here's the next one, sorry if it's super late. had a bad couple of weeks mentally and struggling with school, work, sleep and getting these fanfic chapters posted has been rough.
I've changed my work schedule now though to get better sleep and have started a number of chapters for "Fighting Deafness," "Objection," "The Doctor and the Wolf," "Soul Clash," and "Deer of the Creature Horde." I also plan on posting my "My Hero Academia" fanfic sometime soon (just need to work out a title and summary).
I've also started the next chapter for "The Seer" on my other account, so hopefully, I'll get all of these out soon.
However! I am in the Master's program now at school and have a ten-page paper I need to work on top of excessive amounts of homework (3-4 two page papers every week and only a day or two to do them), so don't expect these update to be super soon. I'll try to get "The Seer" and probably "Soul Clash" first within the next month or so, then move on to "Fighting Deafness" and the others. Though "Objection" will be updated probably sooner than all of those just because it's been the easiest for me to write as of late.
Anyway, more info is on my profiles as far as updating goes. Please let me know what you think of this chapter! Sherlock is a bit of a tease in it and I'm hoping he's not too out of character (he's so open in this season in comparison to how he was before, so I'm assuming he'd act like this just to mess with Sam). I absolutely LOVE to hear what you all have to say about my stories. They always brighten my day :)
"Hey," Lestrade greeted as John entered, having caught the bus over from home in order to meet with Sherlock.
"Afternoon. He says you've got a good one, Greg," John hummed, giving Sam a look as she yawned on the couch.
She looks tired, he mused, still seeing dark bags under her eyes, though they weren't as bad as before. She was much better now than a month ago, but still not quite back into the swing of things, which was probably why Sherlock had called him in. A "good case" meant doing some leg work, and he wasn't too sure if Sam would be up to it just yet. Not that she won't fight to get out of the house. Mary says she's been getting texts about her being antsy.
"How are you doing, Sam?" He asked, settling down in his chair across from Sherlock before Lestrade could start discussing the case.
Sam shrugged, idly stroking Ein on her lap. "I'm… okay, considering."
"Good, good." John knew that was probably all he was going to get from the woman, so he turned back to Lestrade for now. "Sorry, Lestrade. Go ahead."
Lestrade began to go over the details of this case that was stumping him. A man's birthday party and a phone call from an absentee son who asked for a favor.
"A week later…"
"Yeah?" John pressed, not seeing any case just yet.
"Something really weird happens."
Sherlock smiled behind his steepled hands, eyes still shut, but listening intently as Lestrade continued, taking a seat facing them as Sam got up and moved to sit on the arm of Sherlock's chair.
"Drunk driver. He's totally smashed. The cops are chasing him, and he turns into the drive of the Welsborough house to try and get away. Unfortunately… he crashed into the Welsborough's parked car, which caught fire. The drunk guy survived. They managed to pull him out, but when they put out the fire and examined the parked car… there was a, uh, body in the driver's seat."
John leaned forward, curious himself now. "Whose body?"
"Charlie Welsborough, the son."
"What?"
"The son who was in Tibet. DNA all checks out. The night of the party, the car's empty, then a week later the dead boy's found at the wheel." Lestrade cracked a smile as Sherlock chuckled. "Yeah, I thought it'd tickle you."
"Have you got a lab report?" John asked, as Lestrade pulled it out of his briefcase and handed it over.
"Yeah, Charlie Welborough's the son of a cabinet minister, so I'm under a lot of pressure to get results," Lestrade explained, earning a sympathetic look from John.
"Who cares about that," Sherlock muttered, earning a smack in the arm from Sam as she got up to get some tea. "Tell me about the seats."
"The seats?" John questioned, hearing a response from Sam in the kitchen.
"What's on the seats can be very useful," she hummed. "Or what the seats are made of."
"Is that a hint?" John asked, earning a pointed look from Sherlock as he tipped his head towards Lestrade, reminding him who was listening and didn't know about Sam's foreknowledge.
"A hint? Of what?" Lestrade questioned.
"Uh, nothing," John lied, clearing his throat as Sherlock rolled his eyes and held out a hand to Lestrade.
"The car seats."
"Uh, right." Lestrade handed him the reports to look at, and Sherlock hummed.
"Made of vinyl. Two different types of vinyl present. Was it his own car?"
"Yeah. Not flash. He was a student."
"Well, that's suggestive."
"Why?"
"Vinyl's cheaper than leather."
"Uh, yeah, right," Lestrade muttered, not understanding what Sherlock was getting at.
"There's something else," John mentioned, drawing attention to him as Sam handed out tea.
"Yes?"
"According to this, Charlie Welsborough had already been dead for a week."
"What?"
"The body in the car, dead for a week."
