I had to split this chapter into two parts because it was getting a bit long, sorry!
Chapter 21
God, I need a fag right now.
Sherlock walked across the garden, showing absolutely no concern for the perfectly manicured grass. Thousands of tiny droplets from last night's rainfall soaked into his shoes and spider-webs glittered in a feeble sunlight that tried its best to penetrate the fog.
Leaves on the hedges were trying to turn an early shade of autumn.
He arrived at the back patio doors of the house, a modern construction consisting largely of smoked plate-glass panels, and immediately caught sight of the woman he had come to see. She was wearing the same business-like black trousers and white shirt combination he'd seen her in before, only now she'd let her greying, collar-length hair down and it brushed her cheeks as she leaned on the kitchen counter reading some paperwork.
He tapped on the glass door with his knuckles.
Her head snapped up and her face was painted at first with shock and annoyance, but then with relief and recognition. She put her pen down on the counter and moved toward the back doors.
"What do you want?" she said tersely, muffled through the glass. Her eyes darted to the left and the right and Sherlock took that to mean that she knew she was being watched. That was why he hadn't used the front door. She looked tired. She had probably been up all night managing the crisis, and had only just made it home to freshen up before going back into the fray.
"Professor Lavender," he took a step back from the door so as to seem less threatening, "I need your help."
Jackie looked him up and down through the glass, considering her options. His being here could have serious repercussions, he knew that, but he'd still come; he had no choice. Finally, she let him in.
She didn't stand on ceremony, but made her way back to the counter and resumed turning pages. "I have to say, this makes interesting reading, Mr Holmes."
"Please, call me Sherlock." Sounds like cheesy line from a TV show, he lamented.
"You've made some interesting hypotheses."
"It's far from perfect. I was young and naïve and I had a tenuous grasp of the ethics, although I'm proud to say not the quantum theory." He said it with a slightly embarrassed smile which Jackie did not deign to duplicate.
"I've been in this business for over twenty years, and I don't think I've ever seen better human contact algorithms. Your temporal framework is flawless..."
"Why, thank you Professor, I - "
"But that's all it is," she said unexpectedly, "maths."
"I'm not sure I - "
She spoke over him, "I'm an epidemiologist and I have a responsibility to count the human cost of this exercise. I know your kind. People like you make me mad. You see this as a problem to be solved, that is all, an extension to the puzzles that you spend your days solving, but some of us have this little thing called compassion… some of us have - "
"Are you saying you're not going to help me?"
Jackie seemed to consider it for a moment. "Not yet. There are… consequences to me letting you in here, to me letting…" and then she stopped. "Why me? Why did you come here? Why me and not your… brother, is it?"
"Mycroft is my brother, but I cannot claim that we always see eye to eye. But you, you are not under his thumb as all the others are, the heads of the security services. He can't get to you like he can to them. You are uniquely placed to make a difference."
"You know the official version is that they wrapped up this little investigation last night, with your break-in?"
"And you and I both know this is no-where near the end of the matter."
"Why should I take risks for you?" Jackie slipped off her shoes and began to massage her foot where she stood.
"Because I'm truly, truly remorseful and repentant and I'm the only person who can fix this. The only person, that is, besides you. I started this over ten years ago, and I need you to help me finish it. To put everything right." He hoped that he hadn't let any hint of insincerity show through, because the truth was, he was just using her like he did everyone else.
"What would you have me do?"
"I need your help to reverse engineer the spread of the contamination, follow it back to its source," he said hopefully, "It's panned out differently to how I predicted… the stakes are so high, I…"
Jackie stared at him for a while, weighing up the pros and cons. She sighed. "I suppose I'd better put the kettle on."
Later, with Professor Lavender's calculations tucked into the inside pocket of his coat, Sherlock rang the doorbell of a red-brick terraced house in Camberwell.
A teenaged boy answered the door. He had long, coltish limbs and was wearing a faded T-shirt emblazoned with a science-fiction icon, in what was obviously meant to be a snappy cultural reference, but was lost on Sherlock. Dark Father? Bath Water? Whatever.
"Oh, Hi Sherlock," said the boy casually, which was strange, because Sherlock didn't recognise him beyond a vague familial echo of the homeowner.
"Is your… dad in?" Sherlock said uncertainly.
"Come in." The boy lead him to the kitchen, trailing his fingers along the flocked wallpaper on the way. The house had been tastefully renovated by the current occupier's ex-wife. "Daaaaad," the boy called dismally, "it's Sherlock."
Greg Lestrade came out of the kitchen wearing a grey paisley dressing-gown and wedging a piece of toast in his mouth. "I wasn't expecting you," he said by way of apology for his state of undress.
"Is that…?" Sherlock tipped his head toward the boy, who was rapidly retreating back into the living room to play X-box.
"Kyle, yes."
"But Kyle's a child." Sherlock frowned.
