Chapter Thirty Two- 2010 A Third Party (Part Six)


Greg's fury at Sally Donovan was still chilling the air when she and the DI headed back to New Scotland Yard. The silence in the back of the police car made it clear to her that if anything happened to Sherlock, Lestrade would never forgive her, and would certainly write up a formal reprimand that would effectively stall her career. He trusted his team to follow his orders, no matter what their own agendas. He had just looked at her after her explanation, and said tersely, "respect the chain of command, Detective Sergeant Donovan, whatever your personal feelings are."

The Forensic team would still be hours at the scene, processing all that data, but Lestrade wanted to get to work as quickly as possible on Jennifer Wilson. So, he told Donovan in no uncertain terms what he wanted her to do, and how fast he expected it done. "You'll do it yourself, Detective Sergeant, and that's an order, just so there is no misunderstanding. I want chapter and verse on Wilson- friends, family, why she was in London, where she was going, who she was planning on seeing. And I want it NOW." His tone was more direct and annoyed than she had ever heard it.

Back in his office, he paced. Should he contact Mycroft and see whether his team or SO6 had eyes on Sherlock? At least, he didn't think that Sherlock would be consciously trying to avoid cameras this time. The consulting detective had no reason to assume that he was in any trouble. It had been Lestrade's choice to get him involved in the case. Greg just hoped to God that nothing happened to Sherlock on his investigations into whatever the hell he meant when he shouted the word "PINK!" He scowled. It was such a horrible colour; he'd always loathed it. A stray memory surfaced of his early childhood, when everything he owned seemed to be a pink hand-me-down from his older sister Carole.

His patience snapped. He texted Sherlock.

Where the HELL are you? GL

The reply came back almost immediately.

Chasing down PINK. Relax SH

Well, at least his battery had not failed this time.

What does pink have to do with "mistake"? GL

What's it like being so dim? LOOK! SH

Greg switched on caps lock, and texted

BE CAREFUL, YOU IDIOT! GL

Yes, mother. SH

That made Greg chuckle. If there was any comfort to be taken from the situation it was that Sherlock was probably just as keen to avoid a problem as he was; the prospect of another enforced exclusion from case work would be just too horrible for him to contemplate. Or at least, Greg hoped so.

He went back into the incident room and watched the team posting up the evidence that they had collected from the latest suicide. He stood with his arms crossed, looking at each piece as it was put up. What was it about this latest incident, what was he supposed to look at? What had Sherlock seen that was a mistake by the killer? Why did he fixate so on this mythical suitcase? And what the hell did all of this have to do with the colour pink?

He was still standing there almost ninety minutes later when his phone went off. He grabbed it, hoping it was Sherlock, but the caller ID came up as Mycroft Holmes. He walked into his office with a sense of dread, and took the call.

"Good evening, Detective Inspector". The tone was neutral, and Greg found himself relaxing a tiny bit. At least he had not yet been threatened with being dragged off to the dungeons.

"I have taken the opportunity of meeting with Doctor Watson, as you suggested. And, to my surprise, he passes muster. His presence at the crime scene was noticed. Is he a recommendation of yours, Lestrade?"

"Not at all; don't know the guy from Adam. And Sherlock wasn't exactly forthcoming about how he found him, or, in fact, anything at all. Didn't introduce him, or even tell me his first name, just Watson and that he's a doctor."

"Interesting."

Yeah, it was, when Greg thought about it. "Did you learn anything more about the guy?"

"Of course, Detective Inspector, but then I have resources that you can only dream about. Remarkably, my brother may have managed to find someone acceptable, probably completely by mistake. We will see how long he lasts. Any normal person will crumble in a matter of days living in close proximity to Sherlock."

Greg got a bit annoyed at that. "We'll see. He seemed a sane enough bloke. And he wasn't freaked by Sherlock's work or the crime scene, so that's one potential landmine safely negotiated."

"Do keep better tabs on my brother, won't you? He still has a tendency to disappear off in pursuit of the odd clue."

Damn, Mycroft had seen that. "Yeah, well, there was a bit of miscommunication. Won't happen again, I promise."