"Oh, this is a good one. Is it my birthday? You want help?"
Lestrade resisted a sigh. "Yes, please."
"One condition."
"Okay."
"Take all the credit. It gets boring if I just solve them all, and we're trying to keep our heads down with Sam still working on her health."
"I'm fine," Sam stressed, earning a look from Sherlock.
"You didn't eat your breakfast."
"What?" John questioned with a frown as Sam rolled her eyes.
"I ate more than half, which is better than before."
"You only slept for three hours," Sherlock went on.
"I woke up to go to the restroom and couldn't fall back asleep."
"And you tuckered out Ein after running for far longer than usual out of frustration from the nightmare that prevented you from properly sleeping. Shall I go on?"
Sam glared. "Bite me."
"Not around company," Sherlock teased, getting a bit of satisfaction when Sam flushed and Lestrade choked on his tea.
"W-W-What?"
"Take all the credit," Sherlock repeated as though his conversation with Sam hadn't happened.
It took Lestrade a minute to work past the shock.
"Yeah, you say that, but then John blogs about it and you get all the credit anyway."
"Yeah, he's got a point," John chuckled, giving Sam a brief smile that the woman countered with a scowl.
"Tell no one," she mouthed, sipping at her own tea. John would definitely tell no one… other than Mary, who would undoubtedly tease Sam until the end of her days.
"Which makes me look like some kind of prima donna who insists on getting credit or something he didn't do," Lestrade continued bitterly, making John mutter under his breath.
"Oh, I think you've hit a sore spot, Sherlock."
"…like I'm some kind of credit junkie…"
"Definitely a sore spot."
"So you take all the glory, thanks—"
"Okay," Sherlock grumbled, seeing that his condition was not likely to happen.
"—Thanks all the same. Look. Just solve the bloody thing, will you? It's driving me nuts."
"Anything you say, Giles."
John and Lestrade both shot him looks and Sherlock cracked a false smile, realizing he'd gotten it wrong.
"Just kidding."
Lestrade started packing away his paperwork and Sherlock looked to John in a panic.
"What is it?" He mouthed to John.
"Greg."
"What?"
Sam rolled her eyes, leaning down and whispering Lestrade's name in Sherlock's ear, giving him a pointed nod at the officer as he got up to leave.
"It's obvious though, isn't it? What happened?" John said then, earning a surprised look from Sherlock.
"John, you amaze me. You know what happened?"
"Not a clue. It's just you normally say that at this point."
"Hm," Sherlock hummed with a smile, getting up and kissing Sam on the cheek just to watch her flounder as he made to get on his coat. "Well then, let's help you solve your little problem, Greg."
Lestrade looked to Sam and John in shock. "You hear that?"
"I know!" John played up as if he and Sam hadn't helped Sherlock with the man's name. "Sam, you need help with anything?"
Sam sighed, pulling on her coat. "No, John. I'm not an invalid. Lestrade, can Ein come too?"
"Uh, what?"
Sam pointed to the Spaniel now seated eagerly at her ankles as she grabbed her wallet and keys, eyeing the red leash hanging by the door. "He's well behaved, mild-mannered, good with strangers, and we've been working on sniffer training."
"Um, well…" Lestrade took one look at the dog and was quick to give in at the sight of those big brown eyes. "Yes, all right, fine. But you're gonna need to get him certified if it's going to be an ongoing thing. I can put you in touch with someone on the K9 unit if you want."
"Sounds great. Thanks, Greg," she smiled, hooking the excited dog to his leash as be bounced happily at her side.
John gave Lestrade a comforting pat on the back as the man sighed. "Couldn't say no to the eyes?"
"Not in the least."
John chuckled as they headed downstairs. "Tell me about it."
"Speaking of, how's it going then, fatherhood?" Lestrade asked with a knowing smirk.
"Oh, good. Great! Yeah, amazing."
"Getting any sleep?"
"Christ, no."
Lestrade smiled down at Sherlock, wanting to get back at the man for being, well, him. "You're at the beck and call of a screaming, demanding baby. Woken up all hours to obey his every whim. Must feel very different."
"I'm sorry, what?" Sherlock frowned, getting the feeling that they weren't exactly talking about Rosamund.
"Yes, well, you know how it is," John added, unable to help joining in. "All you do is clean up their mess, pat them on the head."
"Are you two having a little joke?" Sherlock accused.
"Never a word of thanks," John went on as Sam rolled her eyes. "Can't even tell people's faces apart."
"This is a joke, isn't it?"
"Then it's all, 'Ooh, aren't you clever? You're so clever!'" Lestrade drawled.
"Is it about me?" Sherlock asked, looking to Sam.
"I think he needs winding," Lestrade chuckled.
"You know, I think that really might be it."
"No, I don't get it."
