Sherlock heard the forced entry at the front door, and all systems came instantly to full alert. Wiggins was ordering the intruder to leave. Then Sherlock heard the intruder's voice, and took a moment to marvel at his own stupidity as a series of seemingly unrelated observations suddenly clicked into place.
From somewhere near the foot of the stairs, John was telling Wiggins that he'd come for Isaac Whitney. That would be the young man in the next bed who had introduced himself to Shezza the last two times they had run into each other here, apparently forgetting that he'd done the same on four previous occasions as well. Isaac had told him that this place was his favorite because it was walking distance from his home, and his mother would no longer let him use the car. Sherlock knew it was also walking distance from John's house, but that had been merely peripheral data until this moment. John was here to retrieve his neighbor's son. Of course.
"No. Just used to a better class of criminal."
John was coming up the stairs.
Sherlock was in a half crouch, about to sprint for the exit, when he recognized the windfall that had just dropped into his lap. He lay down and put his back to the room. If he were looking for a way to make John choose to avoid him, he could not have devised a better way to do it than letting him see what he was about to see. A bit of reverse psychology would be called for, but he was more than equal to that.
He waited until John was ready to help Isaac to his feet. Then, he turned to look over his shoulder and start the ball rolling.
"Oh, hello, John. Didn't expect to see you here."
John froze for a moment, and then slowly turned to look at him with a mixture of disbelief and mounting outrage.
"Did you come for me, too?" He added a half smile to fan the flames.
Lips pressed tightly, eyes dangerously narrowed, John turned back to Isaac and said through audibly gritted teeth, "Mary is out front. Go get in the car." He helped Isaac to his feet, then turned back to Sherlock, hands on his hips. "Have you completely lost your mind?"
He pulled an innocent face. "What makes you-"
He later blamed his drugs-muted reflexes for what happened next. John leaned down, grabbed him by the coat with both hands and jerked him to his feet. Despite the height difference, John pulled him close enough to hiss in his ear, "We are leaving. Right. Now." He followed that up with a brutal shove that would have knocked him off his feet, if it hadn't slammed him into what turned out to be a very flimsy door in the wall a few feet behind him. The impact blew the door from its hinges, and Sherlock stumbled out onto the landing of a rickety fire escape.
John stalked after him, and they shot verbal arrows at one another all the way down to the car. It was a full house, and turned more so a moment later when John invited Wiggins to join them.
Not surprisingly, John announced that their next stop was Bart's. Wedged between Isaac and Wiggins, Sherlock could only roll his eyes, not that he would have tried to get out, even if he could move. John couldn't have been following Sherlock's script any better if he'd been reading from the page.
The whole point of the drugs use was to create a weakness for Magnussen to find before they met, and he had been running out of time. It had begun to look as if he would need to do something truly dangerous, like fake an overdose, before his 'relapse' would become known. John stumbling onto him, catching him in the act, was something he could not have planned. The effect it would have on John's respect for him was unfortunate, but as a means of pushing him away painlessly, it hit all the marks. Being tested at Bart's would handle the Magnussen part of it nicely. He would just have to make sure that Molly didn't try 'losing' the report to protect him.
Concern over her protective instincts evaporated when the entourage trooped through the door to her lab, and she turned to look at him. He'd had a smart remark prepared, but thought better of it and clamped his mouth shut instead. Molly Hooper was as angry as he'd ever seen her, and it was all directed at him. Even more surprising than her anger was the momentary hollow sensation it seemed to inspire. He pushed it aside, and crossed his arms.
Molly picked up a plastic sample container from the workspace and held it out to John. "Take him to the next room and have him pee in that."
"I'm perfectly capable of-"
"Don't." John was holding one finger in the air, lips pressed tight. He nodded toward the door leading to the locker room.
Sherlock knew he could turn around and walk out, or he could pee in a jar. He stiff-armed the locker room door, with John following on his heels.
John unscrewed the lid and held the bottle out to him. "I hope you don't have a shy bladder because I'm going to stand here and watch you."
"John, this isn't what it looks like." He said it as much to distract himself as anything. Peeing in front of someone who was actively watching was not something he'd experienced since he'd stopped ending up in rehab. Having John in the role of monitor was painful for both of them, going by the grim line of John's mouth.
John gave him a 'get on with it' gesture. "We'll see what it is when Molly finishes with the test."
Sherlock managed to supply the required sample, screwed on the lid, and handed the disgustingly warm jar back to him. "Do you mind if I wash my hands?" He nodded toward the hall door where there were public toilets.
"Please yourself," John said, and turned on his heel. Sherlock stared at the door for a long moment after John disappeared through it. Then he walked out into the hall in search of a sink and soap.
John stood next to Molly while she ran the test, hoping he'd misread the signs he'd seen in his friend's eyes. Molly seemed to be sharing that thought.
"John, why would he use drugs? What happened?" With Sherlock out of the room, she wasn't hiding her anguish.