"You haven't seen him for a few years. He's sixteen now. I'm assuming you know children grow up, seeing as you were one once. You didn't just hatch from a reptile egg." Lestrade smirked at his own joke.
They sat at the kitchen table and Sherlock brought Lestrade up to speed on everything that had happened since they'd last met. It seemed like weeks ago, yet it was only yesterday afternoon. Time had a habit of dilating when Sherlock was on a case.
"You think she's going to be alright?" said Lestrade, pouring another cup of coffee for them both amid the evidence of croissants and jam.
"I don't know," said Sherlock truthfully, "I have a better chance of predicting the lottery numbers. All I know is, she's not talking to me now. Probably got something to do with sending Tom in."
"Oh, yeah," said Lestrade, sipping his coffee, "who would've thought he'd turn out to be such a bad-ass. I did a background check on him when we first met, you know. Not exactly a legitimate use of police resources, but if you can't bend the rules a bit, what's the point?"
"I'm here because of one of your colleagues. DCI Chris McCullough of the CTC. I wondered if you knew him."
"McCullough…" Lestrade said, thoughtfully, "yeah, I know him. He's by-the-book. Pretty smart too, career security expert, fast-tracked, doesn't suffer fools lightly."
"Yes, well now he's blackmailing me for everything I know about Maupertuis. If I don't play nice he's going to dob me in to my brother."
"I would've thought you'd know everything as soon as you laid eyes on him. How many times have you met him?"
"Twice."
"There you go, more than enough. What do you need me for?"
"Your opinion, amongst other things."
"My opinion?" Lestrade was startled.
"About his personality, his values, his commitment to the job. I need to know how likely it is that he's going to shoot me in the head. I can't discern those things from his clothes."
"Depends what you're planning on doing."
"I've got to stay one step ahead of the security services, they'll only mess this up. Sometimes they send in a blunt instrument, when what it needs is a scalpel."
"I thought your brother was the security services."
"To a certain degree, but right now he's the enemy. Mycroft hasn't… he hasn't contacted you at all?"
"No, why would he? I'm off the case. My boss has already been on my back about you. I could lose my job even talking to you about this."
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to do something very dangerous."
"You know I'll do anything I can, Sherlock, but I have the kids to think about."
"And that's why you're sending them to their mother's. Don't panic, but there's still a good chance this dirty bomb could go off." Lestrade looked so pensive that Sherlock continued, "you need to get them as far away from the city as you can. Don't tell anyone else. The last thing we need is for the whole population to panic. If I set off a stampede, Mycroft is going to be the least of my worries; Professor Lavender will have my balls as a trophy on her mantelpiece."
"What exactly do you need?"
"I need you to go into your office and get me everything you can on this case. There are still gaps that I can't fill in without my brother poking his huge nose in. Then I need you to get out of town as fast as you can."
"I don't know, Sherlock. I'm on a verbal warning right now, but I could get indicted for corruption on this. This is my livelihood we're talking about."
Sherlock looked at him very seriously across the table, his grey eyes glistening with a truly emotional plea, "Greg," he said evenly, dispensing with the silly name game for the time being, "I jumped off a building to save your life. Please help me. If this man succeeds then life as we know it will stop anyway."
Lestrade was clearly touched by Sherlock's honesty and how much he'd 'changed'. He closed his eyes, screwed up his face and cursed himself. "Alright," he said, jabbing a finger in Sherlock's direction, "have it your way. But you'd better catch the bastard."
"Thank you," Sherlock shook the man's hand in both of his, rising from the table, "I couldn't do it without you."
"Kyle!" Lestrade bellowed through the house, "Go upstairs and tell your sister to get dressed, you're going to your mum's."
"What?" Kyle whined, appearing at the threshold, "you promised. You were supposed to take time off work. Mum told us this would happen. Says you're irresponsible."
"This isn't work; this is saving the world," came his dad's gruff voice, "now get your arse up there and tell Miranda to be by the door in five minutes. No excuses."
Kyle thundered up the lacquered stairs and Sherlock watched with admiration at Lestrade's magician-like ability to actually get a sixteen-year-old to do what he wanted.
Miranda's childlike face appeared at the top of the banisters. "What's going on?"
"Sorry sweetheart, Daddy's gotta help Sherlock catch a terrorist. I'll come and get you when it's safe, but you've got to go to Mummy's now."
"Oh, great," said Miranda with an eleven year-old's cynicism, "does this mean you're going to be all over the papers again?"
Lestrade growled and she wisely disappeared, then he turned to Sherlock, "and you can be the one who explains to Katherine why you ruined her weekend with her new boyfriend. I don't much fancy giving her bad news when I'm already on probation."
"You're going to make me pay for this, aren't you?"
"Yes and you can start by slaying some dragons."
"Oh, I wouldn't call your ex-wife a dragon," said Sherlock, "that's far too kind."