"All right, enough you lot," Sam huffed with a small smile. "Unless you want him asking about it the whole trip."
Ein barked once at her side and she shushed him, earning a sit and tail wag in return as the excited dog did as she asked. She smiled, clicking a small snapper in her hand and giving the pup a treat before nodding to the cop car.
"Shall we?"
"So, how trained is he?" Lestrade asked, curious about the obviously loyal pup as they piled into his car and Ein hopped on Sam's lap.
"About as trained as you can get at his age. Knows the basics, knows a handful of tricks, some simple things like fetch and I'm pretty sure Sherlock's the one who taught him to shush."
Sherlock hummed. "It was necessary if he was going to be working with us on more sensitive cases where stealth is required."
Sam gave Lestrade a pointed look. "See? Between the two of us, and how clever and eager he is, Ein's learned quite a bit. I've started doing sniffer dog training at home and will get him certified as a service dog before the end of the month. I'll see about your other certification after that. I know how finicky the law can get about animals on crime scenes."
The group pulled up to the house then and stepped onto the drive, Lestrade giving a word of warning.
"Charlie's family are pretty cut up about it, as you'd expect, so go easy on them, yeah?"
"You know me."
Lestrade sighed, looking past him to Sam as he gestured vaguely at Sherlock. "You'll uh, keep him under control?"
Sam cracked a small smile at Sherlock's miffed expression. "I'll try."
John had answered a Skype call from Mary just then, rattling off the groceries he'd gotten for Rosamund, but the ex-spy was quick to wave him off.
"Yeah, never mind about that. Where are you now? At the dead boy's house?"
"Yeah."
"And what do they think? Any theories?"
Sam leaned over. "Am I being included in this? That's nice."
"You're the one with all the answers, but you're just as clever as Sherlock, dear. Don't deny that or I'll head down there myself to give you a right knockabout."
"Noted," Sam muttered as John eyed the phone warily.
"Uh, well, I texted you the details."
"Yeah, two different types of vinyl."
Sherlock, ever impatient, snatched the phone from John. "How do you know about that?"
"Oh, you'd be amazed at what a receptionist picks up. They know everything."
"Solved it then?"
"I'm working on it," Mary replied with a smile.
"Oh, Mary. Motherhood's slowing you down."
"Pig," she huffed. "Sam, teach him some manners."
Sam rolled her eyes. "Why is everyone trying to get me to control him? It's not that easy, you know. Ein's a better listener than he is."
Said dog perked up at the sound of his name, earning a scratch behind his ears as Sherlock handed the phone back to John.
"So, what about it, then? What? An empty car that suddenly has a week-old corpse in it? And what are you gonna call this one?"
John hummed as they walked into the home. "Ooh, the… uh, The Ghost Driver."
"Don't give it a title," Sherlock grumbled, stopping in the hall.
"People like the titles."
"I hate the titles."
John wasn't bothered, knowing Sherlock's opinion on his blog. "Give the people what they want."
"No, never do that. People are stupid."
"Uh, some people," Mary corrected him, making Sherlock lean over to look in the camera.
"All people are stupid… Most people," he ended up correcting when Sam cleared her throat, giving her a small smile and fond touch of the hand that went unnoticed by the others.
"Bizarre enough though, isn't it? To be him?" Lestrade mused. "I mean, it's right up your strasse."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and entered the room where the Welsboroughs were seated, shaking their hands. "Mr. and Mrs. Welsborough. I am most terribly sorry to hear about your—"
"Son," Sam cut in, trying to move things along and knowing how Sherlock was in social settings. "Sorry. And I hope you don't mind Ein here. We're hoping to get him used to working cases."
Ein sat happily at Sam's side, earning small smiles from the Welsboroughs.
"Oh, no. That's fine. Always wanted a dog around the house," the woman smiled as Sam lightly nudged Sherlock away from them so Lestrade could do the talking.
"Mr. and Mrs. Welsborough, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
"Thank you very much for coming," David Welsborough said. "We've heard a great deal about you. If anyone can throw any light into this darkness, surely it will be you."
"I believe that I… can…" Sherlock's gaze was drawn away, brows furrowed as David went on.
"But Charlie was our whole world, Mr. Holmes. I—"
"Sherlock?" John questioned, seeing his attention was diverted and David paused.
"Mr. Holmes?"
Sam stepped on Sherlock's foot, drawing his attention back with a short gasp.
"Sorry. You were saying?"
David only hesitated a moment before trying again. "Well, Charlie was our whole world, Mr. Holmes. I… I don't think we'll ever get over this."
"No, I—" Sherlock grimaced when Sam stomped on his foot again due to the distraction making him a little more indifferent than usual.
"Sorry, do you mind if we just step over here for a minute?" She apologized to the Welsboroughs. "We need a word."
