Shutting his office door with a sigh of relief, John sat down behind his desk and sipped his tea. It had been busy with patients earlier, but he had a last minute cancellation and was enjoying the break.
After such a busy weekend with Sherlock, it was nice to have some normalcy and quiet.
Opening up his offices files on the computer, he searched for Paolo. All his records for both surgeries were there. John read them over carefully, watching for medical abnormalities. Any small thing that could have contributed to his eventual death. John knew it was a long shot, but he wanted to help however possible.
The first surgery on his Achilles' tendon had been when he was younger and in practically perfect health. He had recovered quickly. John frowned slightly, looking at the blood tests prior to the surgery. He showed signs of anemia, but that wasn't that unusual anymore, since people ate meat so rarely. John now recalled treating him for the anemia at that time.
A few years later, Paolo hadn't been doing as well for his knee surgery. Years of professional sports had taken their toll. The performance enhancing drugs had left their side effects as well. During the examination, John had palpitated his chest and noticed some organs were enlarged. His skin wasn't clear. Many joints showed signs of over-use damage, although his knee was the worst. His former anemia was not apparent, one of the few improvements he showed.
It was disappointing that the records didn't give any new insights. John really wanted to help Sherlock resolve this as soon as possible.
The story was really getting discussed in the news more and more, fans speculating. He had heard snippets of conversation around the office building; Paola's and Sherlock's name being mentioned.
He got home as soon as possible after work. Sherlock was lying on a chair, tablet clenched in his hands. He looked up, his expression miserable, and passed the tablet to John.
Sitting down in the other chair, John played the video that was queued up from a news website. It was a press conference from Scotland Yard, from an hour earlier.
DI Lestrade faced the cameras, seated at a table alone. "The autopsy report for Paolo Baresi was released Friday, with his cause of death showing as a heart attack. Preliminary investigations suggest it may not have been due to natural causes. The investigation is ongoing but I will take questions now."
A dozen hands flew up, and the D.I. nodded to a reporter in the front row.
"Why is homicide investigating this? Was he murdered?"
Lestrade sighed slightly. "He was a young, fit professional athlete. Heart attacks can occur, but we need to be sure of the cause."
The next reporter was less restrained. "It is common knowledge that he was getting treatments from Sherlock Holmes. Why isn't he in custody?" There were murmurs of agreement from the other reporters.
Running a hand through his salt and pepper hair, the detective seemed exhausted. "He is a person of interest we are seeking for questioning."
The room erupted at that, jumping up and shouting questions at him. A pack of hounds catching scent of a juicy story.
"He is missing?"
"Has he left the country?"
"Isn't that a sure sign of his guilt?"
Making a settle down gesture, Lestrade eventually had the crowd back in their seats. "As I said, he is only ONE of the people we are questioning for this investigation. If anyone in the public has information, our website has a place you can leave tips." The video ended soon after that.
John set down the tablet, feeling stunned. "He basically put a bounty on your head."
Rolling over on to his side, Sherlock nodded slowly. His expression reminded John of when he had arrived a couple days ago. Anxious, scared. Pale and wretched.
John slid to the floor in front of Sherlock's chair, their faces almost close enough to kiss. He looked at Sherlock directly, full eye contact. "You need to talk to the police. Go now. They don't have enough to charge you, so they can't hold you, but you won't look as guilty then."
It was terrifying, but Sherlock needed to be smart about this. Hiding put him in an awful light to the public.
Sherlock looked down, avoiding John's gaze. "I can't do that."
Making a sound almost like a growl, John shoved a hand into Sherlock's hair, dragging his face up. "Why? Quit playing around, Sherlock. This is dangerous. Your whole future depends on what you do now."
"You are right. It's dangerous. I don't want your good name being smeared with mine. I should go." Sherlock sat up, his emotions shoved down, his face now distant and blank.
"Fuck!" John jumped to his feet, pacing a little. "That wasn't what I meant. I could give fuck-all about my reputation right now. I'm worried about you!"
"Why? I'm just a hook-up who inconveniently showed up on your door, uninvited and evading the police. You didn't ask for any of this." He shook his head, looking defeated by it all.
John yanked him up to stand in front of him, staring at him. "You really think that's all you are to me?"
