The restaurant was bustling with patrons as it was still an acceptable time to partake in a late lunch. The attractive young woman led me inside and immediately the maitre d led us towards the back of the restaurant and into a private room. I tried to keep from fidgeting; I reminded myself that this was Sherlock's brother and not J, he wasn't going to hurt me. In fact, I was sure his main concern was what I had planned for his little brother. The brunette woman stood outside the private room, her phone still firmly grasped in her hand, eyes glued to the screen. She idly tapped her toes as I passed by. "He is waiting for you," she flatly said.
I narrowed my eyes, and a sneer pulled down my lips. "Your manners are impeccable."
I could feel her cool blue eyes snap toward me but kept my gaze firmly forward as I slipped past her. My brows briefly rose as I took in the large circular room. It was ornately decorated and the atmosphere felt warm in soft greys and pale creams. In the middle of the room, a large oval table was laid out with a meal for two — a small vase of purple daisies the only splash of color. A middle-aged man stood as I entered. He had a strict, yet kind pudgy face and thinning brown hair. His blue-grey eyes were full of secrets and wisdom. It made me instantly wary and yet drawn to him. His perfectly tailored dark suit and red tie was a clear sign of money and good breeding. I quickly ran my eyes over him and knew his career was one to watch out for. I could sense by the way he held himself, controlled and stiff, that he was not a man to mess with. He could make someone disappear in an instant — if he felt so inclined. A Government man.
I stood next to the table and folded my hands, my eyebrow-raising in a questioning motion. "Mr. Holmes, let me start by saying this: I do not appreciate abduction. If you'd like to speak with me, a simple phone call and an appointment will suffice," I stated firmly.
Mycroft smiled benignly and lowered himself into his seat, crossing his legs, he nodded. "Noted Miss Riley. You are smarter than your former lover. Although, from your test scores I had already concluded that much," he said.
I snickered lightly and sat down. He waved his hand, motioning towards the plates of pasta and salad that was laid out before us. Of course, he knew exactly what to order. I obliged him and placed my napkin in my lap, settling in to eat. He watched me for a moment before joining me. After we finished our meal, I sat down my fork and looked him in the eye.
"Mr. Holmes, I'm sure you know everything about my past, and I'm sure you know I have been assisting your brother on occasion. Which I assume is the reason for this lunch. What I do not know is what exactly you want from me? If it is to spy on your brother, then the answer is no. I will watch out for him, as I have been doing, and I will keep him out of my past as best as I can — but that is all I will do," I firmly said.
Mycroft lifted his white linen napkin, wiping at the corners of his mouth, before taking a sip of his dark red wine. "I do know of your past, Miss Riley." He leaned forward, one hand placed firmly on the table, his fingers tapping restlessly against the flat surface. "Running away from a dangerous ex-beau, one that was much more than he seemed." Mycroft's eyes flashed dangerously and narrowed as he placed his forefinger on the side of his nose. "The time will come when you will need help and I do not wish that help to come from my brother. The world you have entangled yourself in is not one meant for Sherlock Holmes. You are dragging my brother down a very dangerous path. Think on that before you further this...relationship," he said, twirling his wrist around in an elegant fashion.
I sat back in my seat and ran my fingers through my hair. "Mr. Holmes, I fear his life is already tangled up in the web of my past. I think J has already set his sights on Sherlock, and nothing either of us say or do will stop him. He loves playing games, and once he starts there is no stopping him. He must prove he is the best. Much like Sherlock…." I said, my voice lilting.
I looked up and shook my head lightly, my face falling. Mycroft watched me closely before taking a deep breath. "Then we both must watch Sherlock closely and make sure we keep him from getting himself killed in his quest to prove himself to be the cleverest man alive," he said.
I raised a brow and chuckled. "Which he may very well be," I sighed.
Mycroft scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Maybe when compared to the average goldfish," he said.
I laughed merrily and leaned forward. "Oh don't sell yourself short Mycroft. You're at least slightly above average."
His eyes bulged slightly and his mouth gaped open in the most undignified manner possible. I stood up, tossing my napkin on the table, and smiled down at him. "By the way Mycroft, your assistant should be taught better manners especially if you're going to be having her work with people you're randomly kidnapping. After all, we are already quite angry with you for such presumptuous behavior," I said in my best haughty tone.
I put my first two fingers above my brow and saluted him before spinning on my heels and exiting the room. I sped out of the restaurant and right past the shiny black car and attractive assistant, who was most likely supposed to take me back to 221B. I really didn't feel like watching her tap away at her mobile phone, all whilst ignoring my presence as if I were some lesser life form. I raised my hand in the air and hailed a cab, slipping inside and quickly spitting out my destination.
As we arrived my heart jumped into my throat. The street was packed with DI's from Scotland Yard and several ambulances. I tossed the cabbie some money and jumped out of the car, pushing my way through the crowd. I was stopped at the edge in front of the caution tape. I took in the scene around me, my heart pounding. I could feel it in my neck as I tried to steady my ragged breathing. Where were John and Sherlock? I had been so sure before that everyone would be ok but that was when I had thought this was some tiny little mishap, not a full-blown attack. Debris, bricks, and white dust were scattered all over the road and pavement. A fire engine was still on the scene and hoses were splayed across the road waiting to be reeled back in. I spotted DI Dimmock and hopped up and down, waving my hands in the air.
"Dimmock!" I hollered, as a few Inspectors tried to push me back into the crowd.
Dimmock noticed my hollered plea and waved me over. "Oi Roberts, let her through. She lives here," he shouted.
I stepped under the caution tape and past the persistent and pushy Inspectors, waving my thanks to Dimmock, who tried to stop me as I rushed past him towards the front door. By the look of the demolished building across the street, there was most likely more to this than meets the eye. The windows and shop fronts of the buildings on either side of Speedy's had been boarded up, luckily Speedy's itself was protected by its metal roll-down screen. Sherlock and John would be happy; they liked to eat there more than either would care to admit. I turned around and looked at the building directly opposite the small cafe. The front of the ground and first floor had been completely blown out by the explosion and the rooms inside were exposed.