He shook his head. "I haven't seen him in a month. Not since the wedding. I have no idea what would make him do this."
Molly's hands stilled, and she looked at him for a moment, then glanced over at Mary and the druggie with the sprained arm. They were across the room, out of earshot. She turned back to John and spoke in a low voice. "Did something happen between you two? You all looked so happy at the wedding, and then when Sherlock left like that..." She shook her head. "I just thought maybe he'd said something to you that might explain what's going on."
John opened his mouth to respond, but she rolled right over him. "I saw his face when he left the reception, John. He didn't think anyone was watching him, and he just looked so..." She took a breath. "Did he tell you he was leaving? Do you know what upset him? Maybe it was..." She trailed off, looking down at the test and resuming her work. "I don't know. I'm just worried."
"I can't think of anything." He paused. That was a lie. He knew exactly the moment the mood had changed, but he was not going to discuss it here, and certainly not with Molly. He puffed out a slow breath. "I think you're reading too much into it. He was tired. Holding court all day like that was so far outside his comfort zone that I still can't believe he did it." He paused until she looked up, then smiled, encouraging her to do the same. "And he did give a great speech."
"And solved a murder," she added, but her smile only lasted the length of a heartbeat. "You're probably right. Let's hope we're worried for no reason." She glanced at the door. "Is he still out there?"
As if on cue, Sherlock came back from the main hall. Finding all eyes focused on him, he glanced dramatically toward the ceiling and plopped onto the first stool he reached.
Molly's entire demeanor changed. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and the soft concern John had seen a moment ago vanished. The tension in the room had increased so abruptly that it apparently even caught Mary's attention. John saw her pause in her ministrations over the sprained arm and look up at John questioningly. Time to defuse. He leaned close to Molly and whispered theatrically, knowing Sherlock would hear, "It's just for a case."
John watched Sherlock's cab pull away from 221B, then hailed one for himself. His plan was to spend the afternoon at the clinic while he awaited his summons from Sherlock. This was, hands down, the strangest day he'd ever spent with the man, which was quite a statement. And it wasn't over yet.
Shopping. Sherlock had said he was going shopping, as if it wasn't the Sherlock-equivalent of the Queen popping in to scrub the loos on her way to tea. The intended purchase must either be something Sherlock knew John would refuse to buy for him, or it was something Sherlock didn't want him to know about until whatever dramatic reveal he had planned. The statement had been meant to start John wondering, obviously, just like the parting shot about John's weight gain. 'Mary and I think seven.' The implication there was that Sherlock had kept up contact with Mary for the past month, all the while ignoring John.
And he'd apparently already cleared tonight's mystery mission with Mary, too, before he had even mentioned it to John. 'You are. I checked.' Available, he'd meant. If the intention was to make John feel like an outsider, it was working.
Wherever Sherlock was dragging him off to tonight would have something to do with getting back Lady Smallwood's letters. That much, John could deduce on his own. Sherlock somehow planned to outwit a man who had actually managed to make him stammer to a stop in the middle of a sentence. John had never, ever seen that happen before. It had been the most shocking part of the whole encounter, until Magnussen strolled up and pissed in the fireplace. Up to that moment, John had thought Sherlock's explanation for the drugs was ridiculous. But after seeing the kind of man they were dealing with, he understood what had driven Sherlock to such extremes. He didn't agree with the approach Sherlock had chosen, but he no longer doubted his intent.
John might have been even more shocked by Magnussen if Janine hadn't already blasted the needle completely off the scale by coming out of Sherlock's bedroom earlier, wearing nothing but a shirt. Everything John knew about Sherlock said it wasn't remotely possible that he could be sleeping with her, and yet there she was. Obviously at home. Utterly comfortable. Flaunting it, actually. Demonstrating her intimacy with Sherlock by waltzing into the bathroom and, by the sound of it, actually climbing into the tub with him. John had stood dumbfounded at Sherlock's throaty 'good morning', and Janine's delighted 'ooh!' at whatever happened next. Now that was a mental image John would never be able to erase.
Sherlock proceeded to put on a very convincing act, of course. He was a master at that. But why? And if it was the performance John believed it had to be, it wasn't just for Janine's benefit. He'd kept it up even when she was out of earshot in the other room. Even after he'd kissed her good bye at the door. He wanted John to believe it, too, and there had to be a reason. Was he trying to make John feel better about leaving him alone? Molly had hinted at that possibility this morning, presumably without knowing anything about Janine. She'd been upset by something she'd seen in Sherlock at the wedding. John had seen it, too, for just an instant, and it had been on his mind ever since. But could even Sherlock be heartless enough to let Janine fall in love with him, just to prove a point?
Then again, there was the possibility that John was willfully ignoring the simplest answer- that Sherlock actually had a girlfriend- because it would force him to take a closer look at the way it was making him feel.
His phone started vibrating in his pocket as the taxi pulled up in front of the clinic. It was Mary, and he smiled. "I'm out front, on my way in."