It started as a hard kiss, just meant to show Sherlock just how wrong he was. But the instant his arms came around John and he was returning the kiss, it deepened.
Somehow, they ended up on Sherlock's chair, John straddling his lap. When he finally lifted his head, he looked down at Sherlock, happy to see his lips swollen and his eyes meeting his gaze. "We are going to figure this out together. You aren't going anywhere."
Sherlock sighed. "Fine. But I can't go to the police until I have something more solid to give them. If I say his mother has some vague notion that he was getting treatments from other people, or he vomited a couple days before, they will just shrug their shoulders and dismiss it as me desperately grasping at straws to save myself."
John eventually nodded. He didn't completely agree, but could see his point. "Fine, but you can't wait much longer to see the them. One more day, Sherlock, then you go in. Promise me."
"Wednesday morning." He said, looking a little stressed again.
"Can your brother help at all?" John asked, knowing how powerful the man was.
Sherlock shook his head. "I want to leave him out of this if possible. He has never been involved in my business."
John eased off his lap to sit beside him, taking his hand. "We need to face that maybe we have done all we can. I looked through my medical files on Paolo, and he seemed like other athletes I've treated. A bit of anemia when I first saw him, but that wasn't present when I last saw him."
"Yeah, and I talked to the rest of his teammates today. I'm glad I did it before this press conference." Sherlock said.
"Well, your disguise is quite good. I'm sure they don't know you are Sherlock Holmes."
Glancing at the suit Mrs. Hudson had brought yesterday, Sherlock looked a bit grim. "But I have to go to that art show tonight, looking like myself. I can't miss this chance to talk to Felicity and Oscar."
John's stomach tightened at the thought. "I'll go. I'll talk to them. I know Felicity a little from Paolo's last surgery."
"No. I need to face them. It will reinforce that I wasn't the cause of his death. Plus, they are my last hope for some kind of lead. I've talked to everyone else." Sherlock said firmly.
John could tell there was no arguing with him. He knew the stakes, but was going to risk it anyways for the slim chance of some information. "I'll keep Mike and Eva out of your way, give you clear access to Felicity and Oscar, for as long as I can."
It wasn't much, but he could tell Sherlock appreciated it. He squeezed John's hand before getting up. "I'm going to shower and shave."
...
John sipped his red wine as his eyes took in the four hundred year old painting. A bare chested, bearded man wrapped in a rust colored loose toga leaned towards a fruit laden tree branch, his expression tortured.
"Do you know the Greek myth this is based on?" Mike asked, joining John to peruse the piece.
Shaking his head, John looked over at his friend, and his wife, Eva. They were both dressed nicely, Mike in a navy suit and Eva a dark purple dress that suited her dark blonde hair. It was always good to spend time with the couple that he had known for so long.
Mike gave a little shrug. "Tantalus was a favorite son of Zeus, and he was one of the few mortals who were allowed to dine with the gods. But he pushed it too far, stealing some of the forbidden nectar and ambrosia to share with his friends back home."
"Yeah, you really shouldn't shove stuff into your pockets when at a dinner party. That's quite rude." John chuckled. "But at least he was going to share it with other people."
Eva nodded along. "Ambrosia? Isn't that the incredibly unhealthy 'salad' made out of marshmallows, maraschino cherries, mandarin oranges and whip cream? It's delicious. I can see why he took some."
"Heathens. It's actually the food of the gods, and it can make you live longer, maybe even make you immortal." Mike took another sip of wine. "So, his punishment was being thrown into the Underworld, inside a lake with a threatening rock dominating right above him, ready to crush him at any time. The lake was full of water, and there were lots of fruit-laden trees hanging nearby."
John grinned. "This sounds fishy. How did the trees grow without sunlight?"
Mike ignored his comment. "The worst part was every time he wanted to drink water, the lake dried up. Every time he got hungry and tried to pick some fruit, the wind took the trees up to the sky. He ended up starving and terrified."
"Well, at least he got a break from sitting in the lake that way. Imagine how pruny his skin would be after an hour or two." Eva joked.
"Yeah, and it sounds like he couldn't move from that spot, so pretty soon he would have had to answer the call of nature, and not really wanted to drink the water anyways." John added.
Rolling his eyes at them, Mike took their joking in stride. "That's why the myth is referred to as 'The Torment of Tantalus."