I covered my mouth with the back of my hand and gasped for air. How many had been injured by whatever had happened? I looked up at the boarded windows of 221 and grimaced. The thought of Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock both being here alone when this happened had my stomach churning in fear. I rushed up the stairs and yanked open the door, my auburn hair flying around me - effectively smacking me in the face. Stepping inside, my eyes were drawn to the thick wooden boards that covered every window before they quickly scanned the room. I took in John's empty chair before moving towards Sherlock's. I took in a shaky and relieved breath when I found him there, fully dressed in his purple shirt - the one I had inwardly claimed as my favorite, his fingers intermittently plucking the strings of his violin - which he held tightly against his chest as he glared at John's empty chair. I rushed towards him, dropping to my knees in front of his chair.
"Dammit, Sherlock you scared me to death!" I yelled, wrapping my arms around his neck.
I felt him stiffen beneath me and allowed myself one deep inhale of his familiar scent, tobacco, and soap before I released him. I could hear a commotion downstairs and stood up quickly just as John bolted through the door.
"Sherlock, Liz? Oh my God, are you ok?' he said, rushing toward me and pulling me into a hug.
Sherlock grumbled from his chair and I smiled as I squeezed the life from John. "I saw it on the telly," John said, his voice raw.
"I wasn't here," I said.
John pulled away from me and brushed the hair from my shoulder, a questioning look on his face.
"Oh yes, that would be my doing, Mr. Watson,"
A familiar and very unwelcome voice said from the doorway.
Sherlock froze, a stern glare on his pale features. John held very still as if he thought maybe Mycroft was a T-Rex and couldn't see him if he became a statue. I giggled internally at my own silly thoughts and sighed out loud.
"Hello Mr. Holmes, I had hoped to not see you for at least a few weeks," I said, motioning for him to take a seat.
Mycroft tsked and stepped past me, taking John's chair with a comfortable sigh. He sat down a yellowed folder on the table beside him, tilting his head towards his brother before brandishing his cane with a smirk.
"Hello brother, it seems your life is, as always, full of excitement," he said.
I stood between the two brothers, my hands on my hips and my lip nervously held between my teeth. John stood beside me a tired and weary expression on his face. "Are you ok, Sherlock? I mean, the windows sorta exploded," John asked.
"Hmm? What?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head to glance up at John, brow raised in question.
He looked around the room at the broken glass and scattered paperwork that littered the floor. It was as if he had forgotten anything had happened at all. I stood in front of him, watching his clouded eyes — something big was on his mind.
Mycroft caught my eye, and his gaze flitted around the room, I followed its path and took in the scattered remains of various projects. It was a reminder that this was Sherlock Holmes and his work would always be the first thing on his mind; it would always take precedence. I gave him a slight nod, thankful for the wake-up call. I took a step back, walking into the living room. He was right. What had I been thinking earlier? I was obviously allowing my heart and my mind to weaken again, and that was something I couldn't allow. No man could pull me down that path again, ever.
Sherlock plucked the strings of his violin again and I turned my attention back toward him as he pointedly turned to Mycroft, continuing to irritably pluck at the violin. "I can't," he simply said.
Mycroft raised a brow, lips thinning in disbelief. "Can't?"
Sherlock nodded and looked straight ahead, his face blank. "The stuff I've got going on is just too big. I can't spare the time," Sherlock petulantly said.
John looked over at me in utter disbelief, his hands raised in the air. I rolled my eyes, pulling my hair into a quick ponytail, my head was starting to pound from the sibling drama.
"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance," Mycroft said, tapping his cane on the floor.
Sherlock sulkily ran his fingers across the strings of his violin. I shook my head in awe; for two incredibly smart men, they were both being completely childish. I stood, moving toward the couch, and felt Mycroft's eyes on my back, watching my every movement. With a pointed look at his brother, Sherlock reached out, taking my wrist and pulling me toward his chair. I tripped, landing on the armrest with a gasp. I ground my teeth together, biting my tongue as John sat down on the couch, laughter wrinkling his cheeks.
"How's the diet?" Sherlock asked.
My jaw fell open with an audible snap, and I glanced down at Sherlock, kicking his ankle none too gently. A small smile graced the edge of his lips. Refusing to respond to Sherlock's childish insult, Mycroft turned to me, sighing with exasperation.
"Perhaps you or John can get through to him, Elisabeth," he said, his tongue caressing my name, lips curling into a taunting smirk.
Sherlock's fingers stilled on his strings and I could feel his eyes land on my face, but I refused to look at him. I hadn't given Mycroft permission for such familiarity but I wasn't about to say so in front of everyone.
"What exactly do you want, Mr. Holmes?" I said, refusing to use his first name.
Sherlock's posture loosened when I kept my dealings with his brother on a professional level and I exhaled in relief. I wasn't sure what was going on between them but I wanted no part in it. I needed an easy working relationship with Mycroft and taking sides would not bring me that.
"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent," Mycroft said.
Sherlock looked over at his brother, cheeks puffed up in annoyance, and I placed my hand on his shoulder. "If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" he asked, brushing me off.
I made to stand and he stiffened, reaching out to grab hold of my elbow. With a grunt he yanked me back down, leaning forward to better glare at his brother. Mycroft eyed me warily, his tongue rushing over his front teeth in unease. I shook my head in warning, leaning back I crossed my ankles with a sigh.
"No-No-No. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time-not with the Korean elections so…" he trailed off.
John and I perked up, surprised by what he was insinuating. Sherlock raised his head, looking up from his violin with a smirk.
Mycroft slyly looked away with a gentle shrug. "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?" he said, smiling humorlessly, a clear sign that we should all forget everything he had let slip.
We all looked away as Mycroft brushed imaginary lint from his jacket. "Besides, a case like this requires—" He grimaced in distaste. " — legwork," he said.
I scoffed out a laugh and tapped my fingers on my leg as Sherlock misplayed one of his strings, an irritated look on his face. He turned to John, who had started to absentmindedly rub the back of his neck with one hand, a pained look on his face. He had obviously spent a tiring night atop Sarah's sofa.
"How's Sarah John? How was the lilo?" Sherlock asked.
I shook my head without thinking, but before I could say a word, Mycroft spoke up. "Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa," he said, staring down at his pocket watch, not bothering to send a single glance John's way.
I smiled brightly, looking between the two brothers with open glee. They were quite a brilliant pair. Sherlock briefly looked John up and down with a small decisive nod. "Oh yes, of course," he said.
John's head snapped up and he winced slightly, shooting both men an incredulous look. "How…? Oh never mind," he said, lifting his hand and waving away even the idea of a deduction match between the two Holmes brothers.
Mycroft shot a smile across the room, almost wickedly. "Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became...pals. And then you brought in your ex-lover and now things have become even more exciting," he said.
