We're in Lestrade's glass 'office'. Sherlock has his huge feet on the desk and Lestrade is looking at them disapprovingly. We've all just stopped talking, Sherlock explaining only some of what we have discovered. He doesn't like his brother but he is mindful that Mycroft has risked a lot to tell us some of the information he shared this morning. Lestrade asking loads of questions obviously, Sherlock clamming up and me having to smooth things out.
"So, these people are going to do something big and philanthropic and we can't nick them 'til afterwards?" Lestrade sits back in his chair and rubs his hands in his hair. Sherlock nods and sips his coffee; they've stopped giving him a plastic cup after he demonstrated how easily they break, all over Anderson's desk and mobile phone. Instead they've taken to giving him a 'Charles and Di wedding day' mug which he seems to like. He's a bit odd.
"In essence, yes. Sorry I can't say more but my sources are delicate." Lestrade doesn't even know Sherlock has a brother, not many people do and that's how he wants to keep it. I suspect Mycroft does too.
"So, we have to link the murderers to these people." I point to the modern Brotherhood picture. "How the hell can we do that?" Lestrade sighs and scratches his chin, his two day stubble makes a rasping noise.
"Hmm. We've been looking and looking but they're clever bastards." He looks at our very own clever bastard who is staring out of the window. "The only link we have is Imperely."
"John?" Sherlock's voice is distant; he's either come up with something brilliant or he's about to be completely random. "Do you think we could have sex later? It helps me think." I sigh, put my head down and rub my eyebrow. Why does he do this? Lestrade grins and sips his coffee.
"Yes John," Lestrade's laughing now, "do you think we could all..."
"Fuck off Geoff." I smile. He laughs more. This shakes Sherlock from his reverie.
"Can I speak to Imperely?" he's on his feet.
"Well, it's irregular and I'll have to make some calls but..." Lestrade is puzzling through the red tape.
"Good. Text John when you have it sorted. Does Imperely have any family? Wife? Girlfriend?"
"Girlfriend. Samantha Bloom works at the same retirement home. Why?"
"We're going to have a chat with Miss Bloom." Sherlock is already leaving, as he crosses the office full of people working at computers he calls over his shoulder, "and then the sex you promised John. I need to think!" Good god.
Samantha Bloom is standing outside of the Duchess of York retirement home smoking and staring into space. She's much younger than her boyfriend and she'd be beautiful if she wasn't wearing that lilac uniform and have her hair scraped so far back. Her skin is milky coffee coloured and her hair, tied in a frizzy ponytail on the top of her head, points to Afro Caribbean family. She looks worn out. I wonder what she sees in that weasely man in the cells.
Sherlock's changed from his long coat into a short leather jacket and done something with his hair but I can't quite work out what, maybe it's slicked back more? Anyway, these two minor alterations and something he's done with the way he holds himself have changed his whole appearance. It's brilliant and scary. Now he looks like a young city banker, the sort of bloke who pulls a girl on a Friday night in 'All Bar One', shags her stupid all weekend and never speak to her again. It's attractive in a surreal way. I look just the same as I always do, thanks for asking.
"Hi, sorry to bother you on your break." Sherlock's smile is warm and inviting. Miss Bloom looks up from her daydream and she smiles back. I don't suppose she could help it; Sherlock is doing a mesmerising act of a ladies' man. Even I'm convinced and well... yeah I know he isn't. "Couldn't steal a cigarette could I?" He smiles in a desperate sort of way and she hands him the packet.
"Yeah, yeah course." He takes one and she flicks the Zippo and offers him the light. He holds the hand with which she is holding the lighter, as though to steady the flame. Then he looks right at her, under those long eyelashes. I know what that can do. Her eyes widen. He takes a long, satisfied drag. I'm thinking about his mouth so I'm guessing she is too. Should he be smoking again? Wasn't he quitting? Maybe he is but he's bloody convincing. "Better?" she smiles. He nods and smiles back. I feel like an utter gooseberry.