"I'm not there yet." She sounded distracted. "It will be about an hour. I have something I need to take care of."
"What's going on?"
"It's nothing. I'll be there as soon as I can." She ended the call.
He paid the fare and headed for his office, not sure where the thought was coming from, but positive that Mary was on her way to see Sherlock.
Mary put the phone back in her coat pocket and turned her attention to Sherlock who was watching her from across the table. He had chosen this place, and Mary wondered if he knew that she and Janine met here every Friday. But then she almost smiled at her own naiveté because of course, he did. He was telling her that. She just had no idea why.
It was lunch time, and they'd had to take the worst table in the house, next to the kitchen entrance in the back corner. There was a lot of wait staff traffic, but the other patrons were well out of earshot. "You have my full attention." She folded her hands on the table in front of her.
"It won't take the whole hour." He referred to the time she'd told John. "You'll have time for lunch." He mirrored her posture, leaving forward. "I told John that you approved his coming with me tonight on a case. I also strongly implied that you and I have been conspiring to look after him in spite of himself."
"And what do you hope to accomplish with that? Make him angry with me?"
He frowned. "Of course not. You know how he's likely to respond to me attempting to mother him. It's totally out of character for me. The case tonight will make him question everything he knows about me. I've already planted the seeds for it, in fact, to rather noticeable effect. Add that to the drugs, and he'll wonder if he ever knew me at all." He sat back, obviously pleased with himself.
She took a slow breath, choosing her words. "Sherlock, I've had second thoughts about this. I try never to act on impulse, but I think I did just that when I came to see you about John. No matter how much better it might be for him, he would never forgive me if he found out that I was responsible for you cutting him out of your life. It was a mistake, and I'm asking you to undo whatever it is you've got planned. Please."
He looked bewildered for a moment. "You think I'm doing this because you asked me to?" His expression hardened. "If you truly believe that I would turn away from John just to please you, then you don't know me at all. You don't know either of us."
"No, I don't think you're doing it for me, but he will." She leaned forward, reaching for his hand, surprised when he didn't jerk it away. "Sherlock, please. You're too important to John, and he's too important to me. I thought I knew what the nightmares were about, but I was wrong. He misses you. It's as simple as that. He misses what the two of you used to have. I can't fix that, but you can. All you have to do is be strong enough to let me in, too. I promise, you won't regret it."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, and the bridge of his nose wrinkled in a way she'd seen once before but didn't recognize until she heard John talk about it. He was deducing her. When he tipped his head back and took a short breath, she recognized that, too.
"You're afraid of what John will think if he discovers you persuaded me to stay away, but what if he could never find out? Would that change your mind back again?"
"How could you possibly guarantee that he would never find out?" She instantly realized that was the wrong response, and quickly added, "No, it wouldn't change my mind, Sherlock. I promise you." She smiled. "Actually, I was going to call you this morning to tell you this, but then you sort of made that unnecessary." She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. Briefly. When he pulled away, it was to push back his chair, ready to leave.
"John made it unnecessary." He stood up and pulled on his gloves. "I promise I'll send him home tonight, safe and sound. And we'll see where it goes from there."
The waitress hurried toward them just as Sherlock was leaving. Mary assured her it wasn't because of the service, then ordered a cup of tea that she had no intention of finishing. She just needed to think for a few minutes before she called John. She wouldn't have time for the clinic today. John would not be happy at the last minute notice, but everything she was about to do was for him. And, in a way, for Sherlock.
She had made a mistake yesterday, one she'd recognized almost immediately, and she really had intended to see Sherlock again this morning to try undoing it. John finding him like that was almost enough to make her believe in fate.
She and Sherlock had made the same mistake, but from different perspectives. Each believed they knew what life with John Watson should look like, and thought making it happen was somehow under their control. Sherlock had expected to come back from the dead to find his friend waiting for him, ready to pick up where they had left off. Mary had believed she would have John all to herself forever. She had come into his life at its lowest point, and she had saved him. She'd believed that made her invulnerable. And then Sherlock had come back and proved how blind she had been.
For just a few hours yesterday, she'd thought she could put things back the way they had been before Sherlock returned by making him go away. She had come very close to talking him into it before she realized what it would mean.
She knew Sherlock must already have traced Mary Morstan back five years and discovered that the trail ended there. She also had no doubt that he could find the whole truth, if he kept looking. She believed now that the only reason he was content to let the past stay buried was knowing how much it meant to John to have her in his life. But if he left John in her care and was no longer part of their lives, he would eventually feel the need to make sure she truly was 'worthy of this man'. And that would be the beginning of a very swift end to the life it had taken her five years to build. It was a life she had never expected to include a man like John Watson, but one she could no longer imagine living without him.
That could never be allowed to happen. What she would do tonight would end Magnussen's threat. Keeping Sherlock in their lives would close the other. Tomorrow would be a fresh beginning for all of them.
End of Chapter Four