I scrunched up my nose and crossed my arms with an annoyed huff as John's jaw dropped. Sherlock glared at his brother darkly.
"Why do you insist on calling me that? I was not his...lover I was his girlfriend," I growled.
John's mouth snapped shut and he laughed, his chest shaking. "Well, you did a good job of being both, Liz. My lover and my girlfriend," he winked.
I covered my face with my hands, my cheeks were burning. I started giggling and stood up from Sherlock's armrest. I tossed my hands in the air with a sigh. "True," I said and returned his saucy wink.
Mycroft shook his head, his lips twitching in amusement. Well, well, well. It looks like the eldest Holmes isn't as easy to embarrass as the youngest. I cocked my hip, smiling widely, and brushed my hair behind my ear.
"Well I was going to ask John what it was like to live with my brother, but maybe I should ask Sherlock what it's like to live with you downstairs?" he said.
Sherlock glared at Mycroft as he stood, scooting away from me. "I'm sure it's never boring," I said.
Sherlock sauntered over to the boarded-up window and snatched up his bow, whipping one end out in front of him. Mycroft picked up the folder that he had sat on the table beside him and offered it to Sherlock, waving it around enticingly. Sherlock glared at it stubbornly, grimacing and poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. With a long-suffering sigh, Mycroft extended the folder towards me. I took it with a grumble of defeat. Sherlock watched me from the corner of his eye and I avoided his gaze, acting as stubborn as he had. John came up beside me and leaned over my shoulder. I opened the folder, pulling out a crisp piece of white paper.
"Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends," I asked, eyes rising to meet Mycroft's.
John's brows rose in surprise, his shoulders stiffening. I handed the folder over to him, noticing his interest in the case. It would do him good to have something wholly his own. I had a lot of work to do anyway.
"A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in," Mycroft said.
John flipped through the folder, biting his bottom lip in thought as he nodded his head. "Jumped in front of a train?" he asked.
I sat on the armrest of Sherlock's chair and watched Mycroft. "Seems the logical assumption," he said.
John looked up from the folder, quirking a brief smile. "But…?" he said.
Mycroft tilted his head and looked at John questioningly. "But?" he nonchalantly said.
"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident," John said.
I smiled up at him pleased, yet again, by how astute he had become since working with Sherlock. I looked over at Sherlock who was adding rosin to his bow with a small cloth. He noisily hummed at John's assessment and my smile widened. I watched with extreme pride as John waited for Mycroft's reply. He was shaping up to be one heck of a detective, and it wasn't even his day job. These boys would be the death of me.
"The M.O.D is working on a new missile defense system - the Bruce - Partington Programme, it's called," Mycroft said, glancing over at Sherlock.
I stood and headed over to Sherlock. I gently nudged him, trying to gain his attention for his brother with little success. I scrunched up my face in defeat and sighed. Mycroft shook his head and looked back at John. "The plans for it were on a memory stick," he said.
John and I both snickered quietly in disbelief. John looked over the folder, catching my eye, and smiled at me. "That wasn't very clever," I said.
John laughed and Sherlock looked up at us, smiling in agreement. Mycroft narrowed his eyes and looked at me with annoyance. "It's not the only copy," he said.
John lifted his head. "Oh," he said.
"But it is secret. And missing," Mycroft said.
John scanned Mycroft's face. "Top secret?" he questioned.
I walked over to John, my arms crossed, and scanned the folder.
"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands," Mycroft said, turning back to his brother, face haughty and stern. "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you," he said.
Sherlock lifted his violin to his shoulder, breathing sharply through his nose. He calmly looked at Mycroft, the slightest flicker of amusement on his pale face. "I'd like to see you try," he said.
I shook my head and caught John exasperatedly watching the sibling rivalry playing out in front of us. They were both too smart for their own good and just didn't know how to approach one another. It was endearing really. Mycroft stood and casually moved closer to Sherlock, in an ill attempt to appear more threatening.
"Think it over," he said.
Sherlock stared back at him, unimpressed with his attempt at intimidation. Mycroft turned around and joined us. He offered his hand to John.
"Goodbye John," he said, shaking his hand and giving him his best creepy smile.
I scoffed at him, shaking my head. Mycroft turned to me next and took my hand in his. "Elisabeth, it was nice to see you again. Thank you for a pleasant lunch. Try not to forget what we discussed," he said.
I pulled away and leaned in. "Really, Mr. Holmes, you're taking the creepy all-powerful Government badass routine a little too far," I whispered and took a step back.
His eyes widened at my foul language before he smirked and shook his head. "You're sounding a little too much like an American, Elisabeth," he said.
I shrugged lightly as he headed back towards John's chair for his coat. "See you very soon," he said, his eyes landing on each of us.
John tried to keep the nervous expression from his face with little success. Sherlock placed his bow on the strings of his violin and started to repeatedly play a short irritating sequence of notes as Mycroft headed towards the stairs. I bit my tongue, trying to stay out of the family drama as he continued to play until Mycroft was no longer visible. He grimaced, looking annoyed as I closed the door. He jerked the bow with one last hateful glare at the door and lowered his violin. John visibly relaxed and headed toward the couch. He lowered himself down with a long-suffering sigh. Finally, when we all heard the downstairs door close, John could no longer hold in his questions.
"Why did you lie?" he asked.
Sherlock looked across the room at him, his face blank. "You've got nothing on - not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?" John said.
Sherlock raised his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, nonplussed. "Why shouldn't I?" he asked.
John leaned forward, his hands clasped together in front of him, his mouth formed a round O and he looked at me in understanding. "Oh, I see," he said.
Sherlock's eyes drifted in John's direction but he didn't look at him, refusing to acknowledge the sibling sized elephant in the room. Sherlock lifted his bow against the side of his head and ran it across his hair. Feeling the tension in the air, I stood by the door, lowering my weight from one foot to the other. I felt like this was one conversation to leave for John. He was the only other person in the room with siblings after all. I slowly made my way towards the couch, feeling Sherlock's eyes on me as I went.
"Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere," John said.
Sherlock turned toward us, his mouth open to speak, but before he could utter a single word of denial - his phone rang. Irritated, he whipped his bow down again, placing it on the empty seat beside him. He fished his phone from his jacket pocket, answering it in one swift motion.
"Sherlock Holmes," he said.
The room was quiet for a moment as he listened to the voice on the other end. John sighed and shifted beside me. I placed my hand on my chin and looked over at him. His face was drawn with exhaustion as he leaned back in his seat. I felt bad for the poor guy.
