The Detective Inspector looked at them with his dark, intelligent eyes, his years of experience making his gaze assessing, looking below the surface for the truth.
John shifted on his hard chair, knowing the session was being recorded, feeling tense. Sherlock, sitting beside him, seemed relaxed, but John felt his leg bouncing under the table, occasionally brushing against his.
"So, you have finally made an appearance here. What do you have to say about Paolo Baresi's death?" Lestrade drawled, flicking to a blank screen on his tablet.
John decided to speak first. "Dr. Park here was Paolo's primary care physician. He will tell you what happened in the weeks prior to his death."
Dr. Park swallowed hard, glancing down at the table, clearly nervous. John glared at him, not looking away until the older man's gaze met his and he nodded.
"Um...Baresi was finding it harder to keep up with the younger athletes on his team, and came to me for help. I had been his main doctor before he joined the cheater's league, and I was shocked at how badly he was doing, taking all the drugs Mr. Holmes was pushing on him." Dr. Park's contempt for Sherlock was obvious from the dismissive sideways glance he shot him, putting emphasis on the fact that he was a 'Mr.' instead of a doctor.
John leaned forward towards the doctor. "Oh, get off your high horse. Blood doping isn't allowed in your beloved 'pure' league, and is even more dangerous than Sherlock's therapies."
Lestrade held up his hands, making a calm down gestures to the two doctors. "Let's save the name calling for another time. Dr. Watson, can you tell me what Dr. Park did, in layman's language?"
With a sigh, John looked at the DI. "Mr. Holmes was treating Baresi with a drug that imitates a natural hormone to signal the body to increase red blood cell production. The more red blood cells, the more oxygen that gets to the muscles, and that improves athletic performance."
Lestrade nodded, and made some quick notes on his tablet. "Yes, and then..."
"Baresi wanted more improvement, and without consulting with Mr. Holmes, Park used an old technique to give a similar result. Removing a pint or two of blood, waiting a month for Baresi's body to replace the blood, and then adding the old blood back." John deliberately left off the 'Dr.' from Park's name. The man didn't deserve it.
Lestrade seemed to be following along. "So, lots of red blood cells then. Got it."
John nodded. "Park did not check Baresi's hematocrit level, or red blood cell count, before doing that. He brought it up to dangerously high levels." He looked at Park, as if daring him to deny what he had done.
The older man wouldn't meet his gaze.
Lestrade followed their interaction. "When did he inject the old blood?"
"The morning of the day he died. He was already slightly dehydrated from a vomiting spell a couple days before. He played his match, and showed no adverse symptoms. His overworked heart gave out that night, in his sleep. Heart attack." John shook his head, still feeling sad about it.
"Overworked?" Lestrade was making more notes, and arched an eyebrow at John.
Sherlock cleared his throat. "Hematocrit levels that high mean that the blood is much thicker than normal. In the '90s, doping Tour de France cyclists used to wake up every couple hours to exercise, keep their blood moving, to prevent heart attacks like this."
"So, you are saying Baresi would still be alive if Dr. Park hadn't injected that blood." Lestrade looked between the three men, all much more knowledgeable in this area than he was.
John nodded firmly. "Yes, definitely."
But at the same time, Sherlock shook his head. "It wasn't entirely Dr. Park's fault."
Whipping his head around, John stared at Sherlock in shock. "What are you doing? You aren't to blame here." They had Park's confession, after chasing leads all week.
Sherlock met John's eyes, a little surprised at John's vehement defence on his behalf. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a paper and passing it to Lestrade. "I meant this."
Lestrade scanned over it, his brow furrowed. "Sorry, but this really isn't my area." He passed it to John, who seemed curious.
John scanned it quickly and flicked a glance at Sherlock, clearly surprised, before reading the pages thoroughly. "Gaucher? Really?"
"Can you explain this to me, Doctor?" Lestrade took a sip of tea, watching the interplay between the three men with interest. Sherlock seemed calm and confident, Park tense, but interested in the papers, and John disbelieving at first, but nodding to himself as he read on.
With a sigh, John laid the papers on the table. "These lab tests show that Baresi had a rare genetic disorder. Extremely rare, and hard to diagnose."
"How rare?" Lestrade was making notes again in his tablet.
