The last two chapters were posted out of order and corrupted. I'm looking into how that happened but for now, enjoy an extra chapter this week!
"Janine. Sorry, not dressed," the woman said, coyly biting her lip though she was quite obviously not shy about it. She pulled on the hem of Sherlock's shirt but made no attempt to hide. "Has everybody gone? I heard shouting," she asked, sliding past him to walk toward the kitchen.
"Yes, they're gone," John said, following her and doing his best to hide his shock. Surely this was just another one of Sherlock's machinations. Nothing real.
"God, look at the time, I'll be late," Janine muttered to herself, checking her watch as she grabbed the french press from its place by the sink. She looked comfortable there. He'd never known anyone to look comfortable here, not apart from Mrs. Hudson and himself. Sherlock always did an impressively good job at snubbing anyone else who entered. But this was definitely not her first visit. And not her last, John thought, wincing.
"Was it Mike?" the woman asked and John stopped short, his hands clenching into fists against his will. He'd seen enough insanity in his life to believe for a moment that his torturer had walked straight into 221B to begin shouting at Sherlock Holmes, still missing half of his head from the bullet impact.
"Mike?" John sputtered, before he'd thought further, only to shake his head. There had to be a Mike that she and Sherlock knew. Surely Sherlock had not shared intimate details about the identity of his torturer, especially given the fact that he'd apparently never mentioned John at all.
"Mike, yeah, his brother, Mike? They're always fighting," Janine explained, sounding like she thought he was rather daft. Not that surprising, given that he'd barely managed to put two words together since she'd appeared.
"Mycroft?" John asked finally. At least Sherlock couldn't be too serious with this woman, if she did not know his brother's name.
"Do people actually call him that?" Janine laughed. A fair question.
"Yeah," John replied, trying to wrap his mind around the image of a woman in Sherlock's kitchen, making coffee with all the ease of a girlfriend and calling his brother new nicknames.
"Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on?" she asked, gesturing toward the stove as she started back toward Sherlock's bedroom.
"Sure, right, yeah," John answered before he'd thought, moving out of her way.
"Thanks," she said and John reached for where the kettle was supposed to be, in the cabinet over the sink. "Oh, it's over there now," she corrected, pointing toward the corner. John moved instinctively, only to realize that he could have refused the entire coffee enterprise and gotten the hell out of this flat. One month, and Sherlock had gotten on drugs and started whatever he was doing with this woman. So why the hell was John making her coffee? "Where's Sherl?" she asked and John scoffed out a laugh.
"Sherl," he muttered to himself, baffled. He turned around, trying to smile. "He's just having a bath. I'm sure he'll be out in a minute."
That reminded him. He had to get out of here. He didn't want anything to do with Sherlock's new case anymore.
"Oh, well, like he ever is!" the woman joked, heading back toward the bedroom. She knew about Sherlock's peculiar bathing habits. Of course she did.
"Yeah," John answered, looking for the kettle. It didn't seem to be anywhere in the corner where she'd pointed. Everywhere he looked was evidence that Janine had worked her way into Sherlock's life, meeting his family and rearranging his home. She was probably the reason for the missing chair. He heard Janine knocking on the bathroom door.
"Morning!" she called and snuck inside. John heard Sherlock laugh, light and almost flirty, and closed his eyes, his jaw clenching.
"Morning," Sherlock answered, his voice deep. John tipped his head back, attracted to the sound.
And he had me stay here, to listen to this?
John headed for the door, humiliated.
Why not? There was nothing between us. A friendship.
He hesitated by the living room door, unsure if he could leave. As a friend, he wasn't supposed to be bothered at all. Surely he was supposed to be glad for Sherlock, glad the man had found something for his future. A woman. From the looks of it, an ordinary woman. Perhaps she served the same function that John once had; she'd follow him around and answer texts and spew her awe around to all who'd listen to her.
John sank down on their couch and let his fingers slip through his hair. He'd thought they'd have more time, he realized. He thought he'd be able to leave and still come back. Mourn and heal and know that Sherlock Holmes was somewhere dashing across London, solving crimes and wanting him back.
John sighed and rubbed his hands down his face.
God, no. I'm trying to recruit you. Sherlock still wanted him there. But as a friend and a gun, now.
Wasn't that all he'd wanted?
Fuck you, Sherlock. I'm not the one who threw our friendship away.
