TheDarkestShinobi: No real words, just… sorry this took so long.
Sherlock ignores the frequent buzzing in his pockets. He will not be on Lestrade's leash. He doesn't need anyone helping him with this. No. John is on the other side of the phone, and as he's proved time and time again, he will help Sherlock if Sherlock needs it. Has he? Sherlock stops that train of thought immediately. John is good. John is still his good man. Sherlock talks to the ball as if it were his skull or John as he picks the lock to her old room and stands on the edge watching, waiting for the puzzle to come together.
She's clearly into her sport, and the fact that she's got trophies neatly lining the floor speaks a lot for her financial status and love for the sport. He takes a step in. The uniform in her closet is hand washed. He spots the football on her bed. The number is starting to smudge but the rest of it has been scrubbed white. He lifts it and turns it. She played with it a few times, but stopped. Sentiment.
Not a secret admirer or even an admirer. He was her boyfriend. Quite serious. Sherlock puts the ball down and steps out of the room. He walks past the kitchen and stops. Three spots used often, but the man is a teenager and not an adult. Older brother then. Sherlock spins and goes to the brother's room. He's definitely involved in gang activity, drugs; Sherlock sees the signs of covering it up. He recognizes them and pales to think he was once so obvious in his attempts to hide them. But drugs did that; intense focus in one area. He shakes his head and leaves, there is nothing more that this place can tell him.
His phone buzzes again and he lets out an aggravated sigh as he digs it out. He scrolls through the numerous messages from Lestrade with a roll of his eyes. He settles on the last one.
We're coming up now. Clear out and I'll pretend you weren't there. -GL
Sherlock tilts his head and lets his lips come up quickly. That is interesting. He smooths down his scarf as he spins closing the door behind him. He taps the ball as he scans the hall to find the best place to retreat to. When he spots it he moves quickly. Sherlock takes a few steps down the hall and slips into a closet. He hears the police pass by and grins. He can work like this. He takes out his phone and before he's able to figure out why he's giving Lestrade the information he's hit send. Is this his own sentiment? Gratitude?
The admirer is her boyfriend. Her brother's involved with a local gang. -SH
He would not be on Lestrade's leash, but they can work like this. He is glad Greg didn't hold what happened outside against him but Sherlock would not apologize for speaking the truth. Sherlock presses his ear against the door before opening and walking out of the closet.
"Should I check in?" He seems to ask the ball, but it offers him no answer. "I'm not a child." He sighs and takes out his phone again. There is no response but Sherlock frowns. "He'll expect this pattern to continue." He's typing as he rounds the corner. "There's no guarantee he won't just come stop me." He hits send as he descends the stairs of the complex.
Going to talk to the boyfriend. -SH
The phone vibrates in his pocket and he debates reading it but he leaves the building with the phone in his hands and his eyes on the screen.
I can be there in 10 if you need backup -GL
Sherlock can't help an excited skip. He quickly searches his mind palace for the address he saw on her notebook and texts it to him. He drops the ball and takes slow steps, keeping it with him. He hasn't had a chance to enjoy nature recently and surely this place has a wall he could bounce this off of.
You have five -SH
…
"Look at that, Sherlock seems to be getting chummy with dear old Lestrade? Hmm." Jim hums as he walks into the room. John looks up at him and offers half a shrug.
"He needs someone to help him." He's glad for it, honestly. He hates the thought of Sherlock out there alone, and he remembers the time he had to help him out of a burning building with a mental shudder.
"Someone who's not you." Jim is fishing, rather obviously, and John turns his attention back to the feed. He's not going to say anything about being jealous or replaceable, that's what Jim wants.
"Can't be me, I'm helping you." John realizes he has somehow fallen for the bait anyway when Jim's face opens in a grin.
"Say it again, Johnny." John takes a deep breath before looking over at the mad man in a suit standing a few feet in front of him. He lets it out.
"I'm helping you?" John repeats with confusion and Jim is suddenly directly in front of him. John brings his head back in alarm.