"John? Would you get us some from the shop when you go to top up your phone?" He's taking in a slightly smoother version of his own voice, more casual, less precise. I raise my eyebrows. Does he want me to go now? He nods.
I walk across the car park and I can hear them laughing. It's flirty and intimate. It's a good job I'm not the jealous type.
In the shop I try to decide whether to really buy cigarettes. I even think about topping up my phone but then I remember that I am on a contract and the phone in question is in Sherlock's pocket anyway. He's convincing, I'll give him that. I buy some Fruit Pastilles and eat them as I slowly walk back to the retirement home. I'm not happy at the amount of green ones they seem to put in the packets these days. I don't like the green ones. I wonder to myself idly what colour Sherlock likes and if he's ever even had Fruit Pastilles.
I am not expecting to see Sherlock pressed up against the wall and Samantha Bloom leaning towards him, one hand steadying herself on the wall behind his head as she cranes towards him. I stop, unsure of what to do next. I have to admit that I feel annoyed. I want to run and smack one of them, both of them. My more rational side is arguing that this is all part of Sherlock's act but that doesn't really help much. Just when I think they're going to kiss, just when her mouth is near his lips, his eyes wide open, she steps back.
"I can't see anything in there, sorry." She leans against the wall next to him.
"Really? It still feels horrible." Sherlock is poking his eye. He looks up at me. "Contact lense." He explains. Does he even wear contact lenses? I don't think so. He turn back to her, dazzling smile on full beam, I can see her melting. "So, Sam thanks for the cigarette."
"No problem," she grins back at him.
"Are you sure you can't just get the afternoon off?" He really is that fast. God. She shakes her head but I can see it's regretful.
"No I've taken too much time off recently to see David. I'll see you next time you visit your Nan though, James." James?
"I look forward to it."
"Me too." I chew my Fruit Pastille and look away. Sherlock turns to go and I follow him, I wave vaguely, she smiles back.
"So, interesting. " He's back to his normal, abrupt self as we reach the road. He takes the jacket off and messes with his hair. His mannerisms become more familiar.
"What? What's interesting?" I am waving for a cab as we get to the kerb.
"Can I have one of those? Dreadful taste from that cigarette." He takes one out of the packet before I can respond. It's a green one. Good. He pops it in his mouth and chews thoughtfully.
"Hmmm. Green. Nice." Nothing on the road is stopping for my waving hand. He lifts a long pale finger like he's about to prophesy doom. A cab pulls over right away. What is he? A cab magnet? Once inside, his cabbie instructed to take us home then he starts to explain.
"Samantha's a nice girl with a bad boyfriend. She's been getting some hassle from Jennifer Abrahams since David got arrested. And two other man. I showed her the picture."
"Not Mycroft?" I wince.
"No, not Mycroft, Fredericks and a Thomas Hallowell, guy who seems very unsavoury. She didn't have a name but she did have an address."
"And she gave it to you?" The man is astounding.
"Well, no, but she pointed to her pocket with her mobile in it when she mentioned that he kept texting her his address and I asked if I could borrow her phone to text my mum to tell her Nan was ok." He grins widely.
"And you read it and you've remembered it?" he taps the side of his head meaningfully. He takes another one of my Fruit Pastilles, it's a red one. Bastard. He starts to chew and then pulls a dramatically disgusted expression. He leans towards me and grabs my face.
He pulls me in and kisses me, his lips are sticky and his tongue forces the sweet into my mouth. Then he sits back and smiles and takes the packet. He opens it right up, ripping paper and rendering it useless for keeping the rest of the sweets and takes two green ones and eats them both at once.
"Thanks." I mumble. He glances sideways at me.
"You like the red ones." He says confidently.
"How do you know that?"
