Worth Something

Here's your second chapter my beautiful readers I'm so sorry here have things


Sherlock tossed her coat on John's chair the moment they got home, stretching out on the sofa luxuriously as though reclaiming territory. John noticed that she let her head tip back, opening up her throat. She was hurting, still. He again felt the urge to set a corpse on fire. Probably not a good idea considering he was getting one ASBO already.

"Tea?" he asked, but Mrs. Hudson's face popped through the still-open door.

"Yoo-hoo! Sorry to come up so late, but there was a very confused boy here with take-away, so I just took it and figured I'd give it to you when you got back," she said kindly, moving forward to show that her hands were holding two boxes of Thai.

"Oh," was all John managed to say, taking the boxes and realizing the food was still warm, and he really had ordered that takeaway tonight, and he didn't have any cash to pay Mrs. Hudson back.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, getting up and pulling out her wallet. "How much was it?"

"Oh, don't worry about it, dear," Mrs. Hudson fluttered and turned away, but John caught sight of twenty quid slipping into her pocket as she passed. Sherlock winked at him.

The door closed, and Sherlock pounced, pulling the boxes out of John's hands and flipping open the lids. "Right, you take that one," she said, taking the portion John had ordered for himself. John didn't really mind, he was too amazed by the sight of Sherlock shoveling food into her mouth.

"You're eating," he managed, and she glared at him.

"Brilliant deduction. How you've managed so far is beyond me. The case is over, of course I'm eating."

"Right. Well. Good," John said, and moved her coat so he could sit down. For a moment they just ate, and then he looked up.

"Walk me through it? How you find us?"

"London A-Z," Sherlock said with her mouth full. "Saw a German fellow using it, made me remember it was in all three places - Isabelle and Gary's flat, on the table at the museum. So I nicked it -"

"-You stole his guidebook?-"

"Yes, obviously, it was important," Sherlock said, rolling her eyes, "And translated the message."

She pulled a paper out of her pocket and passed it over.

"Nine Mill for Jade Pin Dragon Den Black Tramway," John read in Sherlock's writing, under the yellow symbols. He looked up. "But how did you know we'd be there?"

"Ran home to tell you I'd figured it out. Thought I'd need some help in the tramway. But you weren't here. Instead there was a fifteen and a one. 'Deadman'." Sherlock's voice was impassive, but John could see her eyes narrow. He looked around.

"Where are the numbers?"

Sherlock waved a hand impatiently. "Mycroft took care of them, probably."

"Right. Of course. So you went to the tramway?"

"Obviously. You were already there, so it saved me some time, actually."

"But nine million for a jade pin? Who'd spend that much on a pin?"

"Suppose it depends on who owned it," Sherlock said, and one side of her mouth quirked up.

"You know where it is," John said, and she just grinned.

"Tomorrow, I think we'll need to head to the bank."


"Two operatives go to China. One of them helps themselves to something. A little hairpin," Sherlock said as they climbed the steps of the bank the next day.

"How did you know it was for hai-"

"Isabelle was the thief," Sherlock said, ignoring John.

"How do you know it was her and not Gary?" John asked incredulously. "Even Zhi Zhu didn't know that."

"Because of the eyeliner," Sherlock said, and breezed through the door.

"Right. Of course. Explain?"

"Isabelle wore the very basics - mascara, a bit of blush. Not a makeup girl, then. So why was there expensive eyeliner on her bathroom counter?"

"Special occasions?" John hazarded a guess.

"Hardly. Not to mention the two sizes of knickers in her laundry basket."

"It was for someone else," John said, nodding as he caught on.

"And I happen to have seen that exact expensive brand of makeup on her PA's desk," Sherlock finished, and John raised his eyebrows. "I'm going to fetch the pin, you fetch the cheque."

"The cheque?"

"From Sebastian. After all, he does owe me. He's rather a git," Sherlock said, and the corner of her mouth quirked up. "Especially seeing as I'll need to pay you."

"Pay me?" John said, incredulous.

"For the groceries, John. You got the shopping," Sherlock said, then tossed her curls and walked away, hands in her pockets.

John clenched and unclenched his left hand absentmindedly, then turned on his heel to go visit Sebastian.


Sebastian wasn't terribly pleased to hear John's rather simple explanation of "Put a bar across the window," but he signed the cheque anyway. "Sherlock couldn't have picked this up herself?" he asked with a hint of a sneer as he handed it over.

"Sherlock fetched her own things in uni, did she?" John asked, before he'd thought about it.

"As if," Sebastian scoffed. "Anyone who can get Sherlock Holmes to go anywhere she doesn't want to is a miracle worker in my opinion."

John thought of Sherlock the night before, saying that it had 'saved time' for her to go to the tramway and try to save them, alone, without a gun, in a place she hated. He looked at Sebastian Wilkes, realizing how much he really despised the man, and made a split-second decision. Sherlock would forgive him for anything he said, he knew, just so long as it humiliated Wilkes.

"I can," he said firmly, holding his shoulders up in attention, then snapped his heels and walked out. Maybe his friendship was worth something after all to Sherlock Holmes.

And then he heard a shriek from upstairs.

"NINE MILLION?!"

He chuckled.