David nodded, a little confused, but Sam took Sherlock towards the table he'd been so distracted by, with a huff.
"You know, you could just ask about the damn thing instead of making things so awkward."
"That's what I have you for," Sherlock cracked a smirk as John joined them, leaving Lestrade to apologize for the group's oddities.
"Don't get cheeky with me now."
"Now, what's wrong?" John asked, a bit concerned with how the two were acting.
"Not sure," Sherlock replied. "'By the pricking of my thumbs.'"
John scoffed. "Seriously? You?"
"Intuitions are not to be ignored, John. They represent data processed too fast for the conscious mind to comprehend." Sherlock pointed at the table and turned to David, who was fondly patting Ein as the dog comforted his wife. "What is this?"
"Oh, it's a sort of shrine, I suppose, really." David got up and headed over to explain. "Bit of a fan of Mrs. T. Big hero of mine when I was getting started."
"Right," Sherlock smiled politely, pulling out his magnifying glass and looking at the various items on the table as Sam leaned down and whispered to him.
"It's Margaret Thatcher. First female prime minister."
"Right," he muttered, glad she'd told him before he questioned them about it. "…Prime minister?"
Sam rolled her eyes. "Leader of government in Britain. Basically, your brother's boss."
"Ah… female?"
John, who had overheard their whispering as David returned to his wife, hissed at him too. "For God's sake, you know perfectly well who she is. Why are you playing for time?"
"It's the gap," Sherlock explained. "Look at the gap. It's wrong. Everything else is perfectly ordered, managed. This whole thing's verging on OCD." Sherlock turned slightly, speaking up for the Welsboroughs to hear. "My respects. This figurine is routinely repositioned after the cleaner's been in. This picture's straightened every day, yet this ugly gap remains. Something's missing from here, but only recently."
"Yes, a—"
"Plaster bust."
"—plaster bust."
"Oh, for God's sake. It got broken," his wife Emma snapped, calming only because Ein pressed his head further into her lap. "What does this have to do with Charlie?"
"Rug!" Sherlock called out, ignoring her complaints as Sam sighed in exasperation.
She knew it was necessary for Sherlock to work this out, but he could just inform the Welsboroughs of their son and get back to the bust afterward, couldn't he?
"What?"
"Well, how could it get broken? The only place for it to fall is the floor, and there is a big thick rug."
"Does it matter?"
"Mrs. Welsborough, my apologies. It is worth letting him do this," John tried to comfort her, and she huffed, muttering to Ein about how mad Sherlock was.
Sam was silently glad she'd brought the spaniel. He seemed to be helping in keeping Emma calm while Sherlock got his fix.
"Look, no, we had a break-in," David explained to Sherlock. "Some little bastard smashed it to bits. We found the remains out there in the porch."
Sherlock perked up. "The porch where we came in?"
"How could anybody hate her so much, they'd go through the trouble of smashing her likeness," David muttered.
"I'm no expert but, uh, possibly her face?" Sherlock tried to help, causing John to close his eyes with a soft sigh. "Why didn't he smash all the others? Perfect opportunity and look at that one. She's smiling in that one."
Emma, a little fed up, looked to Lestrade. "Oh, Inspector. This is clearly a waste of time. I mean, if there's nothing more—"
"I know what happened to your son," Sherlock and Sam said at the same time, making the woman stop.
"You do?"
"Yes," Sam said before Sherlock could make a snarky comment. "But if you could just answer his questions about the break-in?"
Emma hesitated, but reluctantly nodded and Sherlock grinned.
"The night of the break-in. This room was in darkness?"
"Well, yes," David answered.
"And the porch where it was smashed. I noticed the motion sensor was damaged, so I assume it's permanently lit."
"How'd you notice that?" Lestrade questioned.
"I lack the arrogance to ignore details. I'm not the police," Sherlock huffed, earning a small frown from Sam.
"Behave."
John jumped in then. "So, you're saying he smashed it where he could see it."
"Exactly," Sherlock replied, glad someone was keeping up.
"Why?"
"Dunno. Wouldn't be fun if I knew. Don't know how you handle it, Sam."
"Patience," she replied, looking to Emma who was about ready to burst into tears. "Your son wasn't in Tibet."
"W-What?"
Sherlock explained. "The first part of your conversation was, in fact, pre-recorded video. Easily arranged. The trick was meant to be a surprise."
"Trick?"
"Charlie was trying to prank you. In a good way," Sam hastily said.
"There were two types of vinyl in the burnt-out remains of the car," Sherlock rattled on. "One the actual passenger seat, the other a good copy. Well, good enough. Effectively a costume."
"You're joking," David murmured in disbelief.