Was he sure?
Damn it. John pushed himself back on the couch, letting his head fall back on the wall behind him. He needed to know what he wanted. All he knew now was he wanted to tackle Magnussen alongside Sherlock, without any girlfriends in the picture, with Sherlock missing him, and wanting to win him back, and trying to joke with him again.
John groaned, hating his thoughts. He wanted Sherlock Holmes to woo him. How many more hints would the universe have to drop before he admitted that anything they'd once had flickering between them was now long since dead and buried?
"God damn it," he breathed, just as Sherlock came striding out of the bathroom, sharply dressed in black slacks and pulling on a suit jacket.
"You saw her," Sherlock deduced immediately, his shoulders falling. John felt his jaw clench immediately.
He was trying to hide it. Perhaps that was better than Sherlock arranging for him to hear the girl with him in the shower. John glanced at the door. Why the hell had he not left yet? He had his pride.
Sherlock sat down slowly, watching the bathroom door as if a demon was about to crawl out of it.
"Just play along. Five minutes. I'll explain," he promised, turning to peer into John's face. John looked away.
"I should go. I should have left…awhile ago," he said instead, starting to sit up from the couch, careful not to use his arms.
"Five minutes, John," Sherlock demanded, glancing back at the bathroom door again. John licked at his lips, uncomfortable. He didn't want to play his cards, here, but did he really have any secrets left? Sherlock knew he'd loved him, knew he'd been attracted to him, knew that he'd screamed for him every day with Mike, known that he'd mourned him and never stopped. What more was there to hide?
"And what will five minutes do?" John asked, shaking his head and leaning forward in his seat. He had his pride. "I'm attracted to you, you idiot," he hissed and Sherlock's eyes widened as if he hadn't known. He had known, John knew that. Surprised that he'd admitted it, then. John snorted. Underestimated again.
"I'm lying to her, John," Sherlock blurted, just before the door to the bedroom opened. John opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.
It's for a case, he'd said. Surely, Sherlock would not fake such a thing. Sherlock stared at him, waiting. John watched Janine walk out of the bathroom, also fully dressed for work, and head into Sherlock's bedroom. She closed the door behind him. Of course Sherlock would fake such a thing.
Sherlock, what are you doing?
"You have a girlfriend?" John clarified, though with any other man in the world that would hardly be in question any longer. John sighed, watching the man, unsure what else to ask."But you're lying to her," he asked finally. Hopefully. There was nothing not good in that but John couldn't bring himself to give a damn about the feelings of a woman he just met. He wanted Sherlock to be lying through his teeth with the woman.
"Yes, I have," he answered. "I thought that was fairly obvious." John felt his shoulders fall with relief and Sherlock smiled, apparently pleased with himself. So no, he hadn't lied to Janine the once. He'd probably been lying to her all month. Pretending to fall for her, pretending to care. The thought soured. John rubbed his thumb into his palm, wondering if they could somehow transition back into being friends, if he could somehow leave all his anger behind.
Sherlock leaned forward in his seat, his expression sobering.
"John, it's not -" he started, but then he was sitting back in his seat, all smiles for the woman walking toward him. John wanted to bodily toss her from the closest window.
"Okay, you bad boy, behave yourself," the woman cooed and draped herself over Sherlock's lap. Sherlock leaned back to give her room and wrapped his arm around her. John looked away, feeling sick, but a moment later he was watching her kiss at Sherlock's neck, unable to keep from staring while she showed off. Sherlock smirked.
This felt like an exercise in self-awareness. John grimaced at the thought. He'd liked that feeling, that he was the only one that Sherlock would want, if he wanted anyone in the world. That he knew Sherlock more intimately than anyone in the world. He'd liked Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson coming to him, because he was the closest person to Sherlock's distant heart - was that where this 'Janine' was now? Did they come to her, now that John had told them all off?
"And you, Sherl, you're gonna have to tell me where you were last night," she murmured, sounding like she was moments from bouncing on his dick.
"Working," Sherlock said shortly, the first time he'd sounded like himself with her at all. Janine smirked.
"Working. Of course. I'm the only one who really knows what you're like, remember?" she purred. John closed her eyes and turned away. It was like she was trying to cut him. Surely she remembered she'd only known Sherlock for a month or less?
I'd killed for him after less time.