"Of course. How could I refuse?" Sherlock said.
I looked back at him in confusion, his voice had intensified and become full of life in a span of two seconds. Sherlock stood quickly, switching off his phone as he put his violin onto the seat beside him, he headed for the door, taking his coat from the rack and pulling it on.
"Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?" he asked, looking between us.
John leaned forward, placing his hand on my knee. "If you want me to," he said.
I smiled at him and patted his hand comfortingly.
Sherlock nodded. "I'd be lost without my blogger," he said, lips twitching.
John stood and made his way to grab his coat. I leaned back, preparing myself to go downstairs and assess the possible damage to my own apartment. Sherlock cleared his throat and I looked up, meeting his expectant blue-green eyes.
"Elisabeth?" he asked, extending his hand which held my grey coat.
My eyes widened and I stood, taking it with one brow raised. "I need someone who can keep up with me," he whispered.
I smiled, pulling on my coat. Sherlock sped past us and down the stairs in a rush of wintergreen. I grinned madly and stepped past John. "Come on, Watson. Something exciting is about to happen," I said.
John and I followed Sherlock into Scotland Yard where we met up with a middle-aged man sporting salt and pepper hair. Greg Lestrade. He eyed me warily but said nothing as he led Sherlock across the general office. I stayed behind John as Lestrade spoke to Sherlock, but I kept my ears perked up. Something about this whole case had the hairs on the back of my neck on permanent salute.
"You like funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones," Lestrade said.
Sherlock nodded in agreement. "Obviously," he said.
As we passed by a small set of desks - Sherlock briefly glanced down at a Detective Sergeant named Donovan, sending her a glare. She looked me up and down with a sneer as I walked past. I snickered and rolled my eyes as I entered Lestrade's office, standing directly beside Sherlock and shooting her one last glare of my own.
"You'll love this. That explosion…" Lestrade started.
"Gas leak, yes," Sherlock said.
"No," Lestrade answered.
Sherlock looked at me and then back at Lestrade. John stood next to me, his hands in his jacket pockets.
"No?" Sherlock asked.
"No. Made to look like one," Lestrade said.
My stomach fell; I knew this was more than it had appeared. "What?" John said.
Sherlock stepped closer to Lestrade's desk where a white envelope was laid out. "Hardly anything left of the place except a strongbox - a very strong box - and inside it was this," Lestrade said, pointing to the envelope that Sherlock was staring at intently.
"You haven't opened it?" Sherlock asked.
Lestrade shook his head. "It's addressed to you, isn't it?" he said.
I stepped forward, looking down at the envelope that was indeed addressed to Sherlock, as he reached towards it, he caught my eye and I took a deep breath nodding.
"We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped," Lestrade said.
Sherlock hesitated slightly and I let out a small sigh. "How reassuring," I mumbled.
The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched as he picked up the envelope, taking it across the room to another table that held an anglepoise lamp. I followed behind him quickly, leaning around him so that I could see the envelope that he held under the lamp close to the bulb. He examined both sides carefully, and I narrowed my eyes, taking in every aspect of the envelope and the elegant handwriting: which spelled out Sherlock Holmes - by hand.
"Nice stationery. Bohemian," Sherlock said.
I hummed my agreement and he flipped the envelope over - his concentration not to be interrupted. "What?" Lestrade asked.
I turned towards him, looking him in the eye. "From the Czech Republic," I explained, turning back to Sherlock. "No fingerprints?" I guessed.
Sherlock turned his head towards me with a smirk as we waited for Lestrade's answer. "No," Lestrade said in exasperation.
I leaned closer to Sherlock and looked down at the blue ink. "She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold - iridium nib," I said.
Sherlock nodded, turning the envelope in his hand again and smiling benignly. "She?" John said.
"Obviously," Sherlock answered dully.
John was struggling not to sigh as he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Obviously," he repeated in disbelief.
I picked up the silver letter opener from the desk and handed it over to Sherlock, again ignoring the buzz of energy that touching him gave me. He took it from my hand and very gently eased it into the edge of the envelope, sliding it across the top. He handed me the opener and I placed it back on the desk as he looked inside the envelope, his mouth falling open slightly in surprise. Reaching inside, he pulled out a small pink iPhone. I turned towards John in confusion. Wasn't that the pink phone from their very first case together? His shocked expression was all the confirmation that I needed. I knew it couldn't be the exact one, but it was obviously a pretty damn good replica.
"But that's-that's the phone, the pink phone," John said.
"What, from the Study in Pink?" Lestrade asked, using the title of John's blog post.
Sherlock turned the phone around in the palm of his hand, his face blank. "Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like…" Sherlock began and then froze, a tick in his jaw as he realized what Lestrade had said.
He had used the exact title John used on his blog. I smiled, biting my bottom lip to keep the attention off of me. The smile dropped from my face as the Sergeant who had chosen to have a glaring contest with me when we had first arrived, stepped into the office, dropping some files off on the desk next to Lestrade.
"The Study in Pink? You read his blog?" Sherlock asked, face full of disbelief.
Lestrade leaned against his desk while John looked at me in a plea for help. I smiled brightly, enjoying all the attention he was receiving. "Course I read it! We all do. Do you really not know that the Earth goes 'round the Sun?" Lestrade asked.
The smile I was wearing wilted as soon as I heard the ugly snicker from the woman in the corner. Her hateful expression had me contemplating attempted murder. Sherlock glared at her as he removed his gloves. John sensing my dislike for the woman stood next to me.
"It's just Donovan, Lizzie. She and Sherlock don't get along," he whispered.
I ignored him, looking down at the phone Sherlock was examining. "It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new," he said, checking the connection sockets for scratches. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership," Sherlock said, throwing him an accusatory look.
John looked away guiltily, trying his best to ignore Sherlock's accusation. I took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance. It was not as if this had ever been his intention. Sherlock switched on the phone and immediately received a voice alert.
"You have one new message."
Sherlock played the message, eyes scrunched up in concentration, there was no voice, just the unmistakable sound of five Greenwich Time Signal pips.
"Is that it?" John asked.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and flipped the phone sideways. "No that's not it," he said.
John and I both leaned closer to the phone as a photo began to load on the screen. I stepped back with a gasp as a picture of my living room was displayed before us. Sherlock and John turned towards me, both of their faces masked with fear.
"What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" Lestrade hollered, taking no notice of the way we had reacted to the photo.