John shrugged. "One person in 100,000."
Lestrade nodded, seeming to take that in. "Why is so hard to diagnose it? Couldn't people just do genetic testing for it?"
"It shows symptoms that can vary a lot, and can be misdiagnosed as other conditions. Most doctors would treat the symptoms and not realize it could be this disease." John looked over at Sherlock. "How did you figure it out?"
"Joseph de Luca, Matteo's son. He was showing almost the same symptoms that Paolo had, but at a much younger age." Sherlock replied.
Lestrade held up a hand. "You lost me there. Who are you talking about?"
John turned back to the DI. "I was attacked by a stranger after Paolo's memorial service. We eventually found out it was his cousin, Matteo, and when we confronted him, saw his son Joe. He was about ten years old, on crutches, and obviously very ill."
"He showed the same symptoms as Paolo? What symptoms?" Lestrade probed.
The puzzle pieces were clicking into place, and John could only grin at his brilliant friend, meeting his gaze with admiration probably too obvious for mixed company. "Anemia, weaker bones, enlarged organs..."
"You think Baresi had Gaucher Disease?" Dr. Park scoffed. "He was Catholic!"
John could tell the DI was confused by the comment. "Gaucher Disease is one in 100,000 in the general population, but occurs in one in 600 in certain Jewish populations. Carried by their genes." He looked questioningly at Sherlock. "Why does it run in Baresi's family?"
Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin. "There have been studies showing a close genetic similarity between Ashkenazi Jews and Southern Italians. Some postulate that it could stem from intermarriage during Greco-Roman times."
John could tell the Detective Inspector was a bit confused by the medical information. "Paolo had the disease but it wasn't showing many symptoms. When I did his first surgery, he was only showing anemia, which can be caused by many things, and isn't uncommon."
"Especially with people eating less meat these days." Dr. Park added. John glared at him, not needing his help. The other doctor looked away first.
"When I saw him for the second surgery, his anemia was gone, but he did present with an enlarged liver. I knew he was in the DADT league by then, and that is not unusual as a result of the PEDs. Um...Performance Enhancing Drugs." John ran a hand through his hair, wondering if there was some way he could have thought of Gaucher then.
Lestrade nodded in understanding. "So the symptoms he was showing were masked by the PED use."
John looked at Sherlock. "Do you think Paolo was having bone issues as well?" Had he missed that too?
Sherlock shook his head. "Paolo was eating healthy, and obviously very active. You operated on his ligament. But you said he didn't recover as well from that surgery than from the first. You thought it was due to the PEDs, but part of that could have been from the Gaucher symptoms."
Lestrade took the paper back. "So, in the end, did the Gaucher Disease contribute to his death?"
Shrugging, John looked quickly at Sherlock before back at the police officer. "It's hard to be sure now. His body was cremated, so we have only the autopsy and his medical records to review, and they weren't specifically looking for signs of the disease. The blood sample shows he definitely had it, but the disease varies a lot in which symptoms show up, and at what age."
"Well, it certainly muddies the waters though." Lestrade stood up. "Dr. Watson, thank you for your help today. You are free to go now. Dr. Park, would you come with me?"
"Can Sherlock leave as well?" John asked as he got up.
Shaking his head, Lestrade opened the door to the interview room, leading Dr. Park through it. "No. We have a few more questions for him."
John could only see Sherlock for a second before the heavy metal door clanged shut behind them, locking the chemist alone inside the room. John felt a pang of unease. But it only made sense that the police were going to keep him as long as they could, now that he was in the station.
Lestrade took Dr. Park into another interview room, and John didn't doubt he was in for hours of questioning as well.
The hallway was busy, with cops rushing around, intent on their own business. No one was paying John any particular attention, so he left.
It had felt like they had been in there all day, but it was still bright outside. John checked his phone for the time, and then stared at it. Should he? Was it going too far?
With a sigh, John did a quick google search on his mobile, and called the number he found. "Mycroft Holmes, please."
"He's in important meetings. Can I take a message?" The assistant sounded distracted and dismissive.
"Tell him it's John Watson, and urgent."
...
John awoke to the soft click of the door, the silhouette of a man briefly in the doorway before the door closed again. The image made him sit up, and flick on a nearby light.