"Don't you go letting on," Sherlock whispered, running a finger down her nose.
Right.
John stood up abruptly, catching both their attention.
"Kettle's hot," he said, rather meaninglessly given that he'd never found it. Sherlock frowned, clearly knowing that. Still, the excuse allowed John to disappear into the kitchen without further explanation.
"John, wasn't it? We should have you over for dinner really soon!" Janine called after him. John got out of eyesight, leaning against the counter, and listened to Sherlock laugh, his voice light and easygoing like John had never heard him.
I'm lying to her. Surely, that was true. Using her, most likely. John knew he was supposed to be entirely disgusted by the thought; angered for Janine, probably. Mostly he felt hopeful and relieved. John ground his palm into his forehead.
After all this hell, did he want Sherlock or did he just like the idea of Sherlock devoted to him? Did he want Sherlock to pine after him, just so he could refuse him? That wasn't right. None of this was. He had to get out of here. He heard sucking sounds, the wet patter of lips on lips, and something in his stomach rolled. He heard the front door close, likely Janine on her way to work, and waited to hear her footsteps pass before he moved toward the exit.
"Magnussen has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. I've spent the last month tracking it down. It's name-" Sherlock started, walking into the kitchen with his open laptop balanced on one hand. "You're leaving," he said, stopping short. John sighed, one hand on the kitchen door.
"Dinner?" he scoffed. Sherlock frowned, obviously lost. "Me and Janine, together for dinner… with wine and…sitting," John described, wondering if Sherlock was so blind that he'd never notice the problem with that. John was just a platonic friend, after all. John wanted to punch something. He turned to leave instead.
"She's nothing, John," Sherlock promised, his voice deep. John turned his head to see Sherlock staring at him, like he was trying to peer through him.
Rather played my cards there, John thought, unable to even care anymore. He'd had every layer of secret stripped from him, including this one. Why not do it again?
"She's Magnussen's PA. That's the whole point. Look-" Sherlock slid the laptop onto the table. "Appledore. It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world," he glanced over at John to see if he was listening. John exhaled slowly. "The Alexandrian library of secrets and scandals and none of it is on a computer. Magnussen is too smart. He knows computers can be hacked. It's all on hard copy in vaults underneath that house; and as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you've met is a fantasy." Sherlock glanced at him again, looking nervous. John sighed.
He was interested; of course he was. He didn't want to go back to his bedsit when he could be bent over a laptop learning that the Western world was run out of one house. He just had to accept that yes, Sherlock was that blind to 'what state his penis was in when he touched his hair'. It wasn't going to happen. A good fact, probably. John knew neither of them were in a healthy enough mindset to be doing anything with each other. A friendship, once again. Would he take that, now that it was so easily offered to him? Not a move-in, nothing more, just a case. John closed the kitchen door and approached the laptop. Sherlock tilted it toward him, smiling.
"And Janine has access to this," John concluded and Sherlock grinned outright, his relief palpable.
One case, Sherlock, John wanted to warn, but even he didn't believe it. Sherlock pulled a notebook out from beneath the laptop and started sketching something that looked remarkably like a blueprint. But not to the house they were looking at.
"Sherlock -what?" John asked and Sherlock smiled, excitement flickering in his eyes.
"Magnussen's office building. His personal office is on the top floor. Just below his private flat. But there are fourteen levels of security between the ground floor and him, two of which aren't even legal in this country," Sherlock said, finishing up the drawing and ripping it off the pad to start on another. "Want to know how we're going to break in?"
John rubbed his hand down his face, trying to act resigned rather than invigorated by the idea.
"Is that what we're doing?" he asked and it came out sounding remarkably tired. Sherlock snorted.
"Of course it's what we're doing," he said and threw down his pen to point to a little square on the blueprint.
"Magnussen's private lift. It goes straight to his penthouse and office. Only he uses it… and only his key card calls the lift. Anyone else even tries, security is automatically informed," Sherlock explained, pointing at different parts of the blueprint like they'd mean something to him.
"And how do you know this?" John asked and Sherlock shrugged like it was nothing.
"Janine, a few experiments, and a lunch date with the canteen cook," Sherlock answered rapidly, shaking his head like he could dispel the irrelevant question.
"Standard key card for the building. Nicked it yesterday. Only gets us as far as the canteen," Sherlock revealed, pulling the card from his shirt breast pocket.