"Because your little face lights up when the next one is red." He pinches my cheek, he sounds like Mycroft. I wince. Then his face drops abruptly, he's thought of something else. "So, first I need to phone Lestrade and then we go home and have sex. Right?" I cough on my red sweetie. Then he starts laughing. Cocky bastard. He's got my phone and he dials quickly.
"Lestrade? I have an address of the possible Frederick's killer. Yes, yes the one who kills for Frederick," he sighs and rolls his eyes at me. "So we've got to speak to them but we can't just... I know, I know... I'm going. No not John. Yes. You can use a wire if you like, in fact that's perfect. Happier? Good. Right, call round in about..." he grabs my wrist and looks at my watch "about twenty seven minutes? Yes twenty seven. I'm going to be busy." He waggles an eyebrow at me and puts the phone down even though I can hear Lestrade still speaking.
"I have one more question, John?"
"Hmm?" I look up at him, expecting to be asked about the Brotherhood, Lestrade, my phone, but no, that's not Sherlock's line of thought.
"How are you going to make me come this time?" I splutter and the cab pulls in to the kerb.
I've barely shut the door when he pushes me against it and his mouth is on mine. I try to breathe but he's grinding against me and I can't even think.
"Whoa! Slow down Sherlock!" I put up my hands in surrender, he chuckles.
"Now, John, now! We've not a moment to lose! No, no, don't take your clothes off! No time for that!" He deftly unfastens my jeans and takes my half hard cock out. Come on, give me a break, I've barely had time to think! Mind you, the sensation of his fingers on my sensitive skin is driving me crazy. Ok, not half hard anymore. Right then.
That mission achieved, he moves on to himself. His trousers, smart, expensive, fall round his ankles, followed by his shorts. Those shorts are mine! Before I can question his underwear theft he rubs himself along me and hisses through his teeth. This has got to be the quickest foreplay ever perpetrated in the history of sex. I'm not complaining, he feels amazing. And I feel wanted, Christ, I feel like he might eat me whole.
I run my fingers down his shirt but he's no time for that. He grabs my hands and pulls them down to his cock. He's painfully hard and his skin is like velvet, he feels wonderful.
"John, I'd love it if you put your mouth there." He whispers in that dark tone he has when he's aroused. It does things to my lower back and stomach which I can't describe.
"Ok," I nod "but what about me?" He thinks for a moment, still pushing against my hands, then his eyes open wide and he grins.
"What's it called?" he snaps his fingers. "Come on John! What's it called, oh god that feels good, don't stop that, what's that position where we can both use our mouths?" He's running at a million miles an hour now, body rampant and brain on overdrive.
"A 69?" I sigh; I've never been able to concentrate sufficiently for this to be successful with girls.
"That's it! Sofa!" he pulls me bodily across the room and lies down on his side on the broad cushion, he points at the foot of the sofa. I lie down, but the angle's wrong and he pulls me along by my ankles, chafing the skin, until I am faced with his erection. Hey, I need no invitation here. I give him a long lick; he shudders and takes me into his mouth whole. That's cheating I think, and reciprocate the action. What happens next is the most strange and amazing sexual experience I've had and, since I've started this thing with Sherlock, that's saying something.
Every movement I make, he mirrors, so that in the end it feels like the most amazing form of masturbation ever. The fact that I know it's Sherlock who is making me feel like this, with those lips, is adding to the eroticism and then I get the bonus of tasting him, feeling him push against my soft palate, hard and insistent. Any problems I've had concentrating vanish. I am right there.
He grabs my arse and pulls me nearer, swallowing me, opening his throat. Jesus. I copy him and he moans around me, the vibrations feel amazing and I can feel his breath on my pubic bone. Soon I am coming; my thrusts have no rhythm but then, neither do Sherlock's. I taste him coming; the sensation of him flooding my mouth combined with my own orgasm is off the scale. He disengages himself from our tangled limbs and sits up, grinning.