"Interesting choice of words: helping me." John realizes this as Jim tilts his head slightly, ready to pounce. He should have said he's helping the people trapped here. Point out he's staying for them. He could have just said he wasn't available.
"Well, I'm not working for you." He points out but Jim' smile grows and changes.
"No?" It's flirtatious and honestly Jim can get him dizzy with the rapid emotion shifts, is John going to have to learn that too? He supposes it keeps people on their toes.
"You don't pay me." John counters and then Jim is laughing.
"Oh, Johnny, I let you live here and I buy all your food!" He is still laughing so John smiles and shrugs again
"They're business expenses, write offs." Jim switches to flirtatious again and plants himself in John's lap. This sentence will break John's mostly light and expressionless façade.
"So what do you want from me Dr. Watson?" John is supposed to be scared. Jim knows John doesn't take well to homosexual advances, even less so when it's him. John is also very likely to still be upset about what happened in his room the other day so Jim is fully prepared for violence. Violence, stammering denials, angry threats, he's prepared his consequences for each. What he's not prepared for is laughter. High, bubbly giggles coming from the composed soldier underneath him. Jim's face falls into blankness as he tries to process this.
"Oh, God. Jim," Jim can hear discomfort but the tone is mostly humorous. Humor. "Get off of me." Jim doesn't have to do anything, as John's hands have already wrapped around him to move him, which is a good thing, because he doesn't think he could have. He watches John leave the room in shock and stares at the door as it closes. That's not good.
He feels amused and intrigued. He should feel neither. It is time to push up John's timetable so he could be a disappointment as well. Yes. John is ordinary.
Ordinary
He could scream.
...
John stares at his door and wonders when his life changed so suddenly. Not the dying or the kidnapping, but when did he get comfortable calling Moriarty Jim? With Jim being so close? When did he start thinking of this bed as his and the men around here as under him? More importantly, why wasn't his first answer to Jim's question to get out of here? When did he stop thinking he would?
John punches his pillow before deciding to find David and go boxing. He could scream if he thought it would help but it wouldn't. He can't figure out what's changed so drastically. He glances at his phone to see no new messages from Sherlock and no new feed from 221B. Yes. David. Boxing. He really needs to punch something and figure out what the hell is going wrong.
…
"We should call for backup." Is the first full sentence Lestrade says one they meet up at the place. Sherlock can almost understand the concern; the place looks like it's invested with gang members, home to many illegal substances, weapons and at least half a dozen people wanted for petty crime.
"I did, why do you think you're here?" Sherlock continues into the building and Lestrade follows with a shake of his head.
"Any clue that this guy is doing anything illegal and I'm calling for backup. No matter how much of a tantrum you'll throw." Sherlock shoots him a glare but it doesn't faze Lestrade. Lestrade doesn't ask how Sherlock knows where the kid lives, doesn't ask how he got in or what he's expecting to find, but he follows, knowing that Sherlock has already figured it out somehow.
"There are quite a few people inside," Sherlock whispers, "you may want to draw your gun." Lestrade sighs as he places his hand on the weapon and catches Sherlock's smirk. "Oh, go on with your rules." Sherlock scoffs but Lestrade is thankful for the opportunity so he knocks, announces himself, and then opens the door.
Sherlock's groan of frustration is the only sound made as the door opens. Lestrade's eyes take in the scene as his hand leaves his gun and heads towards his radio. He looks back to Sherlock to see him nod with resign and then calls the Yard to get another team and a bus down here. Sherlock knows that Lestrade will never yield when it comes to drugs. When there was no current victim or when it was to save a life, he would let Sherlock get away with anything short of murder, but when it came to drugs he was firm and kept Sherlock out of the way and the more Sherlock resisted the longer Lestrade took to call him again.
There are at least a dozen members of a gang living in the apartment, and it is certain that the boyfriend is one of them. Sherlock turns at the sound of a low moan, but looks away once he sees the man on the ground, the drugs in control.
"Which one?" Lestrade asks Sherlock who looks back at the man.
"Combination. Low grade." Lestrade hated being reminded of how Sherlock became an expert on drugs, hated using that information, but he has to at the moment.
"What's that tell you?"
