TheDarkestShinobi: I'm not going to do all 30, that would make this story reeeeeaaaally long. Enjoy!
"This is all you have?" Lestrade nods as he turns back to Sherlock, who is reading the information in the files.
"This was before I was here, so I don't even have anything to help you with." Sherlock waves his hand
"Memories are unreliable," Sherlock frowns as he looks back to the folder. "I could do so much better given the crime scene"
John is watching the live feed with Jim and frowns. He thought Sherlock would have more information. Did he give him too little time?
"These words exactly, John." Jim starts and John looks up from the feed to the other.
"You want me to text him?" Jim doesn't answer and John takes it as a yes.
"I can give you a new crime scene and not an imitation." Jim nods and John sends it, adding a JW to the end as a signature.
A few seconds later Sherlock, as seen through the footage, reaches into his coat pocket. Jim pulls up his arm and glances at his bare wrist.
"It should be done now." He says to himself before squeezing John's shoulder. "Now send him this address." Jim shoots off an address and John sends it over.
"John has sent us a new crime scene," Sherlock spins the phone in his hand. "Not an imitation."
"Where?" Resignation coats the DI's words. Sherlock's phone chirps in response and he turns it towards Lestrade.
"That's close, let's go." Lestrade grabs his coat. "DONAVAN!" He shouts as he leaves the office. Sherlock pauses a second before looking directly into the camera Jim planted. He looks as if he's about to speak but just shakes his head and walks out.
"Good." Jim praises as he leans back in his chair. John reaches over to his bag behind him, one he took from Jim, and pulls out a folder.
"Figuring out #2?" Jim asks as he shifts closer, even though he knows the answer. John doesn't answer and starts skimming the document again.
"Need help?" he asks in a tone that John would peg as teasing. John doesn't want to admit it, so he won't for now.
Jim simply pulls out a file of his own before sneering and making a phone call, threatening to start a war before the other could even get back into his country.
Try not to start a war before I get home Mycroft, you know what it does to the traffic.
John smiled and shook his head at the memory before Jim hung up the phone and sat down next to him. John's pencil tapped the folder before Jim leaned over and pointed to the date on top as if helping him cheat on a primary school test. That thought made John stifle snickers before he reigned himself in and checked the date.
"That's tomorrow." Jim looks away and shifts, resting his back against John's side as he starts texting and John saw the contact listed as The Vixen before the screen went black. Jim pulls up another conversation with a contact called The Coward. Much like the name would suggest, the message was one begging for forgiveness and not to hurt him. Jim shook his head; the motion feeling odd against John's shoulder.
"Now, now, I won't hurt you." Jim smirks and John's eyebrow shoots up. "Never liked guns," he says in explanation to John. "But someone else will." He looks up as John looks down and John swears the consulting criminal is now 5 years old. He changes so quickly John has to wonder if he's got a disorder. "Do you think I need new shoes, a purse or some paper?"
"Shoes?" There is a smile on his face as he responds, even though he tried hard not to.
"Mmm." Another conversation is pulled up, to a contact called Moran, and Jim sends a text saying 'Coward; shoes' and John's smile disappears.
I will turn you into shoes.
"Did I just…" the question dies on his lips and Jim doesn't answer. John takes it as a yes and he feels the need to throw up. He stands quickly and Jim falls back until his head hits the armrest, texting away as if it didn't matter. John starts walking out when Jim's voice stops him.
"You've killed people."
"Yes," John answers back, but the situation was different.
"You've killed people more innocent than he. He ordered the massacre of 500 people." Jim speaks and John's fingers alternate touching his palm. "I told him not to, but he thinks that they can honestly cause an uprising in his country." Jim shrugs and grimaces. "Idiot." The last part is said hatefully. John turns fully to Jim now.
It doesn't make it better, it doesn't.
"In fact." His voice is high and excited. "This massacre is going to cause the other villages to unite and overthrow the rest of his dictatorship."
"And you're helping?"
"My interests just happen to be the same this time." He crossed his legs at the ankle. "Just like my interest is getting those 30 people back."
"Why?" John is walking back towards Jim, who has put his phone down. He just shakes his head with a smile that was sin. He then sat up and swung his legs around so that he was sitting properly on the couch.
