"And then he went, 'Maybe if you weren't so distracted by the state of her nails, you could have spent more time on escaping,'" Anderson snickered.
"And then, bam! Right in the nose! Sherlock never saw it coming- and neither did the policemen, who had been holding the guy back," Donovan added.
John was near tears of laughter in his hospital bed. This time- thanks to Mycroft- he was no longer in a hospital gown, but a comfy white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Donovan, Anderson, and Lestrade (along with the elder Holmes) had been visiting nearly every day, bringing him food and telling stories- especially funny ones of Sherlock, in his early years of helping the police force.
"I mean," Lestrade tried to go on, gasping for air, "we all knew he was going to get punched some time."
"We just wanted to do it ourselves!" Anderson cut in, making them all laugh. Even Mycroft allowed a somewhat-pained-looking smile on his face.
"That's not the only time Sherlock's been punched, though," he added as he straightened his tie.
"Oh, I know it's not," John added, with a tone to his voice that made the three policemen turn to him.
"What do you mean?" Lestrade asked.
"Oh, don't tell me you've had the honors?!" Donovan crossed her arms in mock anger.
"It comes with the upgrade from nuisance to flatmate," John replied, sticking his nose in the air pompously and earning a laugh.
"No, but really. How did you punch him?" Anderson prodded.
"Well." John shifted slowly in the bed to a more comfortable position. "We were- well, Sherlock was trying to build a disguise for a case. You all know of the... Dominatrix woman, right? Irene Adler?"
"Oh, god. I can already tell this is a good one." Lestrade chuckled, and John grinned with a nod of agreement.
"So we're standing a few blocks away from her house, and suddenly he turns around and goes 'John, punch me in the face."
"He asked you to?!" Donovan gasped.
"Yeah, he did. I didn't believe him at first. 'Punch you?' I had asked, as in, 'are you insane?' Obviously, the answer is yes, but- it was hard to believe," John went on with a laugh. "And he goes, 'Yes. Punch me. In the face. Didn't you hear me?' And I go- oh, my god- I said, 'I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext.'"
He was cut off from the uproar of laughter from the three policemen. He cast a glance over at Mycroft- the all-seeing Holmes probably had watched this happen, anyways. He was chuckling softly, too, staring at John.
"And then- and then-" John held his hand up as the laughter died down. "And then he punched me!"
"He didn't!" Lestrade gaped at him from his seat in the hospital chair.
"He did! So, of course, I punched him back. Sent him to the ground. I was pretty proud of that," he added with a laugh. "And then I tackled him. And he was all, 'but John! You were a doctor in the Army!' And I yelled back, 'I had bad days!'"
Anderson was holding onto the bed for support, he was laughing so hard. Donovan practically had tears streaming down her face, one hand on Anderson's back as he tried to stand upright. Lestrade was about to fall out of his chair he was laughing so hard. Even Mycroft was smiling slightly, but he had a strange look in his eyes. John tilted his head, questioning.
"God, you're a lucky one," Anderson went on. "I'd give anything to just walk up and hook him, right in the nose."
Lestrade looked away momentarily- Mycroft noticed, but John didn't as he shrugged.
"That's actually the only time I've ever been mad enough to punch him. Don't get me wrong- he's completely bonkers- but... I dunno. I've gotten used to it, I guess."
"But what about his... experiments?" Donovan wrinkled her nose. "I found human eyes in his microwave, remember? That can't be pleasant."
"Trust me, it's not. I've opened the fridge to see a human head staring back at me." John shuddered. "The flat's always a mess- as you've seen- but it's tolerable, once you get used to it. He's got a complete lack of regard for furniture- walks all over the coffee table, does his experiments in the kitchen, shoots holes in the wall-"
"Oh, you're kidding!" Lestrade cried.
"I wish I was," John sighed. "But- I mean..." he trailed off slowly. How do you explain to three people who hate a man 'Oh, hey, he might ruin your job, but he's not that bad'?
"It's... It's like taking care of a child, I guess." John laughed. "One that's not yours. A bit like babysitting, Mycroft." He pointed a fake glare towards the man, who shrugged as the other three laughed. "At first, you try to constantly clean up after them, apologize for their behavior in public- it's a bit daunting. But then you get used to the mess. As in, 'what's the use, he'll mess it up tomorrow, too,' y'know? I haven't yet stopped apologizing for his behavior- but now it's more of a glance of 'yes, he's always like this, sorry, get used to it' than a full-blown apology on his behalf. But he's- he's gotten better. With the flat, I guess. There aren't body parts in the microwave anymore, there's always clean, uncontaminated teacups, there are spots cleared to eat at the table, paths through the living room..."
Donovan raised an eyebrow. "Sherlock? Making things easier? I didn't realize he was so... fond of you." She said the word like it left a strange aftertaste in her mouth.
"I can't tell if he's just hard-wired to eventually get used to people, or... or what." John looked down, slightly confused himself.
"Contrary to popular belief," Mycroft spoke up, "my brother is not totally emotionless." Anderson scoffed, but it was half-hearted. "A bit daft, yes. Cold-hearted? No, not really."
"Completely insane? Yes," Lestrade muttered, and the policemen and John laughed again. Mycroft managed an unpleasant smile before standing.
"Well, I must be off. You're improving, John. I'll see you tomorrow." And with that, he left, the door shutting with a bang.
"God. He kind of creeps me out, you know?" Anderson shuddered. "I'm glad Sherlock at least shows... I dunno, some sort of pompous emotion, I guess."
"Mycroft offered me money to spy on Sherlock when I first moved in."