"He wanted to surprise you when you went to go look at his car. The surprise being that he was actually there for your party," Sam explained. "But he was unwell, wasn't he?"
"I think Charlie must have suffered some sort of a seizure," Sherlock hummed. "He died there and then. No one had any cause to go near his car, so there he remains in the driver's seat, hidden until the accident with the drunk driver. When the two cars were examined, the fake seat had melted in the fire, revealing Charlie, who's been sitting there quite dead for a week."
Emma burst into tears as David reached over to comfort her and Ein whined softly at her feet.
"Poor kid," Lestrade muttered as Sherlock strolled out quickly with Sam giving a soft summons to Ein to follow.
Lestrade and John caught up with them later as Sherlock examined the porch where the bust had been smashed.
"That was amazing!" Lestrade commented.
"What?"
"The car, the kid."
"Ancient history. Why are you still talking about it?" Sherlock complained.
"What's so important about a broken bust of Margaret Thatcher?" John asked then, noticing how Sherlock's mind had hardly been interested in the Welsborough case.
"Can't stand it. Never can. There's a loose thread in the world," Sherlock grumbled, getting up from his crouched position as John sighed.
"Yeah, doesn't mean you have to pull on it."
"Wouldn't be Sherlock if he didn't," Sam hummed as Sherlock puffed up proudly.
"What kind of a life would that be? Besides, I have the strangest feeling…" Sherlock looked to Sam who groaned.
"Oh, no. You're not getting an answer out of me. I don't care what you bribe me with."
"I'll walk Ein for the next week."
"No."
"Two weeks."
"I actually enjoy our walks, thanks. So, no."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, looking her over for a sign of weakness. "I'll buy you custard creams for the next month."
Sam hesitated, earning a disbelieving look from John.
"Really? You're willing to give him hints over biscuits?"
"Custard creams and you're required to sleep—on a bed—at least twice a week for this case."
Sherlock scowled. "You know I don't sleep on cases."
"I also know what this case is going to do to you, so take it or leave it." Sam folded her arms over her chest, smirking. "I'll even give you two hints."
Sherlock contemplated the offer, before finally giving in. "Deal." He held out his hand, curling his fingers. "Give it."
Sam rolled her eyes with a sigh, handing over the pack of cigarettes she'd had tucked away in her boot, making an even more confused John blink.
"What—But—I-I thought you were going to give him a hint."
"Two hints," Sam huffed. "But he knows I wouldn't offer up that much information unless I was hoping he'd overlook something."
"You're getting too easy to read."
"Yes, I know," she grumbled, glancing at the black cab that pulled up the end of the drive. "The bust is important, but not for the reason you're thinking. You want answers, look into what was special about that bust. Why that one in particular? Why break into a home just to smash that item and nothing else? Ignore him for now. You won't need to worry about him until later. This is about someone else."
Sherlock nodded, tipping his head back as he contemplated what she said. "And the second hint?"
"Nothing is what it seems and don't underestimate anyone."
Sherlock raised a brow. "Bit dramatic."
Sam rolled her eyes. "I can't give you details, you know. I'm just saying that you should be careful. Not everything is as clear cut as it seems and the people you're going to deal with on this case aren't exactly predictable. If you want more than that, then you're just going to have to wa—"
Sherlock pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, making her face flame red as he smirked. "Thank you, Sam."
"Y-You're not going to be able to silence me every time with that you know!" Sam called at his retreating back as Sherlock lifted a hand in a wave and John snorted.
"Yeah, he wil—Oof!"
Sam retracted the fist she'd punched John in the stomach with, shooting him a dirty look. "You won't say a word, or I'll retract all babysitting duties for the next week."
"R-Right. Sorry."
I panted, having just finished my jog with Ein and strolling up to Baker Street, pulling out my keys and opening the door. On the landing just outside our flat, I blinked in surprise at the two officers standing there.
"Oh, hi there, Sam, Ein. How are you?" Lestrade smiled, kneeling down to pet an excited Ein.
"Uh, fine, I suppose." I glanced between the two, before remembering what was going on. "Sherlock in with a client?"
"Yup," Lestrade hummed as I shuffled my feet on the landing with them.
"Right. Um, what's your name again?"
The woman shot me a small look of annoyance, but we had only met once via one of Sherlock's video chats.
"Detective Inspector Hopkins."
"Right. You're here about the—"
"Borgia Pearl," she cut me off, and I winced.
"Yeah, you might want to just go."
"Excuse me."
I pointed to the door where we could overhear Sherlock going on one of his tirades. "He's in a bit of a mood lately. Only wants the really interesting and that is… well, not."
"And who are you to—"
"Look," I cut her off, a bit exasperated with her at the moment. "I'm trying to be polite. If you want, I'll look into it later, but you really should go. Unless you like getting yelled at by him as he slams the door in your face. Then, by all means, stick around."
