Watching Brief (Part One)
Summary: From the stag night until the honeymoon was over, Sherlock spirals out of control, much to Lestrade's dismay.
"Hair of the dog," announces Greg as he deposits a pint of bitter in front of John. He then slides into the booth across the table and takes a long pull at his pint whilst surreptitiously watching the doctor.
To Greg's eye, Watson looks like he's no longer hungover. Probably the benefit of being in the army; he has a fast recovery time. Or perhaps he's one of those doctors who manages a cocktail of over-the-counter drugs to overcome the worst symptoms. Whichever it is, the doctor is looking much better than he did yesterday morning, when Greg had rescued him and Sherlock from the drunk tank at the Hackney Downs station.
With a smirk, he says, "I know how the stag night ended, but how on earth did you two get so plastered? I've never seen Sherlock drunk before. He's usually very measured about his intake."
"Yeah, well, he had this awful thing about scientifically measuring our drinking, only a certain number of centilitres per stop, even made the barmen use a graduated cylinder—you know, like out of a chemistry lab—so I secretly spiked his beer with whisky every chance I got."
Greg imagines the scene just described, chuckles, then starts to laugh outright, building up to a guffaw. When he's got his breath back, he's able to ask "Why?!"
"I've never seen him pissed as a newt. I wondered how it would affect him. Think of it as an experiment. He's used me as a test subject often enough."
"And what was the verdict?"
"It was fun. He's a lightweight when it comes to drinking, so we were home well before closing time. Totally legless, he was funny. Not at all sloppy; if anything, more relaxed, just sort of… sweet."
The doctor takes a sip of the bitter, now that the head of foam has dissipated. "Well, except the one time he got argumentative. That was in The Howl at the Moon in Hoxton. Got into a shouting match about ash. He overheard someone talking about a guy called Ash, and misunderstood it as being about tobacco ash. You know he's done that thing of his, obsessing about two hundred different kinds of it? Well, he picked a fight about an ashtray, and I had to pull him away before he clobbered someone or got hit himself. We were kicked out. He swears he didn't know the next one, The Glory at Haggerston, was a gay bar; just the closest pub to where we caught the killer standing over the body of his wife—The Dalston Digger, remember him?"
"Yeah, of course, I do. He was the guy who dug up three women's bodies from the New Gravel Pit Burial Ground and then forced his ex-wife to watch him decapitate them before he killed her. Your blog entry was a hoot."
John smiles into his beer. "I didn't know you read the thing."
"Of course, I do. Half the bloody Yard follows it so if I didn't, how would I know how to fend off all the snide comments about Sherlock that get thrown at me? Anyway, how did you two end up in police custody?
"I think it was the landlord of the flat where the client took us; he objected to Sherlock throwing up all over his carpet. It was fun trying to watch him try to do his deduction thing when he could barely see straight."
Greg tries and fails to stifle a laugh. "You should have been arrested for being Drunk in Charge of a Consulting Detective. By the time I got there to bail you two out, the actual charges had been dropped. I suspect big brother had something to do with that; probably bought the guy a posh new carpet or something."
John downs a third of the pint before answering. "Just glad I didn't end up with another entry in my criminal record; the ASBO was bad enough. Mary would not have been amused at a drunk and disorderly, as well."
"How's she coping?"
"With the wedding, me, or Sherlock?"
"All of the above."
"She's good… Amazing, really, when you think about it. It's kind of weird in one way; they get on remarkably well."
"And how's Sherlock coping?"
"What, with the hangover?"
"No, I meant generally. With the whole wedding thing. Did he tell you about my fiasco with his speech?"
John's face betrays the answer, even before he shakes his head. "No. Please tell me that he's rehearsed something with you and you told him it's so god-awful that you helped him re-write it."
Greg snorts. "Well, I was in the middle of cracking the longest-running unsolved case I've had for years—the Waters Gang—and he sends me a text begging for help. He's never asked for my help before, and I freaked out, thinking that someone must be attacking him at Baker Street, so I dropped everything and rushed over there, with full back-up, expecting to find him at the mercy of an assassin or something. Turns out to be a bad case of writer's block; he was trying to do the Best Man speech—said it was the hardest thing he's ever done. I felt like a right plonker."
"I hope you told him what Mary and I have been saying; just raise a glass to toast our health and sit down. I know he's scared witless of having to give the speech."
"You do know why he's subjecting himself to this torture?"
"What do you mean?"
"You can't actually think he's enjoying this wedding planning lark?"
"He's coping with it better than I am." John starts fiddling with the spare beer mat on the table.
"Second thoughts?" Greg lets his incredulity show.
"No, not about Mary. It's just the wedding seems to have become… I don't know… sort of too big an event. I don't want it to change things. It's like Sherlock has become obsessed with every tiny detail, to the point where he is spending more energy on it than on The Work, if you can believe it. In one sense, I'm glad that someone is—apart from Mary, of course—but I swear if I have to eat one more sample of wedding cake, I'll scream. She says she wants to dance the waltz, and suddenly he's teaching me how to waltz and writing a composition that he's going to play on the violin." He rolls his eyes. "I've let loose a monster."
"He's doing this because it's his way of…" Greg stops, not sure how to explain this in a way that isn't going to upset the doctor. Rather lamely, he finishes the sentence, "I don't know how to explain it."