John peered closer at the painting. "Oh, so his one hand is up over his head in case that rock falls on him."
"How long can you go without water? A day?" Eva asked, looking at the painting as well.
"Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food." John answered.
Mike nodded in agreement. "Although he would probably get dehydrated even faster if those winds kept blowing the trees away."
They kept joking around like that as they circled the gallery, viewing the various paintings of greek mythical figures from a private collection. The gallery was a great setting for the art, the brick walls of the two hundred year old crypt arching nine feet above their heads. Track lighting down the center directed soft, golden light around the space, highlighting the architecture and keeping it from feeling claustrophobic.
Near the stairs, they saw Felicity and Oscar, looking at a beautiful painting of Helen of Troy and Prince Paris. They greeted Mike and Eva warmly. John hung back a little, since he didn't know them as well.
Felicity looked lovely, her blond wavy hair almost coming down to her waist, her raspberry dress complimenting her light tan. Oscar was dressed in a simple white dress shirt, and narrow black trousers, perfectly tailored to his slim, athletic body.
"You remember John Watson, right?" Mike turned to bring him forward.
Nodding in recognition, Felicity gave John a small smile. "Of course. Good to see you again, doctor." She turned to Oscar, speaking in a soft voice. "John was Paolo's knee surgeon."
Oscar met his glance with a small tilt to his head. "Sorry we are so late. We ended up at the old St Pancras location. Funny to think this is referred to as the 'new' St Pancras."
Felicity chuckled with him, and looked at the others. "An old deaf lady nearby was trying to explain that we were at the wrong church. We kept shouting 'St Pancras!' and she kept shaking her head and pointing south and shouting back 'Euston!' We thought she couldn't hear us properly, so it went on for a few minutes. Finally, someone else stopped by us and explained to go to the location on Euston Road."
"'Look for the four Greek lady statues!'" Oscar said back.
John laughed along with them. Old St. Pancras was one of the oldest churches in England. New St. Pancras had been built 200 years ago a mile south, in a Greek revival style. The entrance to the crypt was guarded by four tall columns sculpted into the shape of women in Greek dress. The design was inspired by the temple on Acropolis in Athens.
They toured further around the gallery, splitting into smaller groups of two or three occasionally. John kept an eye out for Sherlock, knowing he had to be ready to pull Mike and Eva away then
Rounding a corner, John saw Sherlock standing at the bar. Glancing back, he saw that Mike and Eva were still a few paintings behind the rest of them, discussing a piece of work.
He went over to Felicity and Oscar. "You two probably haven't even had a drink yet! We had a round when we got here."
Oscar glanced towards the bar. "You were having a relaxing drink while we were arguing with old deaf women." He chuckled, pulling Felicity over to the bar.
John waited a heartbeat or two, and saw when the couple noticed Sherlock. He smiled, taking a step towards them. John couldn't wait any longer to see how he was received.
Going back around the corner, he stopped beside Eva and Mike. They were looking at a painting of a woman in a white dress being grabbed by a man carrying a sword and wearing a helmet.
"She warned them all, and they didn't believe her. I'm surprised she didn't go crazy, knowing terrible things were going to happen, and not being able to stop them." Eva said, shaking her head slowly.
Mike shrugged. "People don't always want to hear bad news. But you'd think her own brother would believe her, at least."
John chuckled at the comment. He knew the Greek myth of Cassandra, at least. "What could she say and be believed? "Yo Bro! You are going to meet the most beautiful woman in the world soon, and totally dig each other. But she's married, and if you try to get with her, it will result in a war?"
"How about 'Look that Trojan gift horse in the mouth'?" Eva joked back.
Mike wrapped an arm around Eva's waist, guiding her around the corner. "Do you think that's where that phrase originated? From the Trojan Horse?"
John glanced nervously over at the bar. Sherlock was chatting with Felicity and Oscar, and it seemed friendly. Sherlock was getting a few looks of recognition from other people in the gallery, and people were also noticing who he was with.
Wanting to give Sherlock a few more minutes, he turned back to Mike and Eva. "What did you think about Paolo Baresi's autopsy results? What do you think caused his heart attack?" It would also be good get Mike's thoughts on it, and Eva was a physiotherapist. She might have her own take as well.