"Sherlock..." John gasped in relief, as the man shucked his coat, and the cap and glasses he had been wearing all week. He looked at the clock on the wall, shocked at how late it was. He had fallen asleep waiting up for him. "Were you at Scotland Yard all this time?"
Nodding, Sherlock dropped into the other chair. "The police had their questions. I'd probably still be there if my lawyer hadn't shown up. So thanks for that."
He looked exhausted, closing his eyes and letting his head drop against the back of the chair.
"Well, it was Mycroft who-" John started.
"Yes, I know." Sherlock sighed.
John leaned forward. "So, are you officially cleared as a suspect now?"
Shrugging, Sherlock turned his head to gaze at John. "Unofficially, yes. The police couldn't charge me with anything and the lawyer pushed them to complete their questioning. They warned me not to leave town in the next couple weeks."
It was as good as they could hope for. John felt relieved, knowing the police had enough other leads to investigate.
"Would you like some tea? Something to eat?" John asked, standing up and stretching.
Sherlock shook his head slowly, getting up as well. "No, that isn't what I want." He reached up, starting to undo the buttons on his shirt slowly.
John watched as he peeled off the shirt, throwing it onto the chair, and starting to unzip his trousers. "Oh really? What do you want?" The dim light in the living room was still bright enough to highlight the lean, long lines of Sherlock's body. John unconsciously licked his lips.
Slipping off his trousers, Sherlock stood in just his pants. "A long, hot shower."
"Oh, yeah, of course..." John nodded, turning away. "Um, I'll make you a sandwich..."
Sherlock walked past, grabbing John's hand, and tugging him into the bathroom. Once inside, he gave John a mischievous grin, reaching into the shower to turn on the hot water.
Turning back to John, his hands made quick work of getting them both naked, and they were soon standing under the spray.
Sherlock backed John up against the tiled wall, delivering hot, deep kisses that had John pressing closer for more. Soapy hands explored every inch of his skin, and he returned the favour.
"Sherlock..." John moaned when the taller man turned him around, just wanting, needing more. Instead, Sherlock worked shampoo into his hair, his long fingers massaging firmly against his scalp. It felt good, but it wasn't what he wanted right then.
Chuckling, Sherlock planted a kiss on his shoulder. "Patience...we have all night..."
He rinsed John's hair and then passed him the shampoo bottle.
With a little huff, John took it and took his time with Sherlock's hair. They were soon turning off the water and towelling each other off.
Sherlock urged him to the bedroom, and John needed no convincing. His emotions were a jumbled mess. Relief that they had found the other factors in Paolo's death. Admiration of the way Sherlock had pieced everything together. Pure lust that just came from being around this man.
Pinning Sherlock down in the bed, John kissed him deeply, wanting to show him without words everything he couldn't say. Sherlock was just as ardent, stroking greedy hands down John's back, urging him closer. It was as passionate as their first encounters, but with a familiarity of being together so many weeks. Knowing just how to touch, kiss, and stroke for the biggest responses.
...
Soft kisses went up his spine, making John hum in appreciation as he woke up. "Mmmmm Morning." It was nice knowing he had the day off, nothing to rush out of bed for.
There was a light nip of teeth against his neck. "Morning John." Sherlock's voice was slightly scratchy, and sounded wonderful. His arms were even better, wrapping John in a tight hug, pulling him against his chest.
Sherlock seemed to be in a very good mood, a cuddly mood, and John savoured it. It was so good, waking up with someone he cared about like this.
"I got some good news." Sherlock said softly. "Dr. Park had taken a deal for a reduced sentence, with the agreement that he has his medical license suspended."
John turned in his arms, giving Sherlock a delighted smile. "That is what we wanted, right? That is for the best. Keep him from harming others."
Sherlock nodded. "I couldn't have gotten through this last week without you. You put yourself at risk, letting me stay here, never thinking I was guilty...". He leaned in to kiss John, soft and sweet. Slow kisses.
Sinking into it, John kissed him back, feeling so much for this man.
Pulling back, Sherlock grinned down at him. "We need to celebrate this properly."
Chuckling, John dug his hand into Sherlock's messy curls, tugging him down for more kisses. "I thought we were just doing that."