"Mixed it here," Sherlock points to a clean table. "Only one that's been cleaned recently." He looks at the kids fingernails and arms and swallows. "There are a few dealers in the neighborhood, but these are from the same one. Cheap price, cheap fix. Terrible recovery." Sherlock takes a step forward to inspect the drug bag but Lestrade steps forward to cut off the path.
"Sherlock." Sherlock glares at the eyes that have narrowed and the hand on his wrist. He wants to cut Lestrade into a million pieces. How dare he think Sherlock was weak enough that a single touch would send him crashing and undoing years of work. But there was a time it would have, when he would have settled for a cheap fix or mixes he didn't know. And Lestrade was the one who helped him through it, with stern words and firm hands and answering phone calls at 3 AM. John wouldn't have done that, but Lestrade knows a different side of him than John does. Sherlock pulls his arm back and scans the room as he turns to leave.
"Sherlock," It's said gentler now, the precursor to an apology, but Sherlock doesn't want it.
"They'll all be back tonight, the stash is empty. You can arrest the group then. The boyfriend should be with them. I'll talk to him first. " Lestrade doesn't say anything, just watches Sherlock go before turning to the groaning teen on the floor.
"Where are we on that bus?" He speaks to the radio before glancing at the door again.
…
"Upset?" Nate asks as the bell rings and John retreats to his corner.
"What makes you say that?" John asks slowly, trying not to be obviously defensive.
"My black eye, for one." David calls out from the bench, an ice pack being held over his eye and John frowns. David's been acting strangely all day. Only calling him Watson, not joking around; he's nervous and John thinks he knows why.
"Is it boss man? You don't have to tell." Nate rolls his shoulders before the next round begins. John losses a few body hits to fancy footwork and misses a block to take the opening but neither one of them seem to be winning.
"The one that got away, actually." He says and the momentary distraction causes him to be a second too late to block Nate's jab. He winces as he then feels a quick one two combo to his ribs before he can get back on the defensive.
"That's dangerous." David moves the ice pack to the bench. John holds up his hands to pause their match and Nate rolls his neck.
"No more dangerous than dropping your guard around Nate." John jests but David doesn't smile.
"As if you didn't win the first round," Nate counters, and at John's confused look he adds, "points."
"Well, you win this match, I think I'm done."
"Score." Nate starts taking off his gloves and John follows. "So an ex or a near miss?" Nate asks as John starts unwrapping his hand.
"Near miss. Ha!" John shook his head. "Rejection. Flat out rejection. But I got a kiss once."
"Yeah, how?" Nate slides off his foot pads as John chuckles.
"There was a house and a fire and well, I couldn't resist."
"Watson?" John looks up to see a girl at the entrance. He takes in her young form with a smile and stands.
"What can I do for you?" She grimaces and points to the ceiling.
"The big man upstairs is looking for you." Her look turns apologetic and she shrugs. "And you know how he hates waiting."
"I'm John, by the way."
"Miranda." She tilts her head in greeting and John turns to say goodbye to the others but David won't look at him and Nate's look has shifted to apprehensive. So David told Nate then, and neither one of them are comfortable around him anymore. He waves and Nate nods.
"Bye Watson."
John hears the doors slam behind him and wonders if Sherlock will feel the same way about him, should they meet again as friends.
…
"Kill her?" The boy, because he is still a boy, screams it. "I loved her! You don't go around hurting the people you love."
"Sometimes we do." Sherlock leans forward. "Sometimes it's all you can do." The boy looks from Sherlock to Lestrade and then swallows. "No matter what you do or how you hide you just end up making it worse." Sherlock tilts his head as his anger turns wrinkles into valleys "Sometimes you hold a gun to their head because you know someone else can hurt them worse if you don't." Lestrade frowns suddenly as he places a hand on Sherlock's back and turns his gaze to the boy.
"I'd start talking." Greg doesn't know what part of the conversation does it, but the boy nods and places his hands on the table before he begins to tell his story.
Greg writes it down and records it, but he has to wonder, when did John hold a gun to Sherlock's head?
"Looks like we have to start searching through those people."