Wrinkling his brow a little, Mike paused for a moment. "Well, his hematocrit was very high. If that was a chronic condition, you can imagine the stress it put on his heart over time. Is it any wonder it eventually gave out?"
"And wasn't his heart much larger than normal as well?" Eva interjected.
John nodded. "Yes, I went to the autopsy and commented to the pathologist about that. 545 grams."
Mike shrugged. "Cardiac enlargement is a characteristic of most forms of heart failure."
"But not unusual in a professional athlete." John argued back.
Eva agreed. "At his level, they can run over 10 km a match. We've seen our share of athletes at the clinic."
"Anabolic steroids have been linked to left ventricular dysfunction as well. Did Sherlock ever really disclose what he had Paolo on?" Mike asked John.
John was taking a sip of his wine, and was looking over at the bar. Sherlock seemed to be ending his chat with the couple.
"John?"
Hearing his name made him turn back to Mike. "Sorry, can you repeat that?"
Mike shook his head, chuckling. He turned to wink at Eva. "See? I told you that John was interested in Sherlock. Here's blatant evidence, right before our eyes."
"Well, can you blame him? He's gorgeous in that suit." Eva said, her admiration obvious as she glanced at Sherlock.
John looked back at Sherlock, noticing that he was wearing a steel blue suit, obviously bespoke by the perfect cut of it. His white dress shirt was open at the collar. It was nice seeing his dark curls, and his clean-shaven face. After being with 'Frank' in baggy beige clothing, it was even more striking seeing Sherlock looking so polished.
Mike nudged him with an elbow. "Why don't you go over there? Buy him a drink."
"Give it a rest, Mike. He really isn't my type." John said, keeping to what he had said at the memorial service.
"My mother used to warn me about guys like him." Eva smiled wryly at John. "Good girls want a bad boy who will be good just for them."
Mike wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her close. "And bad boys want a good girl who will be bad just for them."
She gave him a saucy smile back, and he leaned in to kiss her. "My naughty, dirty girl..."
John probably wasn't supposed to hear that whisper, and he shook his head as he stepped away. "Ack! This is a public space!"
Mike chuckled. "That's rich coming from Three Continents Watson!"
Nearby, John overheard an older woman speaking softly into her phone. "Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. The Crypt gallery on Euston. Come quick, before he leaves."
Who was she talking to? Reporters? The Police?
He gave Mike a quick smile in response to his teasing. "Um… I'm just going to the loo. Back in a minute." John excused himself to stride over to the hallway with the toilet sign above. He caught Sherlock's eyes as he went, tilting his head towards the hallway. He could only hope that Sherlock got the message.
Standing in the men's washroom, heart pounding, it was only a few seconds but felt like hours before the door opened and Sherlock stepped in.
John grabbed his arm. "You have to leave, now. I overheard someone on a phone, and I think they were telling the cops you are here."
Sherlock nodded. "Fine. I'll cut out the back. I left a coat and the cap out there. Make your goodbyes and meet me at Somerstown on Charlton St."
Nodding, John went into a stall as Sherlock left, just taking a second to calm down. Try to look normal.
"Sorry, but I have to head back to the hospital. One of my patients is showing signs of possible post-op infection." John said, pocketing his phone, as he stood in front of Mike and Eva.
Mike nodded, clapping him on the shoulder. "I understand. Well, it was good seeing you, even if our visit was quick."
John said his goodbyes, and was soon out the door. By the time he was at the end of the block, he could see the flashing lights of the police car pulling up in front of the gallery. He went around the corner, heart thumping again.
The press conference earlier, the looks Sherlock was getting in the gallery, the police showing up so quickly here…it was all making it sink in that Sherlock was truly the main suspect in Paolo's death. Sherlock was right. Without a strong alternative, Sherlock would have a hard time evading the blame.
…
The pub Sherlock mentioned was a block away, and about half full. John spotted Sherlock in a corner, on banquette seating with a high upholstered back. The navy mac covered up his gorgeous suit, and the cap and glasses were back in place, making him look more like Frank than Sherlock. People nearby seemed to be taking no notice of him.
John was about to sit on the stool across from him, but Sherlock made a frustrated sound. "Sit over here."
Raising his eyebrows slightly, John moved to sit beside Sherlock. Immediately, his leg pressed against his.