Lestrade gave the woman a small shrug when she looked to him for help and I made for the door. "She's right, you know. If anyone knows Sherlock, it's her. She's dating him."
"What?"
I groaned. "Did John already spread word to the precinct?"
Lestrade chuckled. "A bit, yeah. It's all legal though, so you won't be hearing any complaints from me."
"Of course, it's legal," I huffed, annoyed. "Is he in?"
"Yup."
"Good. We're going to have a talk."
Yet, my talk with John was going to have to wait, because when I entered the flat, Sherlock was going off at the poor client seated across from him and a balloon.
"Tomorrow the US president will be at the embassy as part of an official state visit. As the president greets members of staff, Greta Bengtsdotter, disguised as a twenty-two stone cleaner, will inject the president in the back of the neck with a dangerous new drug hidden inside a secret compartment inside her padded armpit. This drug will then render the president entirely susceptible to the will of their new master, none other than James Moriarty."
"What?"
"Moriarty will then use the president as a pawn to destabilize the United Nations General Assembly which is due to vote on a nuclear non-proliferation treaty, tipping the balance in favor of a first-strike policy against Russia. This chain of events will then prove unstoppable, thus precipitating World War Three."
John chuckled a little nervously from the kitchen. "Are you serious?"
"No, of course not. His wife left him because his breath stinks and he likes to wear her lingerie," Sherlock huffed, getting up and pulling the door further open as the man fidgeted.
"I don't…! Just the bras," he finally admitted.
"Get out," Sherlock ordered, shooing him out the door before closing it as I raised a brow at him.
"Having fun?"
"A bit," he replied with a wrinkle of his nose.
John looked between us confused as Sherlock kissed my temple—something he'd become fond of doing either for my reaction or I'd somehow changed him that much. No, definitely to watch me blush. He wouldn't change that dramatically just because we're dating.
"Sorry, what?" John asked. "Having fun?"
"While I can," Sherlock responded as Lestrade stepped in, earning a curious brow from me.
"She left," he informed me as I sat on the sofa and began to remove my trainers.
"I could only hope so. He really would have just shooed her out."
"Who?" John asked and I held up a finger.
"Sherlock?"
"Hm?"
"Borgia Pearl."
Sherlock scoffed. "Boring."
"See?" I smirked, earning a small smile in return from Lestrade as Sherlock turned his gaze to him.
"This better be good."
"Oh, I think you'll like it."
"He will," I piped in, making Sherlock perk up a bit at my hint.
"Right," Lestrade muttered, reaching into a paper bag he had and pulling out an evidence bag with white plaster chunks in it.
"That is the bust, isn't it?" John questioned. "The one that was broken."
"No, it isn't. It's another one. Different owner, different part of town. You were right. This is a… This is a thing. Something's going on." Lestrade smiled, only to see Sherlock's expression. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be pleased."
"I am pleased."
"You don't look pleased."
"He is," I hummed, patting Lestrade's arm as I passed to get some water from the kitchen. "This is his game face."
"And the game is on," Sherlock mused, moving into the kitchen and sliding past me as he went to look at the pieces under his microscope.
"Another two have been smashed since the Welsborough one," Lestrade explained, mostly to John and I, since we were listening. "One belonging to Mr. Mohandes Hassan—"
"Identical busts?"
"Yeah. And this one to a Dr. Barnicot in Holborn. Three in total. God knows who'd wanna do something like this."
"Everyone has a purpose," I mused, setting down a mug of coffee for Sherlock as I sipped at my water and fed Ein.
"She's right," John agreed. "Some people have that complex, don't they? An idée fixe. They obsess over one thing and they can't let it go."
"No, no good," Sherlock argued. "There were other images of Margaret… Margaret?"
John sighed. "You know who she is."
"…Thatcher present at the first break-in," Sherlock continued as though he hadn't interrupted himself. "Why would a monomaniac fixate on just one? Ooh."
"What?" John asked as Sherlock picked up a piece of plaster and put it under the microscope to look at it better.
"Blood. Quite a bit of it, too. Was there any injury at the crime scene?"
"Nah," Lestrade waved off, checking his watch for the second time before I sighed.
"You can go, Lestrade."
"What?"
"You've got a date, don't you?"
He went wide-eyed. "How did you—"
"You've anxiously checked your watch twice within the last few minutes," I deduced, pointing at it. "I've seen that look on John's face before when he's worried about being late for a date. We're not going to solve the case in the next few hours. Go. I'll text you if anything comes up."
Lestrade hesitated, before nodding with a smile. "You're becoming more like him," he said, pointing to Sherlock. "Except without all the… the annoying bits."
I too cracked a small smile. "Have fun."