"Try."
"Maybe it's best to think of it as his way of apologising, for not realising how upset you would be when he left."
"Left?" John's eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "That's what you're calling it? Christ on a bleeding crutch, Greg; he made us all think he'd killed himself!"
"My point exactly. You're still pissed at him for that."
"I've forgiven him."
To Greg's ears, the statement is a tad grudging. "Not the same. You may have forgiven him, but you're still angry."
John sighs and drinks the rest of his beer down in one swallow. Thumping the empty glass back down on the table, he mutters, "Yeah, well, maybe." He then looks away, catching the eye of the barkeeper, raising two fingers to signal another round.
John sniffs. "Time to move on and stop talking about the past. In a week's time, I am going to be a married man. Whatever else happened as a result of his lying, it meant I found Mary. I'm determined to have a go at this."
"Well, don't look at me for advice. Been there, done that and have the alimony scars to prove it."
As the second pints arrive at the table, Greg turns the subject to the real reason he'd asked to see John. "How do you think Sherlock is taking it… You being married, I mean? He seemed pretty out there, on edge, when you and he showed up at Ryder Lane and had to deal with the elephant in the living room*."
"It got even worse when Mycroft booted us all out of there. In the taxi back he wouldn't talk, then suddenly bailed out, leaving me to pay the fare. He was in a right snit. All I know is that something is not right between him and Mycroft, but he doesn't want to talk about it."
"When's he ever wanted to talk about his brother?"
John's initial thirst must have been quenched because he is sipping more slowly at his second beer. "I've never understood their relationship."
"History…."
"What's that supposed to mean? And don't give me that little mantra of his, that was then, this is now. Being a Holmes means being cryptic, but from you, I expect better."
"Mycroft has been responsible for him, more a parent than a brother from an early age. Sherlock is enough to try any man's soul, let alone a control freak like Mycroft. They're bound to rub each other up the wrong way."
"He is who he is. Trying to control him is the worst possible strategy."
Greg can't help but smile. "Yeah, you and I know that, but it isn't easy for Mycroft to accept it."
"For a while, after Hartswood**, I thought they were back talking to one another; a sort of truce had been declared. Now, they seem to have reverted to not talking to one another, not even to shout at each other."
Greg snorts. "That's when I really start to worry; at least when they're verbally abusing each other, I know things are normal. Are we talking danger nights here? Do you think he's using again?"
The question makes John look up, startled. "I don't know… I don't think so, but I don't live with him anymore, so I'm not best placed to judge. When I see him, he seems alright. Do you think he isn't?"
Seeing the concern that is etching a frown on Watson's face makes Greg frame his words carefully. "I don't know. Something's got him worked up; he's like a coiled spring. I'm starting to worry about danger days, not just nights. Maybe it's the sense that everything between you two is going to change because of the wedding."
John rolls his eyes. "Not you, too; Mrs Hudson keeps taking me aside and telling me not to forget Sherlock after I'm married. As if I could. As if anyone could ignore Sherlock. He's pretty good at demanding attention."
"It was easier to keep an eye on him when you were living in the same flat. He was better for having you around."
John takes a swallow of beer and then shakes his head. "He doesn't need a babysitter, Greg. He doesn't need me; two years of working on his own to take Moriarty's network apart proves that."
Greg puts his glass down and stares at John. "You really are still angry."
John sighs. "No, not really. More a question of being disappointed. I thought…" He trails out and sighs.
The silence between them grows, filled by the background sound of conversations of the other people in the pub, the clatter of glasses being picked up by the waitress. Finally, Greg's patience snaps, "Spit it out. I promise I won't tell a soul if that is what is keeping you from speaking the truth."
John stops fiddling with the beer mat, putting two hands around the bottom of his glass, as if it would ground him. "Back then, I thought I meant more to him than that. He just lied to me for months while he was planning the whole charade. The worst thing is that he clearly thought I wouldn't care when he killed himself. I'm angry—not only with him for making that mistake; I'm also pissed off with myself for not being clearer. Maybe if I had been… I don't know… more obvious about how important he was to me, about what I felt about our friendship, then maybe he would have trusted me enough to tell me what the hell he was planning to do."
"He couldn't risk it. You know that now, especially after Hartswood*. Get real, John. You're a terrible liar. If you had known, you would have either tried to go with him or tried to stop him."
"Yeah, I guess so." He goes back to fidgeting with the beer mat.
Greg decides enough is enough; he needs to read the riot act. "Get it through that thick head of yours that it is precisely because he cares so much about you that he kept you in the dark. And that's why I hope to God you won't drift off into a happy-ever-after life in the suburbs; the wife, semi-detached house, kids and a dog, forgetting about him on the way."
John laughs. "Me? I'm the adrenaline junkie, remember? No chance."
Greg nods. "Good. Make sure he knows that. We all need to be keeping an eye on him right now."
"Want another? It's my round."
"Make it a half pint for me. When you get back, you're going to tell me all about your honeymoon plans and how you're going to keep them secret from Sherlock."
John is still chuckling when he returns from the bar.
Author's Notes:
*The Elephant in the Room is covered in Magpie: Two for Joy, chapter 9.
**What happened at Hartswood Manor is covered in Magpie: One for Sorrow, which explains how John came to understand the cost to Sherlock of his hiatus finally.