"I think we should lay low here for a little, in case the police are walking around the area. I've already ordered a drink and some food." Sherlock said softly, turning to speak right in John's ear.
Maybe he was playing up the boyfriend role in this public setting, but he couldn't help reacting to the man's closeness. The light touches, his sexy voice, the way he had looked tonight…
Turning his head slightly, he met Sherlock's glance, and then his eyes went to those full lips. So close… When he looked back up, Sherlock's eyes seemed considerably warmer.
"Get up. I need to go to the loo." Sherlock said, shifting away.
"What?" John was jarred out of the sensual haze he had been falling under. "Oh." He scooted off the seat, letting Sherlock get out.
When he was standing beside John, he grabbed his hand and leaned in close. "Give it a minute and come back to the loo." A second later he was gone.
What?! Surely he didn't mean what John was thinking of. The loo? Together? Here?
He sunk back down on the seat, trying to get his bearings. They couldn't do this.
But a minute later, he was walking to the back hallway, glad that the staff were busy enough to not notice. It felt so obvious, like there was a spotlight on him, every step of the way.
He opened the door to the loo, quickly stepping in and shutting it behind him. It seemed empty, but he knew it wasn't.
Heart pounding again, but for completely different reasons, John walked slowly forward. There were sinks, urinals, and a couple stalls. One of the doors seemed almost completely closed. He pushed lightly on it.
It wasn't that well lit, but he could see Sherlock standing inside. Without thinking too hard, he entered and locked the door behind him.
Who moved first, it was hard to say. They were just together, hard hungry kisses, hands, grabbing, greedy. Being shoved back against the tiled wall so hard he let out an oomph. Zippers and buttons being undone, hands diving underneath clothing, panting, biting, kissing. Sherlock was like a wildfire, out of control, dangerously beautiful
…
Ten minutes later, John was ordering a lager, trying to keep a straight face as Sherlock smirked.
The server had just set down Sherlock's drink, and a big plate of chips. She walked away shaking her head.
"She totally knows." John chuckled, still feeling a little shocked himself.
Sherlock leaned against his side, his hand sliding along John's thigh. "Well, at least she's thinking that I'm a sexual deviant. I prefer that to people thinking I'm a murderer."
Leaning closer, John planted a kiss near Sherlock's ear. "You've certainly convinced me." The washroom tryst had been exciting, a great distraction. Perhaps it was just the endorphins, but he felt a lot calmer. "Feel free to convince me whenever you want."
Those sexy green eyes were looking over John, and then Sherlock nodded. "It all makes sense. You like danger. I bet you have missed it, since coming back from overseas."
John shook his head in instant denial. The server dropped off his drink, and he took a sip as he watched Sherlock eating his chips.
But sitting there beside Sherlock, feeling his thigh pressing against his again, John felt that familiar zing of excitement. It was frequent around Sherlock, really, never knowing what he might do next, still bending the rules and taking risks.
Sherlock was constantly doing that. Pushing John a little beyond his comfort zone, challenging him in a way most people didn't. Always giving him the choice to say no. But right from the start, John had said Yes, Yes, Yes. Yes, to casual sex when they hardly knew each other. Yes, to trying Sherlock's concoctions. Yes, to Sherlock staying with him now.
Pushing the plate closer to John, Sherlock leaned in closer. "Eat some. You need to keep your energy up."
John scoffed a little. That was usually his line.
Sherlock leaned in even more, his lips touching John's ear. "What we did earlier was just the warm up. I'm going to take you apart when we get home." His hand was back on John's thigh, sliding along his inseam.
The words started the slow burn again. John noticed that Sherlock was against his right side, like he had been on Saturday night, leaving their dominant hands to eat the chips and sip from their glasses. John's right hand went to Sherlock's knee, feeling the smooth, expensive fabric.
…
It was only hours later when John came back to bed with two big glasses of water that he remembered something. "I totally forgot to ask you how it went with Felicity and Oscar. Did you find out anything useful?"
Sherlock took a long sip, setting the half empty glass on the bedside table. He grinned widely at John.
"You did! And you kept it to yourself all night! You cock!" John poked him a few times, exasperated at the berk.
His answering grin was slow and wicked. "I was a little distracted. You looked very good at the gallery, in your suit. Reminded me of the day of the memorial service, when I came out and saw you fighting with someone in the parking lot. I couldn't resist taking you back to my place."