"I will."
"He won't," Sherlock argued, earning a small smack from me as Lestrade hurried out. "Why did you hit me?"
"You were being rude, and he's going out with Molly. I think it will go fine."
"Molly?" Sherlock questioned with a wrinkle of his nose.
"Shut up. I'm the one who set them up."
John looked surprised. "Really?"
I shrugged, leaning back against the counter in the kitchen. "What? Two people who have dealt with Sherlock and his cases their whole lives, who struggle with social cues and interactions on dates, and were eyeing each other at the Christmas party a few years ago? I think they'll work out fine."
"Well, I just never thought…"
"It helps Molly has a thing for silver foxes, but you didn't hear that from me."
Sherlock stood up then, heading for the door. "Come on. Sam, grab Ein."
"On it," I hummed, looking to the dog who stretched in the living room. "Ein, walk?"
Despite just returning from a jog, the energetic pup perked up immediately and bounded over to me as I got his leash and harness.
"Hold on, where are we going?" John questioned.
"Lambeth," said Sherlock.
"Lambeth?"
"To see Toby."
"Ah, right… Who?"
"You'll see."
"Right. Why are we bringing Ein?"
"He might learn something." Sherlock paused, eyeing the dog for a second. "Or, he might be just as helpful depending on Toby's mood."
"He's doing well with his training," I informed Sherlock, who grinned.
"Excellent. Come on!"
On the way, Sherlock began to explain to them more about how he came to know Toby mostly for John's benefit since it appeared that Sam already knew about the dog. He was curious why she looked to be interested in the story then, choosing to brush the thought aside for now as they approached the flat he wanted and knocked, a young man answering the door.
"All right, Craig?"
"All right, Sherlock," the man smiled in return as Sherlock smiled at Toby who'd stepped out from behind him.
"Craig's got a dog!"
John blinked at the bloodhound as Ein stretched to the end of his leash to meet the friendly dog. "So, I see."
"Good boy!" Sherlock smiled, watching the interaction between the two in order to ensure there was no hostility from either dog's end.
Sam had been sure to take Ein to dog parks and such, so the spaniel was well acquainted with friendly meetings between other dogs, but he wasn't sure Toby got as much experience. Thankfully, their meeting was going well, and Ein was already jumping at the dog's shoulder in an attempt to play.
"Ein, behave," Sam sighed with a fond smile as Toby struggled to figure out what to do with the pup now nipping at his floppy ears.
"Hiya!" Mary chirped, stepping out from behind Craig with baby Rosamund, surprising John.
"Mary, what are you…" He hastily held up his hands as she stepped out. "No. W-We agreed we would never bring Rosie out on a case."
"No, exactly. So," she passed the baby to John, "don't wait up. Hey, Sherlock, Sam."
"Hey."
"Hello," Sam smiled, getting Ein to begrudgingly back off the poor stunned Toby and wait at her feet as patiently as a fidgeting spaniel could. "Good boy, Ein. Don't worry, we'll be going soon."
The pup gave a small whine, desperately wanting to play with the newly discovered friend, but knowing that he had to be patient if he wanted any treats or playtime.
"But, Mary, what are you doing here?" John continued to question in disbelief.
"She's better at this than you," Sherlock answered, hooking Toby up to a leash.
"Better?"
"So, I texted her, under Sam's persuasion."
John whipped around to Sam, who held up a hand.
"Sorry. I saw he bought the good ice cream a-and thought he might deserve another hint. This case is rather important to Mary, believe it or not."
"But, hang on. Mary's better than me?"
"Well…"
Sherlock didn't have as many qualms about informing John as Sam did. "She is a retired super-agent with a terrifying skill set. Of course, she's better."
"Yeah, okay."
"Nothing personal."
"What? So, I'm supposed to just go home now, am I?"
"Oh, what do you think, Sherlock? Shall we take him with us?" Mary teased.
"John or the dog?"
John pouted. "Ha, ha. That's funny."
"John," Mary clarified."
"Well…"
"He's handy and loyal."
"That's hilarious. Sam? Do something."
"Me? It's your wife."
"And your boyfriend."
"Again, I can't control him you know."
"Oh, and I can control her? Is it too early for a divorce?" He grumbled jokingly.
"Aw," Mary pouted as Sherlock got everyone back on task.
"Barnicot's house then. Anyone up for a trudge? Keep up. He's fast."
Toby barked and off they went, only to stop near a red telephone booth on a corner and not move.
"He's not moving," John said, Mary holding the leash now.
"He's thinking," Sherlock argued as Sam reached down and scratched Ein behind the ears as the pup shifted anxiously at her feet.
Mary did much the same for Toby as the dog whined.
"He's really not moving," John repeated.
"Slow but sure, John, not dissimilar to yourself."