"Success!" he crows, wiping his mouth with his hand. It's so sexy and just so Sherlock. I start to laugh. He's up from the sofa, briefly stumbling over his trousers which are still around his ankles and in the kitchen with the kettle on. I am still coming down from that buzz but I see him check the time on the microwave.
"Well, how long then?" he laughs and comes back in with two cups of tea, he puts one on the floor next to the sofa and indicates for me to move over. I struggle on my jeans and sit up, taking the tea.
"Twenty six minutes, I'm better than I thought. I think that's what is colloquially termed a 'quickie' John." I laugh.
"Yes, yes it certainly was Sherlock." There is a knock at the door.
"Wonderful timing, come in Lestrade!" he shouts. Lestrade comes through the door as though he's afraid of what he might find. He has a small briefcase in his hand.
"Did I miss the sex?" he asks, and I can't decide if he's teasing or disappointed.
"Just." Laughs Sherlock.
An hour later Sherlock comes back down from his room. He is unrecognisable. He told us he was going to prepare for meeting the Fredericks killer and I guess that's what he's done because the man coming down the stairs is not Sherlock Holmes. Instead he is middle aged, tall with a paunch and is balding. His thin face is sharp and mean and bears absolutely no resemblance to Sherlock Holmes at all. He looks more like the sort of man who used to run an Eastend boxing ring I once knew. Hard bitten, cruel. I can hardly bear to look at him.
"Evening gents," Sherlock wheezes and the effect is complete. I know, because he's told me, that he is well practised in disguise but I never dreamt he could transform himself so thoroughly. Even Lestrade, who claimed to have seen him do this before is impressed. He gives a low whistle.
"Bloody hell Sherlock you've surpassed yourself this time." Sherlock gives a little bow, or rather the greasy man in front of us does.
Lestrade begins to wire Sherlock up and Sherlock, in his perfectly normal voice, starts to elucidate on his plan.
"I intend to call round as a friend of Imperely's who is onto the game. Offer to carry on helping out while Imperely's indisposed. Jennifer Abrahams is bound to need a killer if she's a player now. They won't take me on, they're far too cautious, but they might give me something, even admit to the connection between this Thomas Hallowell man and Fredericks. If you can record it Lestrade," he glances down at where Lestrade is kneeling at his feet running something down his sock and he leers, it's not pleasant given the disguise, "if you can capture it then we have them. Once we get one they'll fall like dominoes."
"After they've save the world or whatever it bloody is they're going to do." Lestrade stands up, slapping Sherlock's leg. "There you go chief. Oh and here's that letter you asked for."
"Wonderful." Sherlock does a slow turn, like he's checking himself out in a mirror. "Would you know me John?" I shake my head.
"Nope. No I certainly wouldn't."
"And you DO know me John. Biblically!" he adds for Lestrade's benefit. I groan. "Right, I'm off. You two can keep each other company while I'm gone." And he leaves. I watch him slouch down Baker St and I don't think I've been so worried in my life.
After about fifteen minutes of talking to his people who will be recording Sherlock's exploits Lestrade gets another small speaker from his bag.
"So we get to listen too." He explains while he takes another cup of tea from me. We've had two already. I wonder if we have any biscuits and then promptly forget again because he's connected a wire and we can hear Sherlock speaking. I think he must be on the Tube because there's a train in the background and the speech is echoing.
"Well I always say to my Sandra that you can't trust the buggers." It's Sherlock but god only knows what he's talking about, or with whom. Another voice, an elderly lady, replies that some of 'them' have moved in down her street. Sherlock tuts savagely.
"And I bet you can 'ear 'em at it like rabbits!" he cackles and the old lady says she can and it's awful.
"I don't see what two 'ealthy young men in their prime want with that sort of game." Sherlock expounds with feeling. "I mean, it's not like there aren't enough girls around without them having to stick it up each other's jacksies is it?" I look at Lestrade, he is grinning. I shake my head.