"Oh really…" John chuckled at the thought. But then again, Sherlock had mentioned that he knew John was Jack from PlayLand before that. "How did you know, during the autopsy, that I was…" He had been wondering about that for a while.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Even though you modified your voice to disguise it, it only changed the pitch and the speed. Your word choices, small sounds that you make without even realizing it, those all stayed the same."
So, things only Sherlock would notice. John sighed. "Fine. What did you find out tonight?"
"Oscar recognized the man in our picture."
…
A/N: Another Cliff-hanger? Really? ;)
-NOTES: Here's a bunch of notes on stuff you can totally skip! Mostly just background info about the gallery and the Greek myths in the artwork.
-Tantalus painting: 'Tantalus' by Giambattista Langetti (1625-1676). He was an Italian late-Baroque painter, with a style similar to Caravaggio (1571-1610). The word 'tantalize' comes from his name.
-St. Pancras Old Church: Old St Pancras has an information panel posted outside that states it is "…one of Europe's most ancient sites of Christian worship, possibly dating back to the early 4th century". It is said the last bell that tolled for the Mass in England was at St Pancras. Among the Catholics buried in the churchyard was Johann Christian Bach, Johann Sebastian's youngest son, but his name was unfortunately misspelled in the burial register as John Cristian Back.
-The Crypt: St. Pancras New Church opened in 1822, and the crypt was designed and used for coffin burials until 1854, when the crypts of all London churches were closed for burials. It was meant for 2000 coffins, and is still the final home of 557 people. In both World Wars the Crypt was used as an air raid shelter. From their website: "In 2002 the Crypt at St Pancras Church became a gallery space where the imagination, thoughts and emotions of 21st century artists are shared with visitors from around the world. Now this popular venue hosts a year-round programme of art exhibitions. As a church we are pleased to include art that provokes and questions, as well as art designed for contemplation, because all form an important part of our common humanity. Throughout history the Church has encouraged and supported the arts and artists. Long may this continue."
-Helen of Troy: More Greek mythology… Helen was said to be the most beautiful woman in the world, and was married to King Menelaus of Sparta. She eloped/was abducted by Prince Paris of Troy, resulting in the Trojan War when the Greeks set out to reclaim her and bring her back to Sparta. The phrase 'the face that launched a thousand ships' comes from this myth.
-Prince Paris: He got mixed up in judging an impromptu beauty contest between the goddesses Athena, Hera and Aphrodite. They offered him bribes when he couldn't decide who was the most beautiful goddess, with Aphrodite offering the love of the most beautiful woman on Earth, Helen of Sparta, if he chose her. She had neglected to mention Helen was already married, so Paris had to raid King Menelaus' house to abduct Helen. Some accounts say she fell in love with him, and left willingly.
-Cassandra: She was worshipping at the temple of Apollo, and he attempted to seduce her by giving her the gift of prophecy. When she refused to sleep with him, he cursed the gift by making it so no one would ever believe her prophecies. She was seen as a liar and a madwoman by her family and the Trojan people. The only prophecy of her's that was believed was that Prince Paris was her abandoned brother, resulting in his reunion with her family. She foretold of the abduction of Helen and the Trojan War, and warned him not to go to Sparta. She was ignored. She later warned everyone about the Trojan Horse, but wasn't believed, and even tried to destroy it herself, but was stopped.
After the fall of Troy, she sought shelter in a temple of Athena, but was abducted and brutally raped by Ajax the Lesser. Athena was furious at the Greeks' failure to punish Ajax for these horrible actions in her own temple, and had Poseidon destroy most of the Greek fleet of ships with horrible storms as they sailed back from Troy, and killed Ajax herself in a terrible way.
-Trojan Horse: After a fruitless 10-year siege, the Greeks made a huge wooden horse, and hid a select force of men inside. The Greeks pretended to sail away, and the Trojans pulled the wooden horse into their walled city as a victory trophy. That night, the Greek force crept out of the horse and opened the gates for the rest of the Greek army to enter, and destroy the city, ending the war.
-Somerstown Coffee House – "No, no, no, it's NOT just a coffee house (jeeeez, the amount of times we have to tell people). Located just around the corner from Euston, we're home to travellers from across the globe alongside a bundle of locals, city slickers and the rest."