"You just like this dog, don't you?"
"In comparison to Ein? Absolutely not." Sherlock gave Sam a look. "I do believe I was the one who disagreed on bloodhounds as a pet, was I not?"
"He was," Sam shrugged. "Between the size, the health problems, stubbornness and the fact that they're big droolers, Ein was definitely a better choice."
"See? Besides, I like you, don't I?" Sherlock joked as even Mary joined in.
"He's still not moving."
"Fascinating," Sherlock responded, and Mary threw her head back with a sigh.
"Shall we give Ein a go then?" Sam offered. "He's getting a bit anxious."
"Well, all right," Sherlock gave in, pulling out the bloodied piece of bust and holding it up as he stepped before Ein to get the dog's attention. "Ein, sniff."
Ein practically inhaled the plaster piece Sherlock offered, before Sherlock stepped out of the way, giving the dog a moment before Sam got the go-ahead.
"Ein, seek!"
Ein stood, dropping his head down to the ground for a moment before sniffing the air and giving off a resounding bark before running forward. Sam was quick to follow with the others as John called out near the back.
"Let's hope he knows what he's doing!"
Soon, both dogs were rushing about, sniffing the air and the ground to try and track down the scent.
"Well, what do you make of it?" Sherlock asked Mary as they jogged to keep up with the two dogs, discussing the case in the meantime.
"They were looking for something," she replied.
"Yes, but it wasn't a burglar. They came specifically for that Thatcher bust. Why?"
The dogs began to slow then, pulling to a stop inside the Borough Marketplace where butchers were strolling past and blood littered the ground. Confused, the two dogs sniffed the air to try and catch the scent, but there was no hope and Sam sighed.
"Dead end."
"Clever," Sherlock countered as Sam praised Ein with one of his favorite treats and a bit of play on a tug toy while Mary gave Toby a fond scratch behind the ears for his attempt.
"Well, if you were wounded and you knew you were leaving a trail, where would you go?" Mary hummed.
"Like hiding a tree in a forest."
"Of blood in a butchers." Sherlock knelt down and pat Toby. "Never mind, Toby. Better luck next time, hm? And you, Ein."
Ein perked up at the sound of his name and Sam handed Sherlock the tug toy, giving him a go at praising the dog for a job well done. They had agreed, after all, to both give praise and punishment, or the dog would choose favorites and that wasn't an option in their home.
"What a good boy you are, eh? A sleuth yourself, if I've ever seen one," Sherlock remarked, letting the pup bite at the toy for a bit before giving it back to Sam. "Good work."
Sam shrugged, though unable to help a small proud smile. "I knew case stuff was going to come up and used some of your experiments from the fridge to get him used to cadaver and blood scents."
Sherlock smirked. "Like I said, good work. This is it though. This is the one. I can feel it."
"Not Moriarty," John muttered in disbelief.
"It has to be him. It's too bizarre. It's too baroque," Sherlock said, looking around the market with an excited look, missing Sam's small frown of disappointment. "It's designed to beguile me, tease me, lure me in. At last—a noose for me to put my neck into."
Sam let out a soft sigh as he started to walk off and Mary and John exchanged worried looks, only for him to suddenly snap back around.
"And yet, you said—you warned me." Sherlock jabbed a finger at the surprised Sam. "You specifically said, things are not as they seem."
"W-Well, yeah."
"This case is not as it seems."
"…Yeah," she muttered, trying to see if he had figured it out this early or not.
It could potentially be problematic if he did, but she didn't believe so. He was going to find out when the next bust broke anyway, and that wasn't too far away.
"You said this was important to Mary."
Sam resisted the urge to stiffen or have her fingers twitch for the cigarettes she didn't have on her at the moment. "I did."
Sherlock began to smirk. "And now you're resisting the urge to give anything away. I told you, you're getting too easy," he murmured, leaning in and making Sam clench her teeth as red began to creep up her neck.
"Um, sorry. What are you going on about?" John interrupted, earning a smack from Mary.
"John!"
"W-What?"
"They were having a moment!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, taking a step back from Sam who let out a soft sigh of relief. She didn't think she could handle him kissing her on the lips in this sort of public environment. It was bad enough that she turned tomato red just from a kiss on the cheek in the comfort of their own flat.
"This case isn't about Moriarty," Sherlock concluded, nodding to Mary. "It's about your wife. You, Mary."
"Me?" Mary's eyes widened, looking to Sam. "You don't mean…"
Sam hesitated but nodded slowly. "This is where it starts."
"That's why your hint was not to underestimate my opponent," Sherlock deduced. "We're not dealing with some average criminal. Not even a criminal mastermind. We're dealing with a super-agent." Sherlock's smirk widened even more. "Oh, it's Christmas."