Another short but sweet update and a bit of damage limitation. ;)

Chapter Forty-Five

Sherlock hated handing over his phone to Greg Lestrade. It felt like handing over a part of himself. And it felt even worse when Lestrade passed it on to some random tech guy, whom Sherlock didn't even know. Greg assured him that the tech specialist was totally trustworthy and would only be accessing those specific communications that Sherlock sent on the two days in question, which was slightly reassuring but didn't do much to assuage the acute separation anxiety he felt at being parted from his constant companion.

He had taken some precautions in advance. For example, he had deleted all his WhatsApp communications with Craig. In fact, he had deleted Craig's entire thread from his phone. He would reload it when he got his phone back, obviously. And there were a couple of other threads he had deleted and probably wouldn't reload as they were no longer of any relevance to him. So, he was fairly sure there was nothing compromising on the device.

The one thing he hadn't anticipated was how long it would take to find his geographical location when those communications were sent. He imagined it would be a quick, five-minute job. He was horrified when Lestrade explained that it would take hours, possibly even days. He couldn't envisage being without his phone for such a long period of time and he very nearly changed his mind and demanded it back. But then he thought how much he really wanted to recover those missing two days. And he resolved to accept the consequences.

'Actually, since you're here, there's something I could use your help on,' Lestrade announced.

Sherlock had nothing else on his schedule. John was at work, Molly would be sleeping and he didn't have a phone, so…

The Met DI had a case briefing scheduled, which he invited Sherlock to sit in on. When they entered the briefing room, Sherlock looked around and did not recognise a single face. The old familiars of Anderson and Donovan were conspicuous by their absence – Anderson, having left the Met shortly after Sherlock's fake suicide, was now a professional vlogger of conspiracy theories and so far down that rabbit hole as to be irretrievable; Donovan had been promoted to DI and assigned to another unit.

Sherlock was introduced to the team as a 'consultant' and, taking a seat amongst the Met officers, he had the strange experience of feeling no antagonism at all from those around him. In fact, he detected a degree of respect and reverence that he really wasn't expecting. Lestrade and his new DS, an Asian-Irish guy called Flynn, went through the case in question, presenting the evidence they had gathered so far.

It was an interesting case. A man had been found dead in the street, in a London borough, with a very unusual wound. The post-mortem – carried out by no other than St Bart's very own Dr Molly Hooper, in the early hours of that morning – had concluded that the fatal wound was inflicted by a hunting crossbow bolt, fitted with a lethal four-barbed tip, designed to cause maximum soft tissue damage and excessive blood loss, resulting in certain death in a matter of a couple of minutes. Lestrade was full of praise for the skill of the pathologist who had made that crucial discovery because death by crossbow bolt was a rare thing in deed.

As a result of Dr Hooper's speedy identification of the murder weapon, the team had been able to link this death with another fatality, that of a man with a similar wound brought into another London hospital by relatives. He had been pronounced Dead on Arrival, unsurprisingly, due to the catastrophic blood loss that this unique projectile caused.

The first victim was not known to the police. He had no record, not even a speeding ticket. The second victim was known. He had a number of citations for drug-related offences.

Having presented the evidence, Lestrade and his second in command threw the discussion open to the floor, asking for ideas, suggestions, likely avenues down which to progress the investigation.

Sherlock pointed out, looking at the photographic images of the street where the first victim was found, that one of the houses in this very rundown part of town was fitted with a rather sophisticated CCTV system, which seemed out of keeping with the area, suggesting that this house had something inside worth protecting. Lestrade immediately charged two of his officers with the task of investigating that particular building.

Sherlock also noted, in reference to the post mortem reports of both victims, that the man found in the street had a penetrative wound from which the bolt had been removed by force, whereas the other victim's body bore both entry and exit wounds, so the bolt had passed straight through. This suggested that the first wound was inflicted from some distance, requiring a degree of accuracy, and must, therefore, have been either entirely accidental - wrong place, wrong time - or of lethal intent; whereas the second victim's wound was inflicted at close range so, perhaps, by accident when the crossbow misfired, which inferred that the second victim might be involved in the murder of the first, rather than being an intended victim or an innocent bystander.

When the briefing broke up, the officers dispersed to follow up on the new leads that had been highlighted and Greg thanked Sherlock for his invaluable input. Sherlock was fairly circumspect, feeling that the points he had raised were pretty obvious and acknowledging that the real heavy lifting had been done by Molly in the post mortem. Privately, he felt a glow of pride for that. Not only was she St Bart's Molly Hooper, she was also his. He would have liked to ping off a text, congratulating her on her expertise but, for one thing, she would be asleep right now and, for another, without his phone's contact list, he had no idea of Molly's number. He had entered the number under her name, years ago, and never looked at it since. Same with John. Without his phone, Sherlock was stymied.