"Do give my regards to Detective Sergeant Donovan. I have decided to take a special interest in her career. Perhaps some equality and diversity training might not go amiss." Ouch, better warn her not to make an enemy of Mycroft Holmes; that's a career limiting strategy!

Greg decided the best tactic was to bluff him out. "Still playing the overprotective big brother role, Mycroft? I can assure you that Sherlock gives as good as he gets."

"Perhaps, Lestrade. But, the lack of proper back up has cost Sherlock the last three months of his life, so I do hope it won't be a regular feature of his work with you from now on."

"It won't be."

"Good night, Detective Inspector."

Greg heaved a sigh of relief. That's one of the Holmes brothers dealt with. Now if only he knew what was going on with the younger one, his night would be made.

He texted Sherlock again.

BB is officially OK with this. Need you to update GL

Shut up. Back at flat THINKING SH

Greg knew from experience that when Sherlock needed to think without interruption, he preferred to be horizontal, and with the minimum of distraction. But, by "flat" did Sherlock mean Montague Street or Baker Street? Greg bet it would be the former. Just how comfortable would he be with unfamiliar surroundings? Normally, when he wanted to think, he would retreat to a sofa, close his eyes and try to limit all the other sensory data. Sherlock did his best thinking In a shut-down mode.

If he was "thinking", then he must have found or not found whatever he was looking for when he bolted out of Lauriston Gardens. Wonder if that bugger has figured out that there really is a case? Greg came out of his office and bellowed for Donovan. "I want you to check out left luggage at Paddington Station. See if anyone answering Jennifer Wilson's description left an overnight case there- and whether Sherlock has been there, too."

He decided that texting wasn't good enough- he figured that Serhlock would now just not reply, or worse, have turned his phone off. He decided to go to Montague Street and force Sherlock to tell him what the hell he was supposed to have seen. Better to be called an idiot than to miss anything important in the investigation.

oOo

Unfortunately for Lestrade, Montague Street turned up empty- and no sign that Sherlock had been there for some time, as there was still post on the floor, untouched. He texted again

Are you at Baker Street? GL

There was no reply. That annoyed Greg. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more irritated he got. The squad car waiting outside on Montague Street delivered him to Baker Street and he told the PC to head back to the Yard. He unlocked the front door, and went up the stairs, and was nearly half way up when he heard Mrs Hudson call out.

"Oh, Inspector, the boys have gone out again. In and out, they've certainly been busy tonight!"

He paused and looked down. "I don't suppose you know where they were going?"

"Oh, I couldn't say; you know young men, they wouldn't confide in me. But, Sherlock was certainly happy. I mean earlier this evening it was all he could do to contain himself, shouting 'the Game is on', like some sort of over-excited teenager with his xbox." She frowned a little. "I mean, it's wonderful to see him so happy again; he's been a bit down lately, but is it right to be quite so happy about a series of suicides? " She looked a little flustered, as if her loyalties were slightly at odds with social niceties.

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Mrs Hudson, I know he has an unusual taste in case work, but if he is pleased to be back at work, then I think we can both be happy for him. That said, I'm going to wait here for him." He headed up another step and then stopped. "Did I hear you correctly- was the flatmate with him when they went out again?"

"Oh yes, Doctor Watson! He's just perfect, isn't he? I am so glad that Sherlock found someone suitable."

Greg was curious. "Did Sherlock say where he met him or what his background is?"

"Well, I won't have just anyone as a tenant; I hope you know I have standards, Inspector. When I asked, Sherlock told me that Doctor Watson is a former military man, invalided home from Afghanistan. That's why he has the cane. From what I've seen of him, he seems a really nice man."

"Thanks, Mrs Hudson, I'll just make myself at home and wait for them to return."

She smiled and went back to her own flat, as Greg let himself in and walked into the chaos of half unpacked stuff of Sherlock's. He looked around to see what progress had been made, and that's when he saw the case. The pink case. Sitting on its own, in front of the fire. Unzipped. Crucial evidence in the case, and just left there. No phone call to Lestrade that it had been recovered. Yet another example of Sherlock trying to play by his own bloody rules, and ignoring all the police protocols that would be needed to photograph and document where it was found, and process the place for trace evidence. He thinks he's so bloody clever! Lestrade saw red.

