Wearing an obnoxiously bright high-vis jacket over his coat, John Watson was spending his Wednesday morning walking along the railway lines.
The sky above him was a dull gray color, making the tracks appear even more bland and depressing. Patches of dead or dying grass were scattered around the tracks, and everything was absolutely still besides John and the Tube guard who was supervising him.
John cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. "So this is where West was found?" he asked the guard.
The guard nodded, clearly not interested in the whole thing. "Yeah," he answered. "Listen, you gonna be long?"
John shrugged. "I might be," he replied.
Instead of getting upset, the guard just nodded, as if this was completely normal. "You with the police, then?" he asked.
John grimaced. "Sort of," he said.
"I hate 'em," the guard declared.
John looked at him strangely. "The police?" he asked.
The guard shook his head. "Jumpers," he clarified. John self-consciously ran a hand over his own jumper. "People who chuck themselves in front of trains. Selfish bastards."
Oh.
John shrugged. "That's one way of looking at it," he said.
The guard scoffed. "I mean it," he told him. "It's alright for them. It's over in a split second- strawberry jam all over the lines. What about the drivers, hmm? They've gotta live with it, haven't they?"
John knelt down to examine the railway track, looking closely at the lines. "Yeah, speaking of strawberry jam, there's no blood on the line," he stated. "Has it been cleared off?"
The guard shook his head. "No, there wasn't that much," he replied.
John frowned. "But you said his head was smashed in," he reminded him.
The guard shrugged. "Well, it was, but there wasn't much blood," he explained. John frowned thoughtfully, and for a second neither of them spoke. Then the guard cleared his throat. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Just give us a shout when you're off."
John nodded. "Right," he agreed.
Without another word, the guard headed off, leaving John alone by the tracks. "Right," John muttered to himself. "So, uh, Andrew West got on the train somewhere- or did he? There's no ticket on the body. Then how did he end up here?"
"Points."
John whirled around to see Sherlock standing there, with Max next to him. "Knew you'd get there eventually," Sherlock said. "West wasn't killed here; that's why there was so little blood."
But John had bigger issues than that right now. "How long have you been following me?" he demanded.
Sherlock gave him a look. "Since the start," he replied, as if that were obvious. "You don't think I'd give up on a case like this just to spite my brother, do you?"
Max rolled her eyes. "Don't answer that, it's a rhetorical question," she said. "Hey, John."
John grinned at her. "Glad you could make it, Max," he told her.
She grinned back. "Me too," she replied.
"Come on," Sherlock interrupted, before they could continue the conversation. "Got a bit of burglary to do."
John blinked. "Sorry, burglary?" he asked.
000
"Yeah, this is definitely a burglary," Max declared.
She, Sherlock, and John were currently standing before the door of a small maisonette, labeled 21A. Sherlock was bent in front of the lock, picking it with deft movements, and Max and John stood behind him awkwardly. "The missile defense plans haven't left the country, otherwise Mycroft's people would have heard about it," Sherlock said as he worked. "Despite what people think, we do still have a Secret Service."
John scoffed. "Yeah, I know," he replied dryly. "I've met them."
Sherlock nodded. "Which means whoever stole the memory stick can't sell it or doesn't know what to do with it," he clarified. "My money's on the latter."
Max glanced down the street to make sure that nobody was watching them. "I think there's been a lot of crime going on lately," she said. She grinned. "I heard about this crime that happened in a parking garage. It was wrong on so many levels."
Even though she was rather proud of that one, Sherlock stopped picking the lock, and both he and John just gave her a look.
"Cuz... y'know... parking garages have levels...?" she attempted.
John shook his head. "No," he stated. "No. Please don't. Just... stop right there."
She huffed. "Fine," she grumbled. "Hey, Sherlock, why are we here again?"
Sherlock turned his attention back to the lock. "Oh, sorry, I didn't say?" he replied. "This is Joe Harrison's flat."
With that, he opened the door and walked in.
"Jesus!" John muttered.
Even though he was still shaking his head in disbelief, John followed him into the building. Max glanced behind her to make sure that nobody was watching, then headed in after him.
There was a small staircase in front of them, and Sherlock headed up without hesitation. "Y'know, it would have been nice for you to hold the door," Max said to Sherlock. "I held the door for a clown the other day. I thought it was a nice jester."
Sherlock paused on the stairs, looking at her with the same unamused expression that he had before, then continued on his way up. John just looked at her strangely. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Max looked at him oddly. "What do you mean?" she replied defensively. "Of course I'm okay. Y'know, I really don't like these stairs. I feel like they're up to something, eh?"
John stared at her blankly for a second, then he sighed. "Yeah, no, you're not okay," he said. He put a hand on her shoulder and started walking her out of the building. "C'mon, I'll get you a cab home and-"
"No, no, John, it's fine!" Max interrupted. John paused, looking at her oddly. "I... I'm just nervous. Puns are my reflex when I'm nervous. I'm fine."
He gave her a look. "Nervous of what?" he asked. "Breaking and entering? You can leave if you want."
Max grimaced. "No, it's not that," she said. "I... uh..." She glanced up the stairs, where Sherlock had just reached the next floor and was beginning to look around.
John's eyes widened. "Oh God," he realized. "You... you fancy him, don't you? You fancy Sherlock?"
She lunged forward and clamped a hand over his mouth, her eyes wide in panic. "Don't say it out loud!" she hissed.
"Mph!" John exclaimed.
Realizing that John couldn't speak, Max stepped back and let him go. "Sorry," she said. "I'll stop with the puns. But... let's just talk about this later?"
John nodded. "Yeah, sure," he agreed. "But... I mean... I saw this coming, but... Sherlock?!"
