Chapter Sixty Six: The Great Man (Part Three)
"Come to arrest me again, Lestrade?" If there was a tinge of irony in the baritone, Greg wouldn't blame him. Thump…THUMP …thump…THUMP. Sherlock continued throwing the ball.
"Can't- I've been suspended; they've taken away my warrant card. So, you're safe from me."
"Not going to tell anyone then?" It was asked in a flat monotone. The brunet kept up the rhythm of the ball bouncing against the cupboard opposite, catching it with one hand and rapidly sending it back again. Greg had once watched Sam spend an entire afternoon on the patio doing that with a tennis ball against the back garden wall. He realised then just how done in Sherlock was. He needed the routine physical activity as a form of self-stimulation, to calm his mind. Wish it had the same effect on me.
"Where's John?"
"Minding his own business, as you should be, Detective Inspector."
"Sherlock, I just told you that I've been suspended. I'm not here in an official capacity." He came down the aisle and sat down beside Sherlock. "I'm here because I am your friend and I want to help."
Sherlock caught the ball and stopped. "Too late. Damage is done. This is end game."
Greg sighed. "For us both, if you don't figure out how to rescue your reputation. The Chief delighted in showing me a few choice bits from tomorrow's Sun newspaper, but my guess is that you know all about that. Then he spent ten minutes chewing me out for a decade's worth of work with you. So, it's not just all about you, Sherlock."
"I know that." The ball resumed its trajectory. Thump…THUMP….thump.
Greg intercepted the ball on its return journey. "What can I do to help? I mean it; I can't just sit at home in my flat pretending this isn't happening."
"Stay out of it. That way, you can keep John safe. That's all that matters now."
Greg digested that. "You intend going after Moriarty, don't you? A confrontation?"
"Good to see that my powers of deduction have finally penetrated that thick skull of yours."
Greg thought about it. "You're just daft enough to get yourself killed. Don't do this alone."
Sherlock started throwing the ball again. "I have to. I won't expose John any more to this. Can't. Won't. You can't get involved either, or you won't ever stand a chance of re-instatement. And nothing you say is going to change my mind."
"Who the hell was the French guy, dead at Portland Square?"
At the non sequitur, Sherlock caught the ball and looked over at Greg. "An assassin. Moriarty's had a batch of them keeping an eye on me for the past couple of months- all part of his 'gamesmanship'. I realised tonight that each of them wants to make sure I survive because they think Moriarty gave me something of value. But they will all happily kill one another if they think that one of them is getting what he led them to believe I have. He was killed by one of the other assassins."
Greg heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, Molly says the ballistics and autopsy will support your version. That's one less thing Sally Donovan can pin to your tail. But if she finds something incriminating at Baker Street, she won't stop to think it might have been planted by Moriarty. She's after your scalp."
"Don't hate her, Lestrade."
That startled the DI. Of all the things that Sherlock could have said, he'd have bet that was the least likely. He exploded. "Why the hell not? She's like a bitch on heat, she's so excited to have a chance to do you down."
The ball resumed its journey. "She's doing her job, Lestrade. It's not her fault that she is being manipulated by Moriarty. He's been doing that to everyone- me, you, John…even my brother. John was angry with you at the flat, but I'm not. I don't hold you responsible. It's not your fault that Moriarty is doing this. If you let sentiment get in the way, then you won't be able to defend yourself properly when the charges are made against you."
"Speaking of your brother…"
Sherlock interrupted him, "I'd rather not."
"Sherlock, if he can help, he needs to do it soon, or there won't be any reputation of yours left to salvage."
"Leave him out of this. He proved he can't handle Moriarty- or do I need to remind you yet again about Pentonville, the Tower and the Bank of England? Those were the consequence of his attempt to deal with Moriarty. The ultimate two fingers to the British establishement, I'd say."
Greg sighed. "I'm going to call him."
Sherlock caught the ball and then looked at him. "No, you are not. Even if you do, he won't return the call."
Greg was aghast. "What, he's left you high and dry? You're on your own on this? I don't believe that. He's been big Brother too long to abandon you now."
"Let's just say we had a major difference of opinion and leave it at that. He won't, he can't lift a finger to intervene, or it will cost him his life's work. I don't want that. And I don't need his help."
"What are you going to do?"
"Wait for the sun to come up, arrange to see Moriarty and solve this once and for all."
"And how are you going to do that?"
"It's time you were going, Lestrade. Someone's going to figure out you've been poking your nose into places you are no longer authorised to be. So, get back to your flat. Time to be seen to be playing the role of the suspended DI. I need you to. When they come with questions about the cases, you have to be seen as a reliable witness- for both our sakes. Go, now."
"Sherlock…."
"Do you want to be locked up for interfering with an investigation? How about adding perverting the course of justice to the list of your misdemeanors? Get out of here, Lestrade. Every moment you are in this building, it's making your task of rehabilitation that much harder. You cannot be seen to be taking sides, especially not mine, especially not today."
"What happened to the assassin's gun? I assume he had a gun on him? Miss Hooper didn't mention it."
"It's in my coat pocket. Relax, I have no intention of using it to kill Moriarty. If it were that simple, then I am sure that lots of other people would have tried before me. I have to defeat him in a way that …will work. And, no, I am not going to explain anything more. Just leave, now."
"Sherlock, if you fail- if you can't beat him. If there's no way to repair the damage he's done…what happens next?"
"There is no next. I meant what I said, Lestrade. This is end game. Now go home. I'm done talking." The ball resumed its path. Thump…THUMP…thump…THUMP. After five minutes of sitting there in silence,broken only by the sound of the ball, Greg intercepted it and demanded that Sherlock talk to him, explain what he was going to do. Sherlock wouldn't look at him, wouldn't answer-just held out his hand for the ball. Greg gave up, and banged the ball angrily down against the floor. Sherlock caught the rebound and continued.
Thump…THUMP…thump...THUMP. It was still going when the lab door swung shut behind Greg. He knew he had to find John, but had no idea where to start looking.