If Sherlock had been in the room, he'd have probably handcuffed the idiot and dragged him down to spend a night in a cell to consider the stupidity of what he had just done. By compromising the evidence in this way, Sherlock might have jeopardised anything that they could find in the case or about the suitcase case that could be used in evidence- which could let a serial murderer walk free. What it would do to Lestrade's career if this happened was too scary to think about right now.

Equally distressing to Greg, however, was the fact that Sherlock had obviously found something in the case that had led him back out onto the streets of London, in pursuit of the murderer- without telling Greg what the hell he was doing and where he was going. Not only did he have no proper backup, yet again; if Mrs Hudson was to be believed, he had dragged along his flatmate, an innocent civilian, along for the ride- and the risk. He put his hand to his forehead, closed his eyes and sighed in despair.

oOo

It took Lestrade almost a half hour to calm down, and think clearly through what action he could take. If he contacted Mycroft and told him the truth, it was likely that Sherlock would never be allowed to touch another case again. If he told his superiors about it, then Sherlock would never be allowed to work with the Yard again. But, if Sherlock was allowed to get away with it, he'd never respect any rules set by the DI again. Something had to be done, and Greg had to figure a way out of this mess.

A call was made to Sally Donovan, and he explained what he wanted and where he wanted it. She could not contain her "I told you so!" and was almost gleeful. "Oh, I will get plenty of volunteers, Guv; don't you worry!" He made it clear to her that this was not an official action on the record, and it certainly did not need to involve the proper Drugs Squad; it would stay as an inside "training exercise", and allow the team to show the consulting detective that he'd best mind his manners and procedures with a little more commitment in the future.

Sally couldn't resist asking, "What happens if we find something?"

"Then that's a matter for me, Detective Sergeant, not you. Now get organised and over here as soon as possible."

Sally laid it on a bit thick; squad cars screeched to a halt and the team poured out. Poor Mrs Hudson was left in a right state when they stormed upstairs after she answered the doorbell. When the landlady asked what they were doing, it was CSE Anderson who shouted back down at her, "This is a drugs bust!" Mrs Hudson looked horrified, and scurried back to her own flat, saying "this must be a mistake, surely not Sherlock? He'd promised…"

When they got into the flat, Lestrade told them to look carefully for any evidence of drugs, and the team got to work. He then realised that having the police cars outside might tip Sherlock off, and stop him from returning to face the music, so he ordered the cars back to the local station. And then he sat in Sherlock's chair- the leather and chrome one that he had brought with him from Montague Street- and he waited.

It was only twenty minutes later that he heard the front door bang shut, and he heard voices down on the ground floor, Sherlock's baritone and presumably the flatmate, talking and laughing. Greg called the team in from where they were taking Sherlock's bedroom apart, and told them to get to work on the living room and kitchen- he wanted Sherlock to walk in and see just what Greg was doing- and he would know why, as well. He sent Anderson and Sally into the kitchen, where they were most likely to find something.

He heard the doorbell ring and then the front door ionto Baker Street opened and shut again, followed by Sherlock shouting for Mrs Hudson, something about the flat. Then Mrs Hudson's worried tones were followed by the pounding feet as Sherlock came running up the stairs. The consulting detective came charging into the living room and then crossed straight to where Greg was sitting with a little smile on his face.

"What are you doing?!" Sherlock was angry.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid." As in, get real Sherlock; I won't be played this way. There are rules, and you've just broken too many of them for me to sit back and take this.

"You can't just break into my flat." Greg realised that this must be in deference to the flatmate, the doctor who had followed Sherlock into the room, and was now watching the police officers going through Sherlock's things with some amazement. It was unlikely that he had been told that a policeman had a key, avoiding too much information too early in a relationship, lest it scare the doctor off. So, Greg just toughed it out:

"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat."

"Well, what do you call this then?"

Lestrade looked around innocently at the officers before returning to look at Sherlock. With a smirk, he answered "It's a drugs bust."

Sherlock's eyes blazed with anger, which Greg expected. What caught him by surprise, however, was the reaction of the doctor.

