and eyed both of them suspiciously. Sherlock turned abruptly to John and said:

'Look, I told you: fifty will only get you a hand job. If you're not interested, piss off. Plenty of men out there who are.'

John almost blurted "What?!" but stopped himself, recognising the ruse.

The kid snorted and kept on riding at a slow pace.

Sherlock stuck his hand out in a "wait" gesture, with his head turned towards their suspect.

The student had stopped by Kevin. After a few words, the young man pulled his rucksack down, quickly took something small out of it and traded it with their suspect. Soon both went separate and opposite ways and Sherlock and John resumed tailing him.

'What was that, Sherlock?' John whispered.

'Drugs, John. Our Kevin just bought himself something illegal.'

'The student? How did you kno-' He caught himself. Of course Sherlock would recognise a drug dealer. 'Then why-'

'What else would two men be doing in a deserted area in this cold? It had to be drugs or sex. You wouldn't be able to pretend you were buying; dealers can spot a fake and would think you're with the police. You wouldn't approve of me buying drugs, so that left us with only one alternative.'

John could see the logic. Yet it bothered him. He could feel his face burn, despite the cold. He couldn't dwell on it for too long, though. Soon they were back to a more commercial area and Kevin entered another pub. Carefully, they made their way towards a darker spot from which they could watch him sit at the bar. Sherlock swiped a couple of half drunken pints on their path as they headed to a table. This place had a bit of a rougher looking crowd and some people nearby stared at Sherlock, who stood out in his posh clothes.

About an hour and two whiskies later, Kevin started to chat up a woman sitting at the bar. He bought her a drink. That surprised John. He didn't think he'd be that bold, but then again, he had three drinks in him before he made a move. The woman could've been somewhat attractive, John supposed, if only she took better care of herself. She had overly bleached hair and was wearing black leggings, high heeled boots, a puffy jacket and a lot of makeup. She removed her jacket and her top seemed a bit smaller than it should be, tightly showing her ample bosom as well as the extra pounds around her waist. The leggings accentuated her backside and he could tell she was wearing a thong.

Another half hour went by and she excused herself to go to the loo, just as Kevin was ordering another round. Kevin leered at her arse as she sashayed away.

'Ah John, now we'll see what our Kevin is up to,' Sherlock smirked.

John's mouth dropped. 'He just slipped something into her drink! The bastard!'

'So mild and innocent Kevin not quite as harmless as he sounds. Do you still have the Chief's card? Would you mind calling him?'

John hurriedly looked inside his wallet and fished out the card. He walked outside to better hear his phone, keeping an eye on Kevin through the dirty window pane. It took him a while to make the fellow on the other end understand what he was talking about and be convinced to give him the Chief's home number. It was deeply frustrating and he wondered if that was how Sherlock felt when dealing with the rest of the world, including himself. Alarmed, he saw the woman return and sip her drink. He rang the Chief's house and his wife answered. The woman at the bar was already looking tipsy. He was furious that Sherlock hadn't intervened. Finally he got ahold of the Chief and had to start his explanations all over again. He gave the pub's name and, looking around, the names of the streets where they were. After answering a few more disparaging questions, he saw Kevin help her out of her stool and support her elbow as she walked drunkenly.

John quickly turned away from the door and pretended to be having a "normal" conversation on his phone, which utterly confused the Chief at the other end. Right then, Kevin and the woman walked by him without a glance.

'Now now, dear, let's get you home, shall we? You had enough to drink for tonight,' Kevin said patronisingly, more for John's benefit than hers.

'Dr. Watson? Dr. Watson?' the Chief's voice repeated in his ear. He felt Sherlock tapping him on the shoulder as he followed the couple ahead of them.

'Chief, they're heading north on Canterbury Lane. I'll keep you posted,' and he hung up without waiting for a reply.

'Why didn't you stop him?' he hissed angrily.

'I want to see how far he goes with it. I can honestly say he did surprise me,' he whispered, a hint of amusement in his voice that made John really angry. What about the woman, you dick? But before he could say it out loud, Sherlock suddenly pulled John behind the corner. Kevin looked around both ways on the empty street and dragged the rapidly disabled woman into an alley.

'Quick John!' Sherlock ran.

John rushed and they were in the alley just in time to see Kevin holding the sagging woman in place with his body, one hand pawing her breast, the other tugging her leggings down.