'Still, since I'm stuck here for the duration, is there anything else I can be getting on with?' he asked, feeling bored already.

Lestrade was more than happy to accommodate the grumpy detective and took the opportunity to walk him through a number of live cases, noting his comments and sending out memos to the respective teams to act on the information received. Before they knew it, it was lunchtime and Sherlock's phone was still not returned. Lestrade offered to treat his friend to a pub lunch, which Sherlock accepted, although his lunch consisted of coffee, black, two sugars whereas Lestrade opted for burger and chips – Sherlock did sneak a couple of chips off the DI's plate but declared them to be 'of inferior quality' and stuck to coffee.

On the way back to New Scotland Yard, Sherlock opted to take a stroll round St James's Park, as he was feeling a little claustrophobic stuck in Lestrade's office and, also, he had a few things he needed to think through. He set off walking anti-clockwise around the lake, immersed in his thoughts. Over the last few months, he had come to realise what a damaged individual he was, not just because of the childhood trauma but also because of the torture he had undergone at the hands of Baron Maupertius. And now, it would seem that both these factors were converging on him in a two-pronged attack. This two-day blackout was just a symptom of a much deeper problem, one that he had ignored or swept under the carpet for long enough. It was something he really needed to 'deal with', once and for all.

There was only one person he knew who might be able to help him with all this. She came highly recommended by the Ministry of Defence, so she must know her stuff, and that was John's therapist, Ella, the one he had wisely returned to after the debacle that resulted in him having a gun pointed at him by Eurus, or so he thought at the time. If he'd had his phone on him, he would have used it right there and then to call Ella and book an appointment, asap, but…Surely that damn tech guy was done with his phone by now? He turned his feet in the direction of New Scotland Yard, which took him right past Wellington Barracks, the scene of one of his more intriguing cases, not so long ago, in happier times, perhaps, when Mary was still in the world.

Lestrade was at his desk, reading one of those interminable reports from the Home Office, that appeared in his in-tray from time to time, telling him how he must make his department operate more efficiently, which was basic government-speak for 'we are going to cut your budget again but still expect you to deliver the same service you did when your budget was twice as much, under the last government.' Because, as every public servant was constantly being reminded, there was no Magic Money Tree, apparently.

A knock at the door drew his attention away from the onerous task of working out how to perform miracles on a daily basis. It was the tech guy.

'All done, gov,' he declared, placing Sherlock's phone on Lestrade's desk along with a printed account of his findings. 'All the texts, calls and emails were sent from the same location in West London. It's a grid reference but Google Maps will fill in the details.'

Lestrade thanked the technician and got back to reading his report. Sometime later – he wasn't sure how much time had elapsed – he heard Sherlock's text alert ping. Without thinking, even though it wasn't his phone, picked it up and looked at the text preview on the lock screen. Only the first few words were visible, along with the name of the sender, but those two things combined caused him to do a dramatic double take. The text was from Molly Hooper and the bit he could read said:

Missing you so much right now. Counting the seconds until…

Lestrade dropped the phone back on the desk as if it had suddenly become scorching hot and stared at it, dumbfounded, for several seconds then took the tech printout and carefully laid it over the phone, effectively shielding his eyes from that surprising message…or half a message, since there was obviously more to it than met the eye, quite literally. And, as if on cue, his office door opened and in walked Sherlock Holmes.

'Is my phone back, yet?' Sherlock demanded, peevishly.

'Er, yeah, it is actually,' Lestrade replied, 'Just arrived, not ten minutes ago…' He wasn't actually sure of the time but it wasn't really important. 'Er, I think you just got a text,' he advised, trying to sound nonchalant. 'I heard it ping,' he added, for clarification.

Sherlock had already approached the desk and correctly deduced…since that was where Lestrade was eye-pointing…that his phone was under the sheet of paper, and so picked up the paper in one hand and the phone in the other and looked at the phone. Lestrade watched as Sherlock read the preview, just as he had, and he noted how the usually taciturn detective's features softened, his mouth curled up at the corners and his eyes seemed to darken as the pupils dilated.

Sherlock unlocked his phone and opened the message to read the whole thing, and another one that had arrived earlier, and his heart swelled. Then, abruptly, he closed the phone, his facial expression switched back to severe and he held up the piece of paper.

'Is this the result?'

'Erm…yeah,' Lestrade confirmed.

Sherlock unfolded the paper and skimmed all the blurb, down to the grid reference.