Mercifully the conversation seems to end there and Sherlock I think gets off the Tube. After about another ten minutes of him walking and whistling there is the sound of an intercom buzzing and a sharp voice asks who it is.
"Sidney Doyle." Sherlock wheezes, "I'm a friend of David's." there's silence and then the door is buzzed open. It sounds like he just walked into a nightclub. I look questioningly at Lestrade.
"Lap dancing club." He whispers. "The address Samantha Bloom had was for a lap dancing club in Soho. Sherlock in a lap dancing club. I'm almost disappointed I can't see this.
Some awful music is pumping loudly on the stereo and I can hear voices in the background. Suddenly a girl is speaking, I can't tell what she says but Lestrade is grinning.
"You couldn't 'andle what I've got in my lap sweet'eart." Leers Sherlock. "Mebbe I'll come back and show yer when I've talked to yer boss eh?"
He's obviously gone into a back office now because the music is muted and there is an ominous silence.
"How can we help you Mr..." the voice is cultured, well educated but it's also gruff and dismissive. Someone who is not used to having their time wasted owns that voice.
"Doyle," says Sherlock. "Sidney Doyle. I'm a mate of David's and, seeing as how he's got friendly with the lads at Scotland Yard I thought I might offer my services. I take it 'is job wasn't finished?"
"What do you know about his business Mr. Doyle?" the voice is sharp now.
"Nothing much, only what David said about it being a long term contract, like. And I reckoned now he's been nicked you might need someone to replace him."
"Do you have any credentials Mr. Doyle?" I look up at Lestrade, concerned the game is up.
"Yer I do, as it goes. This is from Mr Downs in Hackney. "I frown.
"Gangster," Lestrade, "been on our books since we nicked him a few months back. I got him to put his signature on some note explaining how Doyle's one of his men." There has been a silence from the speaker.
"That's most reassuring Mr. Doyle. I think we might be able to find you a niche for a man of your talents in our network. Where can you be contacted? You must understand that your instructions will be given at a moment's notice."
"That's all right guv," Sherlock's voice is wheezy. "What's the pay like?"
"I think you'll be happy with the pay Mr. Doyle. Now, if that's all I must beg your pardon but I have things to attend to."
"No problem at all, here's my number. Give me a shout when you've got a job on." Sherlock's old man sounds happy. The music gets louder again and I guess he's leaving the club.
"Ere darlin! Too busy to help an old man out?" he shouts and then we hear a girl's voice, she gets nearer so I think she must be walking over to him.
"I always have time to help the aged." She breathes, I roll my eyes and Lestrade sniggers. The music starts again and we are treated to twenty minutes of Sherlock's old man panting and moaning as some teenage girl wriggles all over him. I can't tell if it's real or fake.
"Got to make it look authentic." Lestrade laughs. Yeah. Great. I make another cup of tea, I rummage for the biscuits trying not to visualise what I can hear in the lounge. When I get back the music has stopped and the noise of the Tube is rattling away again. Lestrade switches the speaker off and phones the Yard. He comes back with a smug grin on his face.
"I think we've got them."
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So, we're near the end friends! How did you find this chapter? (Please don't tell me you just clicked the link, cocky bastards ;D ) Did you like Sherlock's acting? The fruit pastilles (which colour is YOUR favourite) and how about the quickie?
I'm starting to think of the next story, requests, suggestions, advice received humbly, I'm not promising anything but I'd like to hear your ideas.
The Baker St Irregulars, namely PrincessNala, Peachsilk, Munchieees, Darmed, Tasty- Kate, 2cajuman2, Tanya Zsa Zsa, Clubba Bear, Aelfric's cat, SherlockMuser, mrs winny, Nellyington and Despairandcupcakechild have to take some serious credit for keeping me amused and interested in this fic! You're lovely people. You make me smile when I wake up and get your reviews and PMs.
And it my dearest Reg and my lovely OHOB, I love you more than I have words for. Cx