"Now, do you want help?"
…
The twins were both 34 years old, much older than the 21 year olds in the first case. Both naked and positioned in a way that made them look like fetus intertwined in the womb. Sherlock walks around the bodies as Donavan calls it in and lowers himself to the ground pulling out a magnifying glass.
"Too easy." Sherlock announces as he uses a pair of tweezers to grab a single blonde hair. He places it in a bag before giving it to Lestrade and walking around the bodies again. The elder twin was married, almost 10 years, happily. The younger was single, or not in a serious relationship at the time due to the tired clubbers eyes and the makeup caked to her face, and the wrinkles on her heel. The tan line on her finger is almost completely faded, so recently divorced or widowed, likely divorced given recent habits of hers.
Both of them were strangled with a cord, the same cord now used to tie them together. Sherlock tilted his head. The divorcee was a teacher and the other a therapist. He trailed his eyes up her dark skin and landed on her lips. They were taped shut. That's new.
He left when the others arrived, his work was done for now. There were 15 hours left, they would have results soon enough.
…
"Who does the blonde hair belong to?" John asks as Jim walks into his room. John accepts the takeaway bag and starts pulling out his food.
"Not the murderess."
"A woman?" John's tone could not be more surprised and Jim laughed.
"Men don't have a monopoly on murder. Women are quite creative and usually much more accepting of help." John shakes his head as Jim's phone buzzes. He pulls a face and ignores it. John shoves a forkful of chicken and rice into his mouth and Jim does the same with his own. Jim's phone buzzes again and he pulls it out to glance at it.
"Mr. Moriarty, I have heard of your elusive services and am in need of help." He reads out, and then "It's urgent." Jim makes a face and John does not want to talk about any death or murder or shoes while he's eating so he takes the phone from Jim's hand and puts it in his pocket.
"Eating is urgent." He points at Jim's food with his fork and continues to eat; Jim laughs at the absurdity nods before picking his fork back up.
Jim knows this is going to be a slow process, but it's moving along quite nicely.
…
Mycroft pulls out his phone to read his new text, which is simply 'open the door' from an unknown number. He frowns before shaking his head and replacing the phone. He walks over to the door and opens it to see no one, and then, out of sheer curiosity, he walks to the main entrance and opens that.
"Mycroft." Lestrade says in greeting and Mycroft is confused but opens the door further.
"Detective Inspector." Lestrade takes two steps in and notices all of the others sitting in the room, so he lets Mycroft lead him to an office. "We can talk in here," he starts, but he never gets to finish because, for the second time in a week, he is floored by a punch to the face.
"Before I have you thrown in prison." Mycroft begins as he stands, and Lestrade is barely controlling himself, the twitching of his hand making that evident. "I'll give you one minute to explain why you thought this your best course of action." Mycroft's hand is rubbing his jaw but other than that, he remains unaffected, outwardly. Lestrade lets out a deep breath.
"John is sending Sherlock to solve murders and is threatening to blow people up if Sherlock fails or is too slow." Lestrade crosses his arms and Mycroft lowers his. "If John is with Moriarty, you have to know." Mycroft begins to speak but Lestrade hold up a hand and shoots Mycroft a dirty look. "Don't, just don't. I'm not stupid; I know how the world works." Mycroft lets a small political smile grace his face.
"So why are you here?"
"You let John go to Moriarty." Mycroft shook his head and Lestrade's fingers thrummed against his bicep.
"No, I made him." Lestrade's fingers tightened on his biceps.
"WHAT?" He was moving towards Mycroft.
"I made John serve under Moriarty for a short while; it was part of a bargain." Mycroft spoke slowly. "Apparently, at the end of the bargain, John chose to stay."
"I want to punch you again." Lestrade confesses.
"I assure you that will end with you in prison." Mycroft has a neutral expression on his face but he still takes a step back.
"John wouldn't just jump ship like that. He was a soldier for Christ's sake, he's all about Queen and country."
"I don't know." Mycroft admits as he watches Lestrade for an outburst. "But we know Moriarty has made no threat against us since then, and watching John proves troubling." He pauses "as far as we can tell, John is a willing participant in all of this."