Sherlock looked away from me and thoughtfully gazed off into the distance. "It's a warning," he said.
I stepped closer to him and nodded, taking a deep breath. It would be fine. This was all a part of the game. I could play games; I was good at them. I had to be. J loved games and I had a feeling this was one of his.
"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that," Sherlock explained.
I exhaled and continued for him. "Five pips. They are warning us it's going to happen again." I looked down at the photo and shook my head. "And that is my living room in the photo," I said.
Lestrade's head shot up and he looked at Sherlock in shock. "H-hang on. What's going to happen again?" John asked, taking my wrist.
Sherlock started towards the door before he noticed I was being held back by John. He walked back towards me, taking me from John and yanking me towards the door with ease. He raised his hands in the air, bringing the one he held of mine with him and mimed an explosion.
"Boom!" he said dramatically.
I rolled my eyes and waved John forward as I was tugged through the door.
The cab pulled up outside of 221 and Sherlock, John, and I exited the back while Lestrade got out of the front, handing over some cash. I took my keys from my pocket and unlocked the front door, leading the men inside and towards my door. John left to get Mrs. Hudson whom I knew still had a spare set of keys to my flat. Standing in front of 221C Sherlock leaned forward, examining the locks to check for any signs of forced entry, once he was satisfied by whatever he had found, he glanced at me, hand outstretched for my key. I handed it over and he unlocked the door, slowly stepping inside. Sherlock and Lestrade carefully navigated their way around my living room, eyes roaming the room for anything suspicious. Immediately, their eyes zeroed in on an old pair of trainers laid side by side, neatly in the middle of my coffee table - their toes pointed towards the door.
I stared right at them, my heart speeding up in fear. Sherlock met my gaze and I tried to keep the terror and uncertainty from my expression. I didn't want him to see the inner turmoil I was spiraling through. The creak of the front door caught my attention and I turned my head, catching the nervous gaze of John and Mrs. Hudson. I stepped further into the room, giving them some space to make their way inside. Mrs. Hudson fumbled with her hands as she quickly headed over to Sherlock.
"You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock, when you first came to see about your flat," she nervously said, trying to make conversation.
Sherlock turned his head towards her and nodded as he swiftly walked over to Mrs. Hudson - palm facing up. Mrs. Hudson handed him her key and he slipped it into my door, locking and unlocking it, before handing it back. "The door's been opened recently," he said.
I took in a sharp breath and felt my knees begin to shake. It was J, this whole game had to be him. I placed a palm on the wall beside me and closed my eyes - taking a few moments to just breathe. I could feel a hand on my shoulder and opened my eyes to find John standing in front of me - eyes warm and understanding. I sent him a smile, hoping to convey that I was ok, and stepped away. I couldn't break down. I had to be strong. If this was J, then none of this would be easy, and Sherlock would need me. He was smart, but so was J.
"No, can't be. Liz and I have the only keys," Mrs. Hudson said, sending me a fearful look.
I stepped beside her and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's ok, Mrs. Hudson," I said.
She looked away from me and back at Sherlock, her fingers playing with an errant piece of her hair. "I couldn't get anyone interested in this flat for the longest time. It's the damp, I expect. No one knew how to take care of it apart from Liz," she rambled.
Sherlock ignored Mrs. Hudson's continued ramblings, his entire being already centered on the trainers sitting on my coffee table. "Mrs. Hudson, thank you for your help, but I think it would be best if you returned to your flat," I gently urged.
John patted her on the arm and she nodded - watching Sherlock circle the trainers like a vulture about to feed, as she stepped out of the room. I closed the door behind her and stood in front of Lestrade and Sherlock. John stopped next to me, his nose crinkled in confusion before he stated the obvious. "Shoes?"
I wanted to laugh at his incredulous tone but couldn't muster the effort, the entire room was stiff with nervous energy. As Sherlock moved to take a step closer John, ever the soldier, held out a cautionary hand. I watched Sherlock stop, my heart in my throat. Continuing forward slowly, he crouched down, placing his hands on the floor and leaning forward. Lowering his body, Sherlock moved closer to the shoes, just as his nose was almost touching them, someone's phone rang. Sherlock jumped at the same time I did, closing his eyes momentarily in annoyance as he stood up. I placed my hand on my chest and bent over, a hand on my knee. Sherlock turned his head in my direction, pulling off his glove before he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the pink iPhone.
He moved closer to me and I leaned in, looking down at the phone. The ID read "Number Blocked" I glanced at John and he moved closer as Sherlock accepted the call — switching on the speaker.
Holding the phone a few inches from his mouth he softly answered. "Hello?"
A female voice drew in a shaky breath before speaking tearfully. "H-hello...sexy," she said.
I raised a brow and glanced at Sherlock who was watching me closely. I uneasily looked away, giving the pink phone my full attention. "Who's this?" Sherlock asked.
The woman's tearful voice shook again as she spoke. "I've...sent you...a little puzzle...just to say hi," she said.
Sherlock leaned closer to the phone. "Who's talking? Why are you crying?" he asked.
I looked away, already understanding this bit of the game. There was no longer a doubt in my mind that this was J. I should have never come back here. When the woman spoke next, her voice was full of tears as she gasped out the words. My heart ached for her.
"I-I'm not...crying...I'm typing...and this...stupid...bitch...is reading it out," she said weakly.
I grimaced and closed my eyes, memories of that word used against me on a daily basis flashing through my mind. As she sobbed on the other end of the line, Sherlock gazed thoughtfully into the distance.
"The curtain rises," he softly mumbled.
My head jerked towards him and his eyes joined mine momentarily before John interrupted us. "What?" he asked.
Sherlock looked down at him briefly as he shook his head. "Nothing," he said.
John though was having none of Sherlock's usual nonsense, not with this poor woman's life on the line. He was a soldier and a Dr for a reason; he was wired to save lives. "No, what did you mean," he asked.
Sherlock turned away from me and looked at John. "I've been expecting this for some time," he said.
The woman's voice poured from the phone again and the two men went silent. "Twelve hours to solve...my puzzle, Sherlock...Lisa...or I'm going to be...so naughty," she said, as the phone went dead.
The room was silent and I held my eyes closed tightly, knowing without a doubt that when I opened them, I would have three sets of questioning gazes attached to my face. I would have to answer them. The thing was, I couldn't give much away. If I did that would go against the rules - even if they were just unspoken rules - and there would be consequences.