'Stop!' Sherlock yelled.

Kevin spun around, saw them and ran away. Sherlock took off after him, while John squatted by the woman, who had sagged to the ground against the wall.

'It's all right, you'll be okay,' he told her, already calling for an ambulance, as he checked her pulse and her breathing. It killed him not to go after Sherlock. Rationally he knew Kevin would never be able to outrun Sherlock being in such a poor shape as he was, much less best him in a fight. Yet, his heart clenched at the thought of not knowing, not being there. He could be armed after all. He tried to push these thoughts aside. She needs a doctor. You need to stay with her until the ambulance arrives, make sure she's still breathing. Sherlock will be fine. Next he called the Chief, then carried her out of the alley, to make it easier for the ambulance to find them.

...

Sherlock had captured him easily not too far away and had brought him to where John had been standing, talking to the paramedics as they worked. The ambulance had just left with the woman and the police was taking a much subdued and handcuffed Kevin to the awaiting panda car. The Chief gave his final orders and walked towards them, beaming. 'Gentlemen, congratulations! You just caught the man we've been looking for for the past ten months.'

'Ten months?' John asked incredulously.

'Unfortunately. His victims never remembered his face. The drug always messed up with their short term memories, so we could never get a reliable description. We questioned all the bartenders where the victims were taken, but the suspect had one of those faces that no one pays much attention to, nothing stood out about him.'

'Could it be that he used that drug on Kathryn too?' John asked.

'But the autopsy didn't show any drugs-' the Chief objected.

'Have they tested Kathryn's hair?' Sherlock interrupted. The Chief gave him a blank look, so he continued, 'Some drugs won't show in blood or urine tests, but will show on hair. They should've tested for that already, the incompetents. I grilled him as I captured him. He insists he has never killed anyone and would've never done this to Kathryn. He loved her, he says.'

John made a disgusted face. 'What, so these poor women were mere substitutes as she kept declining his advances?'

'That would be the case, yes,' said Sherlock. 'He says the women he took were asking for it anyway, wearing provocative clothes, sitting alone in pubs.'

'How many women?' John was appalled that Kevin had had a free run for ten months.

'Six that we know of,' the Chief answered.

'Sick bastard!'

'Be as it may,' Sherlock cut off John's indignant speech before it took flight, 'he might be telling the truth. Still, you should cover all the bases Chief, and order an exhumation if they didn't test her hair. Come on John.'

'Mr. Holmes! Dr. Watson! We need to get your statements-'

'Tomorrow morning, Chief,' Sherlock said without turning around or slowing his pace.

John was tempted to wrestle Kevin out of the car and punch the bastard, but Sherlock kept on walking, so he gave the Chief a curt nod and followed. When he caught up with Sherlock he was still fuming. He still thought Sherlock should've intervened at the pub. After a few minutes of walking in silence, Sherlock bumped into his shoulder and asked, 'Hungry?'

His tension melted a bit, he gave a small snort, 'Starving!'

'We'd better hurry then, this being a smaller town we might not have much of a choice this late.'

...

'Sherlock, eat your food.'

'How's your steak?'

'Very good, actually. Either that or I'm really starving. How about your steak and kidney pudding?'

'Passable. Your dish looks better.'

'What now, you want a piece of my dinner?'

'Maybe a bite?'

John sighed, cut a tip and was just about to place it in Sherlock's plate when his hand was intercepted and detoured to an eager mouth. Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, actually enjoying the food, for once. John wondered if Sherlock had noticed he was still holding his hand and looked around, self conscious. To his dismay, the girl from the B&B's front counter was sitting at the bar, and she quickly looked away when she was caught staring.

Just perfect! He pulled his hand away. 'Sherlock, please don't do that, would you? Next time, let me put it in your plate.'

'Mm. I should've ordered that instead. It's very good.'

John grunted and concentrated on his food, trying not to think of Sherlock closing his eyes and sighing with pleasure.

Author's amused note: I have no idea of how much a hand job would cost, let alone in pounds. I just threw in a number based on how much Sherlock had given that homeless woman in TGG. Then recently I finally caved in and tried googling it out of curiosity. I got answers totally unrelated to the question, some amusing, some misleading. So we'll go with fifty.

On a more serious note, I just want to make it clear, I don't agree with Kevin. No victim is ever asking for it. And girls, never leave your drink unattended.