John shook his head at the man's antics. Entirely unchanged.
"If I were to use this card on that lift now, what would happen?" Sherlock asked, tapping the ID card on the blueprint. John frowned, getting the distinct impression of being in elementary school with a teacher that desperately wanted to engage with him. They always defaulted to dumb questions.
"The alarms would go off and you'd be dragged away by security," John answered. Sherlock nodded sharply, apparently agreeing.
"Exactly."
"You'd get taken to a small room somewhere and get your head kicked in," John added, annoyed. Sherlock glanced at him, concern in his eyes.
I'm fine.
"Do we really need so much color?" Sherlock asked and John shrugged, letting his shoulder pull.
"It passes the time," he said, only too aware that Sherlock would never have asked him before. But Sherlock watched him carefully now. "I need action. You knew that before," John growled. "It's not news."
Sherlock looked away, back at the blueprints. Backing off.
"But if I do this," he said, rubbing his card up against his cellphone. "If you press a keycard up against your mobile phone for long enough, it corrupts the magnetic strip. The card stops working."
"Rarely," John protested. Sherlock shrugged.
"Well, I used a real magnet on this one," he confessed, holding up the card again and shoving his phone back in his pocket. "What happens if I use the card now?"
John glared at him.
"It doesn't read as the wrong card now," Sherlock continued without him. "It registers as corrupted. But if it's corrupted, how do they know it's not Magnussen? They have to check, which explains why there's a camera at eye height to the right of the door."
John nodded, still not following how this added up to Sherlock letting a woman into his shower. A woman who'd apparently spent the night. Sherlock pointed at the blueprint again, starting to look excited.
"A live picture of the card user is relayed directly to Magnussen's personal staff in his office - the only people trusted to make a positive ID. Depending on the hour, almost certainly his PA."
John was getting a bad feeling about the direction of Sherlock's newest plan.
"So, how's that help us?" he asked and Sherlock smiled at him, looking smug.
"Human error." He dug in his trouser pockets. "I've been shopping," he said and pulled out a small jewelry box. Sherlock winked, pulled the box up in front of his face, and opened it. A diamond ring. A real one, if John had to guess.
"Janine," John concluded, closing his eyes. "You're getting engaged to break into an office."
"Yes," Sherlock said easily and John shook his head. He opened his eyes to see Sherlock smirking, pleased by his deduction.
"Jesus," he scoffed out finally and Sherlock's smile melted.
"Sherlock, she loves you," John hissed, leaning forward into Sherlock's space. Sherlock stared off over his shoulder and answered flatly,
"Yes. Like I said - human error."
John stared at him, wondering what he was missing. Sherlock dropped his gaze to his finally, his pale eyes icy.
This should not be so complicated.
"What are you going to do?" John asked, for once scared by the man in front of him. What was Sherlock becoming? Or was it, what had Sherlock become?
I never should have left.
"Well, not actually marry her, obviously. There's only so far you can go," Sherlock answered brusquely.
"And that's your limit?" John asked, miserable.
I wanted you to suffer. To love me and to suffer.
"Well, I'll tell her that our entire relationship was a ruse to break into her boss' office. I imagine she'll want to stop seeing me at that point," Sherlock shrugged, snapping the ring box closed. He glanced back at John and his gaze narrowed. "But you're the expert on women."
John blinked, feeling battered. What the hell had happened? He'd thought Sherlock was trying to recruit him a minute before.
"You're not this cruel," John insisted, pointing toward the ring box. Sherlock shoved it into his pocket.
"You don't know what I am," he answered, his gaze cold. John swallowed, unsure what else there was to say. Just a case, not a move-in. He should go back to his bedsit, rest his arms and think about his life with Sherlock Holmes. If he even knew this Sherlock Holmes anymore. He'd never asked what Sherlock had been through, in their year apart, what he'd done in the nine day search for him. He'd asked what Sherlock had wanted, afterward. Sherlock had wanted it to be back the way it'd been, friends and partners. Or at least, a semblance of partners. John sighed, meeting Sherlock's quiet gaze. He wasn't sure if Sherlock wanted anything more than a friendly gun, now. He didn't blame him.
A/N: Spinster's Gambit is out in print and ebook form now and has already generated 800 sales. That's incredible for a first novel so thank you so much for telling everyone about it and reviewing it so well!