I lifted my head and looked at Sherlock first, his blue-green eyes were like liquid fire as they glared at me in question. "Liz?" John gently asked.
I turned my head, already feeling so very tired. "Johnny...remember when I said he was different and that's why I couldn't go to the police..." I vaguely said.
John gasped loudly, his expression clouding in anger as he stepped closer to me. Sherlock stood stock still, his expression never changing as his eyes stayed glued to my face. "Are you sure, Liz? John asked.
I nodded and moved forward. "He has texted me on multiple occasions. That's why I changed my number, but he is brilliant...so brilliant...and well connected. I can't escape him," I said, my voice breaking.
Lestrade looked between all of us — obviously unsure of what was going on. John placed a hand on my neck and pulled me into a hug, wrapping his strong arms around me tightly. I watched Sherlock from over his shoulder. He looked down at the pink phone, a look of calculation the only expression dominating his features. I looked away, this was all a game to him, just as J knew it would be. They really were a perfect match. Pulling away from John, I looked at all of them individually.
"I need you all to know that this isn't about me, truly it isn't. He has had his eye on Sherlock for a while or else he wouldn't be doing this, believe me. He doesn't play games with just anyone. Only those he sees as worthy...as competition. If it was only me he wanted then he would have just sent someone to pick me up," I explained.
Sherlock watched me carefully, taking in my earnest expression thoughtfully. "Who is he?" he asked.
I shook my head forcefully, meeting all of their gazes. "I can't say. That would of course be against the rules. If I did he would kill that poor woman and I would be gone by morning," I begged them to believe me.
John stepped beside me and glared at both men. "You heard her. She said she can't tell us — so we do this the old fashion way," John said, chest puffed up in anger.
I turned to him and placed my hands on his shoulders, giving them a grateful squeeze. Lestrade shook his head and stepped up beside John. "Ok, let's get a move on," he said as he moved out of my flat.
Taking my hand, John led me past Sherlock and outside, but before we could get past the threshold Sherlock was there, grabbing me by the lapel and pulling me towards the waiting taxi. "You're coming with me to Barts," he stated firmly. I let out a gush of air as he rushed me forward, John huffing behind us as he tried to keep up.
Sherlock sat on a bench leaning into a microscope, while beside him a computer screen was showing us that a scanner was still running the test he and I had performed only a short while before. John bored out of his mind, had started pacing in front of Sherlock shortly after the test had been completed. "So, who do'you suppose it was?" John finally asked.
I looked up from the computer, my eyes were crinkled in a grimace. I had sincerely hoped he wouldn't ask that question — though I knew he wanted to. That was just who he was.
Sherlock, however….
A text alert trilled obnoxiously, echoing loudly in the mostly quiet room. Absently, not reacting to the alert — Sherlock continued gazing into the microscope. "Hmm?" he asked.
I glanced down at the computer, checking for any updates as John leaned closer to Sherlock. "The woman on the phone — the crying woman," John exasperatedly said.
Sherlock, still never removing his eyes from the microscope, answered without a bit of feeling in his voice — just as I had expected. "Oh, she doesn't matter. She is just a hostage. No lead there," he said.
Stepping away from the counter, I glanced at John, watching as his face paled — falling into an expression of pure disbelief. "For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads," he gasped.
I placed my hands on the counter and leaned forward, laying my head on the cool metal for a moment before standing up, and walking towards John. "You're not going to be much use to her," Sherlock said, watching me approach John as he spoke.
He glanced at the scanner, which continued to throw up "No Match" results. With a sigh, he went back to being glued to his microscope.
"Are-are they trying to trace it, trace the call?" John asked.
Leaning against the wall, I looked at John with sadness. "He would never allow himself to be traced, John. He is much too smart for that," I said.
John looked between Sherlock and me, shoulders sagging when Sherlock nodded in agreement. The same annoying trill echoed through the room as Sherlock's phone went off, yet again. "Pass me my phone," Sherlock asked.
John looked at me and I tilted my head, scoffing. "Excuse me?" I asked.
When I received no answer John sighed, stepping closer to Sherlock. "Where is it?" he asked. Leaning away from his microscope Sherlock turned his head towards me, meeting my brown eyes. "Jacket," he said.
John stepped away from him, raising his hands and shaking his head, ushering me forward with a smirk. Huffing, I straightened up, marching forward — eyes never leaving Sherlocks. With a smile, I very gently placed one hand on his left shoulder, slowly pulling his jacket open with the other. Leaning close, I began rummaging through his pocket, deliberately missing the phone a few times as I caressed his chest with the palm of my hand. "Careful! That's not my phone," Sherlock mumbled, blue eyes cloudy.
Biting my lip to hide the edging of my lips, I raised a brow. "Sorry, my mistake, Mr. Holmes," I whispered against his ear, enjoying the goosebumps I noticed rising on his neck.
Grabbing the phone, I yanked it from his pocket, pulling away with an innocent smile. Sherlock watched me as I glanced down at the phone.
Rolling my eyes, I held the phone out towards him. "It's from your brother. The slightly more annoying, Holmes," I said.
Sherlock looked away, his eyes hard. "Delete it," he said.
Before I could tap the correct button, John took the phone from my grasp with a huff of impatience. "Delete it?" he irritably asked.
Sherlock turned towards him, face expressionless. "Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it," he said.
Walking back towards the computer, I kept my thoughts to myself. I wasn't entirely sure that was true. Something about the case didn't seem as open and shut to me. As I watched the scanner pass out more "No Match" results, my phone trilled — alerting me of my own new message. I pulled my phone from my back pocket, trying to ignore John as he read the messages from Mycroft.
"Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He texted you eight times. Must be important," he tried, lowering the phone to stare at Sherlock.
Sherlock raised his head in exasperation. "Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?" he said, sighing.
Scanning my own message, my head fell back, a groan spilling from my lips. "RE: Bruce-Partington Plans
Any progress on Andrew West's death? Have you been keeping a close eye on my brother? -Mycroft.
An annoyed laugh drew the attention of both men, their brows raised in question. "I received my own text from Mycroft," I said, lifting my phone in the air with a little wiggle.
Sherlock's expression darkened and I instantly regretted using his brother's first name. "And why is my brother texting you?" he asked.
Nonchalantly, I placed my phone back in my pocket, shrugging. "Probably hoping I can talk you into taking the case," I said.
John, sensing the awkwardness in the air, tried to pull Sherlock's attention away from me. "His what?" John tiredly asked.