"Shut up!"
When they reached the top of the stairs Max saw that they were in a small, dingy living room that was sparsely furnished. Sherlock strode purposefully to the window on the far wall, pulling back the curtain and looking out at the perfect view of the railway in front of him. There was a one-story extension edged up right next to the building- the roof of which could be reached from climbing out the window- and the extension led to the bottom of a garden that ended at a wall. On the other side of the wall was a clear path to the railroad tracks.
"Ah," Sherlock said.
It seemed like everything made sense to Sherlock now, but Max and John just shared a confused look. "Uh... sorry, you said this is Joe Harrison's flat?" Max asked. "Who's Joe Harrison?"
Sherlock gave her a look. "Brother of West's fiancée," he answered, as if that should have been obvious. "He stole the memory stick, killed his prospective brother-in-law."
Max blinked. "Uh... okay," she agreed. "Sure."
Out of the corner of her eye, Max saw John looking from her to Sherlock and back again, and she glared at him. John just looked at her like she had lost her mind. Sherlock?! he mouthed.
Shut up! she mouthed back.
Completely oblivious to their silent conversation, Sherlock knelt down in front of the windowsill. He took out a magnifying glass from his pocket, and he began examining the edge of the sill. Max and John walked next to him, peering over his shoulder, and for a second Max could see their faces reflected in the glass. Then she saw what Sherlock was looking at: tiny blood-red spots on the white paint.
"Why did he do it?" John asked.
Before Sherlock could reply, there was the sound of someone unlocking the door. The three of them shared a look, and Sherlock stood. "Let's ask him," Sherlock said simply.
As if on cue, a man stepped into the room, wheeling in a bicycle at his side. His eyes widened when he saw them standing there, and he raised his bicycle as if to use it as a weapon. Before he had a chance to do anything else, John whipped out a pistol, aiming it at him. "Don't," he instructed.
"John!" Max exclaimed. "What are you-"
The man paused, eyeing the pistol warily; then he sighed and put down the bike, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
Max pushed down John's arm so that the pistol was aiming at the floor, away from everyone else. "God, John, we can't just break into someone's house and point a gun at them," she scolded. She turned to look at the man, doing her best to smile at him. "Hi. Sorry about that. I'm Max. Are you Joe Harrison?"
Even though he still seemed wary of them, the man nodded.
Max grinned. "Great!" she exclaimed. "We have some questions for you, if you don't mind."
000
Shortly afterwards, Joe was sitting on the couch, leaning forward with his head in his hands. Sherlock and John were standing in front of him, looking down at him sternly. Max was seated on the other end of the couch, her body angled towards the three men.
"It wasn't meant to..." Joe trailed off, obviously lost for words. "God. What's Lucy gonna say? Jesus..."
John frowned at him. "Why did you kill him?" he asked.
Joe looked up sharply. "It was an accident!" he protested.
Sherlock snorted in disbelief, and Max scooted forward so that she was facing Joe. "We're trying to help you, Joe," she told him. "Cooperate with us, please. Tell us about the missile plans."
Joe hesitated for a second, clearly wavering, but then he sighed wearily. "I started dealing drugs," he told them. "I mean, the bike thing's a great cover, right? I dunno... I dunno how it started, I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands- serious people. Then at Westie's engagement do, he starts talking about his job." He shook his head, grimacing in regret. "I mean, usually he's so careful, but that night after a few pints he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans- beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me. You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not. And there it was, and I thought... well, I thought it could be worth a fortune. It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered. Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew."
John frowned. "What happened?" he asked.
Even though he didn't say anything, Joe's guilty glance to the staircase told Max all that she needed to know. Her eyes widened in a mix of shock and horror. "You pushed him down the stairs," she realized.
Joe nodded, stubbornly avoiding their gazes. "I was gonna call an ambulance, but it was too late," he said. "I just didn't have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in 'ere, and I just sat in the dark, thinking..."
"... when a neat little idea popped into your head," Sherlock finished. He walked over to the window, looking out at the railway tracks. "Carrying Andrew West away from here... his body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn't met a stretch of track that curved..."
"... and points," John realized.
"... and the body fell off," Max concluded.
"Exactly," Sherlock said.
John turned to Joe, who was still staring hollowly at the ground. "D'you still have it then?" he asked. "The memory stick?"
Joe nodded, and Sherlock rubbed his hands together. "Marvelous," he said. "Fetch it for me, if you wouldn't mind."
Even though it seemed like he did mind, Joe stood and walked into another room to get the memory stick. As soon as he was out of earshot, the three of them turned to each other. "Well, Mycroft's case is solved," Max remarked.
Sherlock nodded. "Distraction over," he said. "The game continues."
John frowned. "Well, maybe that's over, too," he pointed out. "We've heard nothing from the bomber."
Sherlock scoffed. "Max, remind me how many pips there were in the beginning," he requested.
Max looked at him in confusion. "Five," she answered.
He nodded. "And how many have we had?" he asked.
"... Four."
Sherlock smirked. "Exactly," he said.
Before John could reply, there was the sound of footsteps from behind them, and they turned to see Joe approaching with the memory stick in his hand. "Ah, there it is," Sherlock said. He took the memory stick from Joe, then continued on his way out the door. "Let's go."
John headed out after him, and Max stepped towards the door as well; but then she saw the broken look on Joe's face, and something made her hesitate. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, then continued on her way.
"Hey, John, y'know why Joe's bike couldn't stand on its own?" she asked as soon as they were outside.
He gave her a look. "Why?" he asked.
Max grinned. "Because it was two-tired."
"... I'm surrounded by lunatics," John declared.