Sherlock pulled back, laughing himself. "No, no...let's go out and have a decadent meal in a five star restaurant. Dress in our best. Really do it right."
John loved seeing him so happy like this, and loved being the one Sherlock wanted to celebrate with. But then a thought struck him, and he looked down, trying to sort it out.
If the news about Dr. Park was widely known, Sherlock would be seen in a better light by the public. No longer a murder suspect.
But he would still be getting attention, after being in the news so much. His face and name were probably more known now than ever before. If John went out to a fancy restaurant with him, they would likely appear in the tabloid websites. Even if he hadn't caused Paolo's death, he was still a chemist for DADT athletes.
John looked back at Sherlock. "Um, yeah, that would be great. Where should we go?"
Sherlock pulled back, and John knew he had read his expressions and tone, knew the truth. Without another word, he was out of the bed and John soon heard the bathroom door closing hard behind him.
Shit.
Rubbing a hand over his face, John sighed. He had really fucked things up now. This was the second time Sherlock had asked him out, and the second time John had shown the reservations he had about it. Was his precious reputation more important than his feelings for Sherlock ?
Getting out of bed, he pulled his robe on, and walked over to the closed bathroom door. "Sherlock, please come out. I was an idiot. Let's talk."
It was a few minutes before he heard the door unlock, and Sherlock came out. He must have grabbed his suit from the front closet, dressed like he had been to go to the gallery. Looking every inch like Sherlock now, not a hint of Frank left. Even his expression was the distant one that reminded John of when they first met at the hospital.
"I was the fool here, John. Not you. I'll leave now, let you get back to your normal life." Sherlock said a bit woodenly, as he walked to the door.
John just shook his head, and ran to stand in front of it. "Sherlock..."
The taller man pulled the door open, nudging John out of the way. "Goodbye, John." His green eyes looked a little lost as he said the words, but he turned and was gone before John could reply.
Shit shit shit...
...
John slumped in a chair with a huge mug of tea, wrapped in a thick blanket. The light in the flat was dull, grey, as a steady rain fell outside. The weather suited his mood.
The flat was so strangely quiet, the silence almost seeming to echo around him. Normally he would just put in some good music, get busy working on something, but nothing felt right.
How could a man who had only been here a week feel like such a part of John's life? Sherlock had been so vibrant, so moody and changeable, it always kept John in his toes.
Yet all of it was for nothing now. His stupid, knee-jerk reaction to Sherlock's career had the man practically running from the flat. And no wonder. If he couldn't accept what Sherlock felt passionate about, he had no right to be a part of his life.
The whole concept of untrained people administering powerful drugs to healthy people was the core issue. Athletes were in good health, seeking to be the best. The fastest and strongest. Drugs were used for purposes beyond the scope they were designed and tested for.
Sherlock admitted to giving Baresi a chemical cocktail that included steroids and EPO. EPO was basically a synthetic version of the hormone the body produced to trigger greater red cell production. It was developed to treat anemia. In athletes, it was used to bring hematocrit to high levels, to increase oxygen delivery to the muscles. Improperly given, it could result in dangerously high hematocrit, resulting in blood that was too thick. Straining the heart, leading to possible heart attacks, or other problems.
Chemists at Sherlock's level knew the dangers, and most were able to administer the drugs without major, obvious short term adverse effects. But in such an unregulated system, how were the bad ones kept from doing harm?
As a doctor, Park's unethical behaviour was resulting in jail time, and being stripped of his medical license. He wouldn't be able to call himself a doctor anymore, hiding his actions behind a facade of legitimacy.
Chemists dispensing these powerful drugs weren't under such scrutiny. Only if there was obvious bad effects, like a death, would their actions be questioned. How many did dangerous treatments that would give horrible long term effects to the athlete? Things harder to prove that were caused by a certain drug, so the chemist was never held accountable?
It went against the core of John's medical training. Even if John was positive Sherlock was operating under safe parameters, being seen publicly with him was like an implied blanket endorsement of his career. An acceptance of DADT chemists, PEDs, the whole industry. And it just didn't sit right with John.