"Seriously?! This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!"

Greg realised that Sherlock could not have told his flatmate much, and that this revelation might jeopardise the man's willingness to share the flat, and that in turn could bring down the consulting detective's ability to work cases, again. The threat was real, and he wanted Sherlock to acknowledge it. Without that, he might never be willing to uphold their arrangement. Greg was applying a lot of pressure here, but he needed Sherlock to acknowledge that he could not ignore the rules.

Realising what was at stake, Sherlock turned away from Lestrade and walked closer to John, He looked hesitant and nervous. "John…"

But the doctor was still focussing on Lestrade. "I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." Greg was surprised that the older man seemed willing to defend his new flatmate after only an evening in his company.

Sherlock leaned in a bit closer. "John, you probably want to shut up now."

"Yeah, but come on…" The shorter man looked up at the taller brunet and Sherlock held his gaze for a long moment. The doctor seemed then suddenly realised the significance of the silence.

"No."

"What?"

"You?" with incredulity.

Greg watched the exchange between the two men with something approaching amazement. Sherlock didn't like people intruding on his personal space and he usually kept well away from others, too, and as for the kind of eye contact he had given the blonde man, it was another obvious clue that there was something rather different about their relationship.

"Shut up." Sherlock snapped and turned back to Lestrade, angry now that the detective had embarrassed him in front of his new flatmate.

"I'm not your sniffer dog." Sherlock snarled at Greg.

Lestrade decided he could not afford to let up, so he replied, "No, Anderson is my sniffer dog." He nodded to the kitchen,

"What? An..."

The sliding doors between the living room and the kitchen opened to reveal several more officers in there searching. Anderson turned toward Sherlock and waved.

Sherlock went ballistic. "Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?!"

The Crime Scene Examiner smirked, "Oh, I volunteered."

Greg continued, "They all did. They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen," turning the pressure up yet another notch.

Donovan backed into view between the doors, holding a small glass jar with some round objects in it. "Are these human eyes?" Her disgust was clear.

"Put those back!"

"They were in the microwave!"

"It's an experiment!"

Lestrade butted in, "Keep looking guys." He stood up and walked over to Sherlock. "Or, you could help us properly, and I'll stand them down."

Sherlock was incensed and he began to pace like a caged animal. "This is childish!"

"Well, I am dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?"

Sherlock stopped his pacing and leaned in toward Greg, glaring at him. "Oh, what, so-so-so, you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" The stutter told Greg everything he needed to know about how much pressure Sherlock was feeling. But he couldn't let up or give in. He had to make his point. And he knew Sherlock better than anyone else in the room did. So he just said, "it stops being pretend if they find anything."

Sherlock shouted loudly, "I am clean!" so that everyone in the flat could hear it, including the doctor.

Lestrade wouldn't be moved. "But is your flat? All of it?" He knew that somewhere Sherlock would have stashed a contingency plan. Sherlock would know that he knew, too.

The brunet stopped beside Lestrade, unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his left sleeve. "I don't even smoke!"

Greg did the same. "Neither do I." The flatmate was watching him and Sherlock with a puzzled look on his face, as the DI continued, "...so let's work together."

He let that sink in, and decided to re-focus Sherlock on the case. "We've found Rachel."

That had the desired effect. Instantly, Sherlock turned his attention back to him. "Who is she?"

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

That provoked a frown, clearly not what he was expecting. "Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

Anderson butted in from the kitchen. "Never mind that, we've found the case." He pointed to the pink case in the living room and carried on sarcastically, "according to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hand of our favourite psychopath."

Sherlock whirled around and snarled, "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson; I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research."

He turned back to Greg, and said rather aggressively, "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her."

Greg just looked at the tall brunet who could hardly handle control his agitation. "She's dead."

"Excellent!"

That provoked a startled reaction from the flatmate, who was eying the two men having this tense exchange.

Sherlock did not notice. "How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

Greg shook his head. "Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically, she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago." Out of the corner of his eye, Greg saw the doctor grimace sadly and turn away. Sherlock on the other hand, just looked confused. The effect of the information, on top of the agitation he had been experiencing led Sherlock to stutter again. "No, that's..that's not right. How...Why would she do that? Why?!"