I mentally thanked him for the distraction. Sherlock moved his piercing blue eyes away from me. "Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother determined to bore me when someone else is being so delightfully interesting?" Sherlock said.
With a growl, I stepped behind Sherlock, slapping him on the shoulder. "That someone else is a complete psychopath, Sherlock, do try and remember that," I sneered.
Sherlock leaned away from me, glaring over his shoulder, before turning back to the microscope. Switching off Sherlock's phone, John shook his head. "Also do try to remember that there is a woman who might die," he said.
Sherlock shrugged. "What for?" he asked, lifting his blank eyes to glance at us over the microscope.
I covered my face, knowing John was about to go ballistic on the 'sociopath' in front of us. "The hospitals are full of dying people, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?" he said.
I quickly placed a calming hand on John's shoulder, noticing Sherlock's never wavering gaze following me. John looked away in disbelief, the veins in his neck bulging as he fought to calm himself. Unmoved by John's emotion, Sherlock moved back to his microscope. The beeping of the computer pulled me away, and I gently released John, sending him a weak smile as I stepped around him.
"Ah!" Sherlock delightedly cried, looking towards the screen where it was flashing "Search Complete."
At that moment, a smiling Molly Hooper floated into the room, her red ponytail swaying. "Any luck?" she asked.
Sherlock glanced up at her with a grin. "Oh, yes!"
I smiled brightly as she stepped up beside me, leaning near my ear. "I know now's not really the time, but I am so very excited. I have a date tonight!" she whispered.
I gasped, releasing a girly giggle just for her benefit. I realized much like myself, she didn't have many female friends. She may need someone to play that part for her, and I was more than willing.
"Really?" I asked.
Sherlock watched us from the corner of his eye, confusion, and unease playing on his face. "Yes, he's here now. Would you like to meet him?" she asked, looking towards the door as it swung open.
My whole world turned upside down as the attractive brunette man stepped into the room. His dark eyes found mine almost instantly and they gleamed as his lips quirked into an almost smirk — until he suddenly stopped — playing into his character with ease. "Oh, sorry. I didn't…" he self consciously said, dark eyes moving to Sherlock — racking over him greedily, before snapping to Molly.
My mind wanted me to hyperventilate, but it was like my PTSD was a weight that kept me pinned exactly where I was. A cold sweat started to cover my forehead and arms. I was beyond terrified. My worst fear was standing in front of me, wearing slacks and a T-shirt — underwear visible around his waistline. He was dressed in a way the real J would never dream of dressing, yet he fits the part to a T. The perfect villain.
"Jim! Hi!" Molly cried enthusiastically.
Jim made to leave the room but Molly rushed over, stopping him in his tracks. "Come in! Come in!" she said.
Sherlock glanced at Molly briefly, running his eyes down her body. He made an instant deduction, one that had him no longer interested in the rest of what was to come, then moved his eyes back down to his microscope. I stepped away, moving towards the wall, my legs shaking with the effort it took to force them to do my bidding. As if he knew I was making a decision all my own, his dark eyes snapped towards me briefly, and I froze, lungs and all. When he noticed my hesitance, the corner of his lips twitched mockingly and I straightened my back — forcing my feet to move forward. I refused to allow him to see the effect he had on me. Finally noticing I wasn't near them anymore, John's head turned towards me, and he noticed my nervous appearance. I could only imagine the way I must look to him. My mouth felt Sahara Desert dry, my heart a led weight in my chest, and my skin damp and clammy. I was a ridiculous mess.
Johns's brows furrowed and he joined me, taking my hand. He glanced down at my damp palm, his eyes crinkling with worry, and pulled me next to him — placing our joined hands against his steadily beating heart. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, focusing on John's constant presence. Suddenly I was able to breathe, the feel of John's heartbeat against my skin was enough of a reminder that I was no longer alone in this mess. I could fight; I would fight.
I opened my eyes to find J's narrowed, watching John with barely concealed hatred. I tried to remember that regardless of what he had just seen, John was already involved in this whole mess, staying away from him wouldn't make a bit of difference.
"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes," Molly said, pulling J's attention away from me.
J's eyes lit up and he watched Sherlock with ill hidden interest. Only someone who was completely oblivious — like Molly or John, or someone who wasn't paying a bit of attention — like Sherlock, wouldn't notice how unnaturally enamored J was.
"Ah! The famous Sherlock Holmes," J brightly said.
John turned towards Molly, head tilted in patient expectation. She stared at him blankly for a moment. "And, uh...sorry," she said, hand raised, grasping at thin air.
John sighed, lowering his head. "John Watson. Hi. And this is Elisabeth Riley," he said, motioning towards me at the mention of my name.
I was grateful he had chosen to speak on my behalf, probably still sensing my unease. I raised my hand, waving weakly. J smiled stepping closer to me, his eyes caressing my face. "Hello, Elisabeth...John," he said, his tone smooth as his tongue embraced my name.
John's hand on mine stiffened, and he momentarily released me, lowering his arm to wrap it around my waist. J's eyes darkened, his smile dropping for half a second before he wrinkled his nose and turned away. Walking over to Sherlock, his gaze lingered on his back admiringly.
"Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?" he asked, his accent different than what it usually was.
He stepped closer to Sherlock, forcing John and me to move further away. John watched him, a mounting unease on his face. "Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance," Molly said.
My stomach churned, and I looked away when J tried to catch my eye, a wicked grin on his face. Was he hoping I would be jealous? Jim and Molly both giggled and Sherlock glanced briefly at J, before turning his head in my direction, eyes scanning my pale features. His eyes narrowed momentarily before returning to the scope.
"Gay," he simply stated.
A flood of completely nervous giggles burst forth and I leaned forward, grasping John's arm, covering my mouth. I looked towards J, catching his dark gaze, and wasn't a bit surprised when it held intrigued amusement. I quickly looked away, this had been exactly what he had wanted. He had tricked the great Sherlock Holmes.
Molly's smile faded quickly. "What?" she asked.
Sherlock raised his head, realizing what he had just done without meaning to. "Nothing," he smiled falsely. Glancing at J, he tried to appear friendly. "Um, hey."
J smiled admiringly at him, playing the part of a gay man very well. It probably wasn't too hard, seeing as he is fascinated by Sherlock.
"Hey," J said, lowering his hand and deliberately knocking a metal dish off the edge of the table. He quickly scrambled to pick it up. Giggling nervously, J placed it onto the table. "Sorry, Sorry."
