Chapter 14

John groaned, his eyelashes fluttering a bit as he rolled over onto his back but stopped once he felt his hands get crunched by his weight.

"I fuckin' told ya you were bein' followed man." A man's voice reached his ears as he looked up.

"John," Sherlock looked at him, reaching over. "are you ok?"

"Ugh, peachy." John grumbled. "What happened?"

"You were hit from behind. Apparently our lovely case, Casey hasn't confided in remaining alone." the ghost explained. John groaned, fidgeting a bit. He attempted to pull his hands to his sides but stopped when the bite of ropes digging into his wrists sent a shot of discomfort up through his arms.

"He tied me up?" John growled quietly. "Bloody fucking great."

"Keep calm John." The ghost stood up and made his way forward, walking around the room they were in.

"I am calm. I'm just fucking pissed." He admitted, attempting to pull his wrists free.

"Who are they? They fuckin' cops?" John stopped, looking up. He didn't know where they were, but according to the smell and being surrounded by cement, he figured they were somewhere in or around the sewers.

"Nah, he said he was a doctor-"

"And you fuckin' believe him? Why was he followin you then, hm? Why was he fucking followin' you?"

"They don't sound too happy do they?" Sherlock muttered.

"No, not one bit." John ground his teeth, pulling his wrists apart as hard as he could.

"Well we can't jus' let 'im go."

"Why not?"

"Because he was all tied up! He'll go to the cops an' get us all arrested an' shit!"

"Then what do we do?"

"What the fuck you think we gotta do? Kill 'im!" John froze, feeling his heart stop in his chest. Sherlock turned, looking at him, a look of worry rushing over his features.

"That's not good." The ghost mused, his lips pursed.

"You think?" John retorted, his words coming out in a hiss. He closed his eyes, rolling his wrists, attempting to see if he couldn't slide the ropes down over his hands. When that didn't work he rolled his wrists up, running his fingers across the ropes.

"You're handling this awfully well." Sherlock commented, looking at him.

"I was in the Army, going up against two crack heads is nothing," he muttered, wincing as the fibers ripped open his fingertips. "but if you don't help me out of this I have a feeling I'm probably going to lose this calmness pretty damn fast!" The ghost turned, making his way back to John's side.

"Alright, let me take over." he stood over him, rubbing his hands together carefully. John closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, allowing his defenses to drop. With a sudden click of clarity, he shifted. He dug his fingers in between the ropes that bound his wrists, allowing ghost to do his thing. The sound of footsteps against the damp cement reached his ears, his eyes shooting up. He took note of the area, looking for vital areas to sneak out, but there wasn't much to go on.

The room was dark, the walls curved, almost like the inside of a giant pipe. There was a wall behind him, and the walls extended into a long tunnel. There didn't seem to be anyway to get out of there that didn't require him to run right by them. Grunting he closed his eyes, feeling around the ropes even more, pulling at them. After a few minutes they loosened enough for him to slip his hands out, Sherlock falling back into his mind and allowing John to take over once again.

John pushed himself to his feet as the footsteps got louder; his legs and arms were sore from laying on the hard ground for so long.

"Hey!" One of the men rushed forward, holding a long hunk of wood in his hand. He swung at John. The Doctor smashed his hand back, his instincts kicking in as the threat escalated. His hit knocking the wood back and away from him. Swinging forward with his other hand he punched the guy in the chest, knocking him back.

The man stumbled back, tripping over a ridge in the cement and hit the ground. Stepping over him John leaned down, feeling his blood boil. Grabbing his shirt he pulled him up and snapped his fist across his face once, stunning the guy, then again, ripping his lip and nose open before finishing up with a third hit which knocked him unconscious.

"You fuck!" A piece of wood hit John's shoulder, throwing him off balance a bit. He reeled back, dodging another hit. His eyes snapped up, landing on Marlene's boyfriend Casey.

"John!" The ghost kicked up the piece of wood the man had dropped when John had knocked him back. John lashed out grabbing it and swung, hitting Casey in the side of the head before the kid could bring his weapon down on John's head. The single hit sent him barreling to the floor where he laid still. John panted, standing over the two, his hand going up to his shoulder, rubbing the spot he was hit. Dropping the piece of wood he slipped his hands into his pockets, digging for his phone. When he couldn't find it he groaned.