His practical side argued back that people had access to PEDs for decades, and were going to use them whether or not they were legal and accepted. Just like narcotics. Having them restricted just fed the black market. It didn't reduce the demand, it just made it more profitable for those who supplied it. Made the supply more dangerous, potentially less pure. Better to have it as above board as possible, with educated adults taking the drug they wanted to take, well aware of potential risks.
Getting up, he put the empty mug in the sink, and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He held up the amber fluid, looking at it through the cut glass of the tumbler.
Alcohol was dangerous too. Regulated to keep it out of the hands of children. But any adult could purchase it and use it in a way that could harm himself, and others. John's parents had been killed in a car accident with a drunk driver. The driver had been caught and charged, but it wouldn't bring John's parents back.
Taking a sip, John allowed the alcohol to sit on his tongue, tasting the complex flavors before he swallowed. Even with his family history, his parents' deaths and sister's alcoholism, he didn't think there should be prohibition against alcohol. He didn't blame the people selling the product for what had happened to them.
Was Sherlock really any different than someone running a wine boutique? Selling the most expensive blends of his product with extensive knowledge? People bought his wares, knowing the dangers. If he wasn't doing it, others would step in to fill the need, likely doing it not as well.
Was this all just convoluted reasoning? John trying his hardest to justify wanting to be with Sherlock, despite his profession? Deep down, John knew being associated with him would make this question come up. And John needed to know how to respond to it.
The whiskey glass was long empty by the time John nodded to himself, and picked up his phone.
Mr. Holmes, I would be honoured to go out to dinner with you tonight. - J
His heart pounded hard in his chest as he waited for a response, the phone still clutched in his hand.
It finally came, almost ten minutes later.
Simpsons' in the Strand. 8. -SH
...
-A/N: I think there will be 2-3 more chapters. Thanks for reading so far!
-Dr Park is a hypocrite: Being a passionate sports fan, and older than John and Sherlock, he grew up loving sports before the DADT league existed. People who used PEDs were considered cheaters and kicked off their teams. PED use was of course widespread in sports, but athletes were good at hiding it. They used newer drugs that didn't have tests yet, or stopped using drugs for a certain period before they were likely to get tested so they wouldn't show up.
When the DADT league was created, many older sports fans objected, calling it the 'cheater' league, and the old one the 'pure' league.
He is also a hypocrite in that he was treating some athletes with 'blood doping', by removing blood, freezing it, and adding it back later to increase hematocrit levels. He justifies it to himself that he isn't using drugs on them, just giving them back their own blood.
-Tour de France: Lance Armstrong is probably one of the most famous athletes stripped of many of his wins due to PED use. Increasing hematocrit levels with transfusions or EPO was popular amongst the cyclists before there was ways to test for them. Deaths potentially caused by high hematocrit levels: 20 Dutch and Belgian cyclists between 1987-1990, 7 Swedish cyclists between 1989-1992, and 8 cyclists under the age of 35 between 1989-1992.
-Gaucher disease is a genetic disorder in which people do not have enough of a certain enzyme in their body to break down a certain type of fat. The fat then builds up in the liver, spleen, bone marrow and nervous system, interfering with normal functioning in various ways. (The fat is called glucocerebroside, and the enzyme is glucocerbrosidase).
Common symptoms include enlarged liver and spleen, anemia, bone breaks, but many other areas of the body can be affected.
Gaucher disease occurs in about 1 in 50,000 to 1 in 100,000 individuals in the general population. Type 1 Gaucher disease is present 1 in 500 to 1 in 1000 people of Ashkenazi Jewish ancestry.
Lab tests for the enzyme levels. DNA analysis can also look for the gene for the most common mutations.
Treatment is giving a modified form of the enzyme by IV every two weeks, stopping the progression of the disease and reversing many of the symptoms. Sometimes removal of the spleen (splenectomy), blood transfusions, pain medications or joint replacement surgery is needed.
-Paolo Baresi & Gaucher Disease: My fictional character apparently has fairly mild onset of symptoms, with anemia and enlarged liver being the main ones. Gaucher Disease can affect the heart as well, and may have been a contributing factor in his death. He could have noticed more symptoms showing up in his last year, and attributed them to side effects of the PED use. It may have made him more desperate, more willing to take risks, fearing that his body wasn't handling the demands of the sport, aging and side effects of the PEDs very well. Knowing his days as a pro athlete were numbered.