Anderson piped up again from the kitchen. "Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup- sociopath; I'm seeing it now."

Sherlock whirled around to confront the man. Angrily, "She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort, it would have hurt." He set off again pacing back and forth, increasingly agitated. Greg started worrying that it might be adding up to too much pressure.

The flatmate spoke up. "You said the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he...I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow..."

Sherlock stopped his pacing and looked at the shorter man, then said dismissively "Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?"

It must have been the aghast look that Watson gave him, or the fact that the rest of the people in the room stopped what they were doing and went quiet at the question. Greg almost flinched at the insensitivity of it, and he was used to Sherlock. The consulting detective paused, sensing that something was wrong as he glanced around the room. Expecting the young man to look at him for guidance, Greg had his eye on him when Sherlock turned back to the doctor, and asked quietly "Not good?"

John glanced around at the others before turning his eyes back to Sherlock, "bit notgood, yeah."

In that moment, Greg realised that something very significant was happening; Sherlock was trying to connect with the doctor at a deeper level than the older man had ever seen him attempt with another person, Greg included. Sherlock's body language was entirely focussed on the shorter man. The brunet shook off the awkward moment, and stepped closer, looking at the doctor intently.

"Yeah, but if you were dying...if you'd been murdered, in your very last few seconds what would you say?"

Watson locked eyes with Sherlock and said quietly. "Please God, let me live."

Exasperated, Sherlock just snapped, "Oh, use your imagination!"

The blonde lifted his chin and said calmly in the face of Sherlock's insensitivity, "I don't have to."

Greg remembered what Mrs Hudson said, that the flatmate was an army doctor invalided home from Afghanistan. So, he was speaking from personal experience, and standing up to the consulting detective's usual belittling style. Not aggressively, just firmly, without malice or judgement. And Sherlock realised it, too. Normally, when Greg had witnessed Sherlock being socially gauche, the younger man made it clear that he didn't care what others thought. A lack of empathy and social awkwardness came with the territory that was Sherlock. Everyone in the room apart from the flatmate had been on the receiving end of that ineptitude.

With this man, however, Sherlock seemed to realise that he'd stepped over a boundary. He paused, and blinked a few times, shifting his body a little, as if physically apologising. But the need to solve the case took over, and he was off again.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever...Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers; she was clever." He broke eye contact with Watson and started to pace again, "She's trying to tell us something." He was really, really worked up and now trying to focus his attention down, trying to block out the presence of so many people in the flat, and concentrate on the case.

Greg tried to see things through his eyes. Sherlock was in an unfamiliar place. Too many people including a number he detested and a flatmate who he would know he shouldn't offend this early into their relationship. Too much noise, assaulting his senses. Add to that a confusing case, and no wonder the man was struggling to keep control.

Greg started to regret the whole idea of pushing Sherlock like this. While relationships between his team and the consulting detective had been rocky from the start, Lestrade hadn't thought through what a new flatmate might make of all this. What if Sherlock went into melt-down, would that chase off the doctor, and make Mycroft pull the plug on case work?

To make matters worse, Mrs Hudson came to the door of the living room and asked "isn't your doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock."

He was pacing and just blurted out "I didn't order a taxi. Go away."

Mrs Hudson looked at the room. "Oh dear, they're making such a mess. What are they looking for?"

The doctor just explained calmly, "it's a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson."

Until now, she probably had not understood that would involve such an intensive search. She wailed, "But, they're just for my hip; they're herbal soothers!" Her distress was the final straw. Sherlock was facing away from the door, but he stopped his pacing, stood straight and just shouted.

"SHUT UP! Everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off."

Anderson shouted back, "What? My face is?!"

Sherlock didn't answer, and Greg suddenly realised that the brunet couldn't answer; he was just about to go into a full melt-down. The DI stepped in and said firmly, "Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back."

The CSE complained, "Oh, for God's sake!"

Greg silenced him with a glare. "Your back, now, please!"

For a split second, no one moved, all eyes on Sherlock in fear of what might be about to happen.