"You son of a bitch." He stepped forward and crouched, digging through the pockets of both Casey and his friend. After a moment he found the phone tucked away in the back pocket of his first attacker. He pulled it out and looked at it, knowing that it would be a good opportunity to call the police, but when his phone received no bars he sighed and tucked his phone back into his pocket. Turning back he rifled through both Casey's and his friends pockets, pulling out their wallets. He looked through them, spotting some ID just enough to give him their names, then stuffed their wallets back into their pockets and turned, following the tunnel out.

After a few minutes of walking he stopped, coming to a grate with a heavy duty door. He paused, looking at it curiously.

"A storm drain," Sherlock commented, stepping forward into his sight. "Some of them were dug out and fortified as bomb shelters to use during a nuclear out break. Not many of them exist though anymore. And only one exists within the 2 to 5 mile distance of Marlene's house. Close to...Queen Square Garden." He looked back at John. "How are you doing?" He questioned. John didn't really respond right away, shrugging his shoulders as he pushed the door open.

"I'll be fine." He assured him. It was dark outside, the sun seeming to have just gone down. He took a deep breath and fished his phone out again, calling the police.

"Hello Detective Inspector Gregson here." A man greeted.

"This is John Watson, I believe Scotland Yard has taken up the case for Marlene Samson?" He replied, wincing as he rubbed at his shoulder.

"Yes, do you have any helpful information for us?" He questioned. He sounded to be an older man. Not old but at least in his late 40's early 50's.

"Her attacker was her abusive boyfriend Casey Orez. For the past week he has been hiding in an old storm tunnel by Queen Square Garden. He's had an accomplice by the name of Tony Bamusci," He shifted, his eyes closed as he tried to remember the other mans names.

"And how do you know this? And what does it matter to you?" Gregson questioned, sounding skeptical and a bit short tempered.

"I'm a consulting detective hired by Marlene to find her boyfriend and hand him over to New Scotland Yard." He admitted. "Seeing how your department put her case on the back burner because you were taking so long to figure it out."

"She didn't give us much to go off. All we got were some pictures of the guy. No whereabouts or last seens."

"Yet here I was in less than 12 hours able to track down a man without a photograph." John retorted. "He's ready for the arrest, DI. I'll remain here until you arrive and make sure they remain here." He replied before hanging up the phone. Turning he shut the door to the storm drain and locked it, leaning against the door.

He stared off across the way, the sound of the traffic around them faint. After a few moments, his eyes found their way up to the sky where he stared at the moon, feeling the bite of the winter air on his face and fingers. He shivered a bit.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Sherlock questioned, staring at him concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine." John smiled, looking at him. "Been a long night. Can't believe we caught him." He chuckled lightly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Sherlock nodded, looking off across the way as well. "How did you..." The ghost stopped, looking back at him curiously. John licked his lips, his forehead crinkling as he thought through what he wanted to ask. "How did you give me that piece of wood? I thought your doppelganger couldn't interact with objects?"

"Ah," Sherlock nodded, understanding the curiosity. He shifted as well, crossing his arms as the sound of a passing car laid on his horn most likely for someone who had decided to cross the street without looking, or another driver who was driving recklessly. "My doppelganger can't interact with objects." He confirmed. "I risked it and broke the possession for a few seconds, just long enough to get you a weapon." John's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the ghost.

"I thought that if a ghost broke possession he...well...whatever happens to ghosts." Sherlock nodded his head, taking a deep breath.

"Not entirely. You see, when a ghost breaks possession, their spirit is left covered in a...spiritual residue I suppose if you want to say that. As long as I have a mark, and a power source I can return to the body as long as I work quick enough." He explained. "Like when you unplug a television before shutting it off, it still works for a couple of seconds after wards before it shuts off." John nodded.

"So you broke the possession, tossed me a piece of wood and then re-established connection before you were completely out of my body." He mused, rewording it in a way that would make sense to him.

Suddenly the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut reached his ears. Footsteps approached them, and in a matter of moments a man with short hair and a stern expression appeared, slowly making his descent into the ditch the tunnel was located.

"D.I Dimmock." He flashed a badge. "You must be Consulting Detective John Watson." He sneered. John stared at him as he chuckled as if it were funny. The doctor felt his blood boil.

"Is that funny?" He questioned, his arms crossed.