I watched the whole thing with wide uneasy eyes. I knew it was all an act, but still, it was surreal to see J act like a sweet innocent gay man with a crush. The fact that Sherlock Holmes was buying into it, was making the whole ordeal that much worse. John turned away, placing his palm on his face with a sigh. I kept my eyes on the note J had slipped under the dish he had placed back on the table. Sherlock irritably watched J scratch his arm as he wandered back towards Molly.
"Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox, bout six-ish?" he asked, kissing her on the cheek.
I scrunched up my nose, grimacing. I quickly looked away from the scene. "Yeah!" she said.
Stopping beside her, he placed a hand on her back, glancing back at Sherlock. "It was nice to meet you. Eyes moving towards me he smiled. "Elisabeth, it was a pleasure," he said, eyes unnaturally soft as he nodded.
He glanced wistfully at Sherlock one last time, and there were a few heavy moments of awkward silence as Sherlock continued to remain oblivious. I stood, blinking furiously as I watched J just stare unabashedly. My whole world tilted on its axis at the odd display. John, finally exhausted by the silence, cleared his throat awkwardly.
"You too," he said.
J blinked, playing off his behavior by looking a bit awkward, before he turned, leaving the room. Molly stood by the door, her hands fighting against one another as she debated with herself. I took several deep cleansing breaths, knowing J was so close to me and those I loved, was terrifying
"What d'you you mean, gay? We're together," she asked, pointing at the door and back towards her chest.
I closed my eyes and turned away, placing a hand on my neck. Sherlock turned towards her. "And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you," he said.
Spinning around, mouth agape, I stepped forward — swatting at Sherlock's arm. "Holmes!" I growled.
Molly looked at me in shock, pulling her shirt down, face red. "Two and a half," she said, face
scrunched up in anger and humiliation.
Sherlock looked away with a shrug. "Nah, three," he said.
"Even if that's true, Holmes, what of it? People fluctuate in weight all the time. Especially women!" I stepped closer to Molly and looked her up and down. "Molly looks great. And weight is not something you just randomly point out to people," I said.
"Sherlock, Liz is right," John said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
Sherlock looked between all of us and shook his head. Molly stepped closer to him, her hands fisted at her side. "He is not gay. Why do you have to spoil…? He's not," she said.
Sherlock snorted, leaning back. "With that level of personal grooming?" he said.
John's face turned up in frustration and he crossed his arms, leaning towards Sherlock. "Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair," John said.
Sherlock looked up from the scope and rolled his eyes. "You wash your hair. There's a difference. No-no-tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubbers eyes. Then there's his underwear," Sherlock said, ticking off each deduction, fingers raised.
I placed a hand over my eyes and sighed deeply. He was falling right into the web J had created. He was deducing everything he was supposed to. J had created this character specifically for Sherlock and he wasn't seeing through it. If only I could help him to see the actor and not the character.
"His underwear?" Molly gasped out in astonished annoyance.
"Visible above the waistline - very visible; very particular brand." Sherlock caught my eye and I closed mine, shaking my head softly as he reached for the metal dish J had 'knocked' over. "That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here…" he showed everyone the card, brow raised triumphantly...and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain," he finished, without a hint of remorse for the pain, he was causing his supposed friend.
Molly's eyes darted between Sherlock, John, and myself, her breathing heavy before she darted from the room, her shoulders slumped in defeat. I covered my face with my hands and let out a deep breath. Poor Molly. Sherlock sat looking in the direction Molly had escaped - his brows furrowed in confusion.
"Charming. Well done," John sighed.
I stepped closer to Sherlock and lowered myself next to him. "Holmes, that was not the way to go about that," I said.
Sherlock turned to John and tilted his head. "Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?" he asked, a pen-raised in one hand.
John crossed his arms and looked at me in exasperation. I placed a hand on the counter next to me and lowered my head. "Kinder? No, no Sherlock. That wasn't kind," John said.
"What that was, Sherlock, was cruel and unnecessary," I explained.
Appearing fed up with what I knew he thought was a distraction from what was more important he huffed, dropping J's card and turning towards the trainers he had collected from my flat. Moving them closer to John he leaned back, looking up at him from the corner of his eye. "Go on, then," he said.
John leaned away, looking at Sherlock in shocked horror. "No," he said, shaking his head, lips pursed.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Go on. Elisabeth thinks you're ready. Don't you?" he said, shooting me a loaded look.
I glared at him for a moment and took a breath, smiling at John encouragingly. "He may be an enormous ass, but he's right, John. You can do this," I said, motioning at the trainers.
John huffed, straightening and placing a hand on the table. "Fine, but I will not stand here while you humiliate me. I will take Lizzie and leave. So help me-"
Sherlock raised his hand, stopping John's tirade. "There will be no need for such dramatics. An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me," he said.
John scoffed, catching my eye and gesturing toward him wildly. "Yeah right!"
Sherlock turned in his seat and looked at us with an open expression. "Really," he assured.
John stared down at him, and their gazes connected for an uncomfortable amount of time. I couldn't help but shuffle my feet uneasily. This was another example of why people always thought they were secret lovers. Nodding unhappily, John finally moved toward the trainers, picking up the first with a gentle hand.
"I dunno—they're just a pair of shoes." Wincing slightly at his American hiccup, he immediately cleared his throat, avoiding Sherlock's gaze. "Trainers," he said.
Reaching for his phone, Sherlock nodded. "Good."
Examining the edge of the shoe, John's brow raised. "Umm...they are in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new...except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them a while," he said.
Sherlock nodded along, his expression shifting from annoyance to slight relief the longer John spoke. It was clear he was relieved that John was actually catching on to more than Sherlock had initially thought he would. With a proud smile, I leaned against the counter as John stared at the trainers with intense concentration.
"Uh, they're very eighties — probably one of those retro designs," he said, twisting the trainers around in slow circles as he stared them down.
Sherlock placed his knuckles on his chin, smiling slightly. "You're on sparkling form. What else?"
John rolled his eyes and glared over at me, his brows furrowed. I shot him an understanding frown and crossed my arms with a sigh. John rotated his shoulders and cleared his throat as he pushed forward. My mind started to wander as John went through the rest of his deductions. I was still on edge after seeing J again and it was hard to focus on anything else. "Carl Powers," Sherlock softly said, pulling me out of my troubled mind. Blinking a few times, I shook my head. "I'm sorry who? I asked.
Sherlock turned to me, his expression was distant. "Carl Powers. It's where I started," he said.