'Oh!' he said, surprised but also…not surprised. It was an odd reaction, from Lestrade's perspective.

'Do you know where that is?'

'Yes, I do,' Sherlock replied but gave no further information.

'Well, that's good then. Save you looking it up on Google Maps.'

'Yes, thank you,' said Sherlock, clearly distracted.

'So…' Lestrade began.

Sherlock looked up from the sheet of paper at the DI.

'So, what?' he asked.

Lestrade looked extremely uncomfortable, like he was struggling with something that he really wanted to say but wasn't sure how to say it.

'What's the matter?' Sherlock asked.

'Look,' said Lestrade. 'I didn't do it on purpose but I accidentally…'

'Yes?'

'I accidentally read the preview of your text.'

Immediately, Sherlock's face sobered and he pulled himself up to his full height.

'I'm really sorry,' Lestrade continued, complete with placatory hand gestures. 'I really was not prying.'

'Good,' said Sherlock, a little hesitantly.

'But I have to ask…'

'Do you?'

'Yes, I have to ask, is there something going on between you and Molly Hooper?'

'Define 'going on'?'

Lestrade rolled his eyes and sighed. Sherlock was not making this awkward conversation any easier.

'Are you two…an item?'

Sherlock put a finger to his lips and assumed a pensive pose. Was there any point in denying it, since it was clearly so obvious, even from just the first part of that message? He came to a decision.

'I'm going to have to ask you for maximum discretion in this matter, Greg,' he said, taking the seat in front of the DI's desk and folding his hands in his lap. 'Yes, Molly and I are in a relationship but it's a very recent development and we haven't really gotten used to the idea ourselves, to be frank, so we haven't told anyone else, not even John.'

'You can count on me,' Lestrade insisted. 'I won't breathe a word, not until you go public, officially.'

Sherlock wasn't so sure about the idea of 'going public'. What did that entail? Putting an announcement in the Times?

'We do intend to tell everyone, eventually. Just not…for a while.'

'Yes, yes, I understand, completely,' Lestrade exclaimed. 'But, can I just say…'

'Say what?' Sherlock asked, suspicion and uncertainty exuding from every pore.

'Well, first of all…congratulations!' the DI declared. 'And, secondly, about bloody time! You two were made for each other!' and, with that, he got up, came round the desk, grabbed Sherlock by the arm and pulled him to his feet then wrapped him in a bear hug to equal the one he'd given him the day he came back from the dead. And Sherlock did exactly as he had on that day, too. He stood, stiff, awkward and unresponsive, and pulled a disapproving face until the DI let go and stepped back. 'And well done for getting your head out of your arse before it was too late,' Lestrade added, for good measure.

'Thank you…I think,' Sherlock replied. 'And thank you for this, too,' holding up the sheet of paper. 'Much appreciated, I assure you.'

'Thank you, too, mate. We've just had a result on that crossbow incident.'

'Oh, yes?' Sherlock queried.

'Yes, a couple of our guys went to the house and found a broken window at the back. They used that as a pretext under which to enter the property…crime in progress, that sort of thing…and found a cannabis farm. Hundreds of plants, worth a bloody fortune. And, just dropped on the floor behind the front door, a crossbow! And, when we checked with the Land Registry, it turns out that that house is owned by the next-door neighbours and…wait for this…'

'The neighbours are related to the second victim, the one shot at close quarters,' Sherlock pre-empted.

'Spot on,' Lestrade confirmed. 'So, we got a search warrant for the second house, where we found the business end of the CCTV set up. The tech guys are working on it now but they reckon we'll probably find the entire crime sequence recorded and saved to the hard drive, from all those CCTV cameras positioned around the house. If that's the case, it'll be the fasted major crime solution in the whole of the Met's history…well, maybe not the fastest but certainly in the top five. Less than twenty-four hours from start to finish.'

'Well, if that's the case, it's Molly you should be thanking, not me. Establishing the weapon was key.'

'True,' Lestrade agreed. 'But it was you who led us to investigate the empty house so I'll give you equal billing. Hey, you're the new crime solving power couple!'

'Discretion, please!' Sherlock reminded him.

'Oh, yeah,' Lestrade nodded, miming zipping his lips closed. 'Mum's the word.'

ooOoo

This story is set in 2015, so New Scotland Yard is still at its old site, near St James's Park, not at its new site on Victoria Embankment, opposite the London Eye. (In case anyone was wondering :))

Also, the crossbow case is adapted from a RL incident that took place recently in the West Midlands. But, since they didn't have the services of the new 'crime solving power couple', it took them a bit longer to solve it. :)