"It's just that there is no such thing as a Consulting Detective," He did air-quotes, sending a pulse of anger through John's body. "so I suggest you leave the game to the big boys, shall we?" He walked forward, walking by him. John stepped back, holding his hand out, stopping him. He stared into Dimmock's eyes, his eyebrows pinched in the center as his jaw tightened.

"I just solved a case in 8 hours that you spent an entire week on, and I was asleep for 5 of the hours." He growled. "While you might not have ever heard the term Consulting Detective, I suggest you realize that you're nothing more than a child in a big boy's shoes stomping all over the toes of a detective God." He sank his fingers in to his chest, complimenting Sherlock. "It would be one thing if you had solved this case, but since you didn't, I suggest you promptly pull your bottom lip over your head and swallow. Please and thank you." He pulled his hand away and shoved by him. Sherlock looked back at Dimmock as a few officers pushed their way into the tunnels, re-emerging a little while later with Casey and his friend.

"A detective God?" Sherlock questioned.

"Compared to them you are." John replied, climbing up out of the ditch and making his way back to the road. Sherlock looked at him curiously, but smiled as John raised his hand, hailing a cab. He took the cab back to Harry's where he got out and made his way to the car. He stifled a yawn, stretching before climbing in behind the wheel of the car.

"Shouldn't you go and get your wounds checked out?" Sherlock opted, sitting in the passenger seat of the car.

"No need," John replied, turning the car on. Carefully he pulled out into traffic and made his way for home. "it was just a hit to the shoulder."

"Yes, but are you forgetting the hit to the back of the head you took?" Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, looking from the vast lights as they rushed by.

"Actually, yes I did." John muttered. "But I'm sure I didn't get a concussion." He confirmed as he pulled out onto the long stretch of empty road, heading for his place.

"If you're sure." Sherlock muttered in reply. The rest of the ride was silent. No words were exchanged as John pulled into the path, carefully making his way up the driveway past the trees. Pulling in he parked the car and shut it off. He climbed out and slammed the door behind him, his eye lids feeling heavy as he made his way inside.

Once inside he hung his keys up on a nail by the door and slid his coat off. Pulling his phone out he called Marlene, just to give her a heads up on the news. John drummed his fingers as the phone rang, a burning feeling coursing through him, the sudden urge to pee and sleep running through him as Sherlock appeared before him as he always had.

"Hi, Marlene? This is John Watson, I just wanted to call you and let you know Casey has been found and is now in custody of Scotland Yard." He smiled lightly, kicking his shoes off. Sherlock watched, noting his smile stretching across his face. "No problem at all, I'm glad I could help you sleep easier at night...yes...thank you so much. You have a great night." He pulled the phone away and hung up, looking at Sherlock.

"So," Sherlock held his arms up, his head tilted to the side a bit. "what did you think?" John didn't reply right away, his forehead crinkled as his lips pursed, his head cocking just a bit as he looked at the detective confused, then nodded, his eyes sliding shut.

"Ah, I thought it was..." He trailed off, thinking back on the night. He had gone, hunted down a man who abused his girlfriend for years, vanished after landing his girlfriend in the hospital and got him arrested. Not to mention he had been knocked out, injured and almost killed. The more he thought about it the more he realized how stupid he had been for accepting it in the first place. But the pride he felt for catching Casey and his friend and smearing it into that pompous Dimmock's face that he had caught a bad guy before Scotland Yard drew a smile on his face. A smile that only stretched farther when he looked at the ghost. "bloody amazing."

Sherlock looked at him, a smiled coming to his own face.

"Well then, Consulting Detective John Watson," He stepped forward. John held up a hand stopping him, his smile fading a bit. Sherlock looked at him confused, his head cocked to the side.

"No, I'm a Consulting Doctor and sidekick to the Consulting Detective." He replied, letting his hand drop. "Any compliments they give to the detective work I do are all yours; after all it's your skills, not mine." He smiled again, stretching. "It's been a long day, shall we?" Turning he made his way through the office and up the stairs to his bedroom. "I mean, after all, we have other cases to look at tomorrow." Sherlock looked after him, his smile coming back to his face as a surge of joy rushed through him.

Sherlock Holmes, worlds greatest and only consulting detective was back in the game, and this time, he had one hell of an indestructible sidekick; Dr. John Watson.