"What?!" Donovan shot him a look of total disbelief, to which John chuckled, nodded, and launched into another story.
"The return of the doctor seems to be doing you incredibly well, brother."
Sherlock groaned, tossing the letter onto the coffee table as he stood to glance over his brother. Clean shoes, everyday suit, smells like antiseptic. "Why do you say that, brother?"
"I said it sarcastically. Because you look... unwell."
"Quite the intelligent vocabulary you've got there," he snapped back, straightening his shirt.
"Mmm. Sunk down to insulting vocabulary, I see."
"Oh, for God's sakes-"
"Why are you so irritable?"
"Because I can't think!" Sherlock growled, scratching his scalp and beginning to pace. "I can't retreat into my Mind Palace. I don't know why. And no, it's not 'locked,' don't go off on that again. It's not childish. It helps me to think."
"Well, apparently it's not doing its job now," Mycroft retorted. "Civilians are at a loss, the police are at a loss- you cannot afford to be in this stalemate!"
"Since when did I become London's last hope in finding Moriarty?" Sherlock growled, whirling around. Mycroft narrowed his eyes.
"Anyways." Sherlock went on, not allowing for a reply. "I've tried other ways of working, too."
"I can tell."
"Of course you can. This is a thr-"
"Don't tell me it's a 'three-patch' problem when your arm is littered with marks. More than three, anyways. What would John say if he saw you now? The flat's littered with trash and empty syringes and useless patches and useless 'experiments' that you're doing just for the monotony. For God's sakes, Sherlock, I can't afford to have you holed up in a hospital, too," Mycroft retorted, raising his voice.
"You make it sound so tedious!" Sherlock yelled. "This is Moriarty we're talking about!"
"No, it's not! We are having a conversation about you here, the only topic you're ever actually interested in, don't try and talk about the case. And don't think about it, either, I know you." Mycroft pointed his umbrella at his brother, who swatted it away.
"The case is more important," Sherlock grumbled as Mycroft sat down on the couch.
"More important than John?"
Sherlock winced before bristling. "Stop that! You of all people-! You told me caring was a disadvantage, why do you want me to all of a sudden? How... out of character of you."
"I did say that to you." Mycroft twirled his umbrella. "I also know it went right over your head. You're rather immature, brother, you do care, unconsciously. And, believe it or not, I care about your well-being. Which is closely tied to Doctor Watson's, in turn. So you can stop," Mycroft suddenly hissed, "with the sniveling on about the case when you know that's not really why you're so preoccupied."
"I am not preoccupied!" Sherlock shouted, glaring at his brother.
"Don't lie to me, Sherlock Holmes!"
The room went silent. Sherlock narrowed his eyes even further at his brother before slowly relaxing. He paced back and forth before flopping down into a chair with a sigh.
"Mycroft, I'm wasting away," he moaned into his hands, covering his face.
"Don't."
Sherlock glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "Don't?"
"Don't get childish on me, Sherlock. You're an adult, you're intelligent, and I'm not a therapist, nor a doctor."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I most certainly was not about to do so."
"That is exactly what you were about to do."
"Stop treating me like a whining, invalid child!"
"Well, stop acting like one!" Mycroft stood up, stepping back before glaring at his brother. "You're a mess. John's a mess. All he does is talk about you with Lestrade and Donovan and Anderson. They're becoming his friends, obviously much to your distaste, because he does nothing but prattle on all day about you- they swap stories, he asks about you, about the case, about everything. He's improving, barely. He acts as though he has nothing to look forward to. It's actually quite sad to watch his state slowly improve and drastically decline all at once. You need to do something, Sherlock."
"I- I can't go see him." Sherlock hung his head. "Not without solving something- anything. I'll feel like I've done nothing all this time."
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Sherlock?"
"Mycroft."
"Do you feel guilty about what happened?"
Sherlock glanced up at his brother helplessly after a moment.
"If I hadn't been so- so intent on catching Moriarty- and I didn't even do that... If I had turned back to look- John's always one and a half meters behind me, give or take- if I had looked back..." he rubbed his head again. "I didn't even notice he wasn't there until I heard the gunshot. Then I turned to look, and- and John was gone, and then I turned to look back to Moriarty, but he was gone, and- and then-"
"And then you went looking for John, because you care. Sherlock, you're quite ignorant for someone so brilliant."
"Resorting to compliments, now?"
"Go see your doctor, brother."
"Not without something."
"Then find something. And then go see your doctor." The door shut with a thud, and Mycroft was gone.
Sherlock sat still for a moment before sighing and glancing over the letter again- Moriarty's, that was.
"Oh, but I hope he's doing well, actually. I would hate for either of you to be... eliminated from this game before it was over. I've decided it's a game of chess. The reasoning is simple- chess has pawns. A king can move his pawns however he likes. As slowly or as quickly or as clearly or as messily as you want, people can be guided to a certain conclusion, to a certain square on the board, without ever knowing you made that decision for them. From a crystal-clear, impeccable, flawless precision of deception to a smudged, erased, muddied, littered mess of confusion... Oh, yes, it is marvelously easy to move, to sway, to...sacrifice a pawn."
He sat back, rubbing his eyes. Was Mycroft right? He didn't care. He cared about John. Yes, that was true. Did he? Was it?
"You machine."
"No one can compete with my MASSIVE INTELLECT!"
"I will burn the heart out of you."
"Didn't see this coming, did you?"
"I don't have friends."
What are you willing to sacrifice, in order to kill a King?
"His first word when he wakes up is your name!"
"You don't care. About John."
"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking."
"I want someone I trust."
What are you willing to sacrifice?
"can't even put your friend's life before your work-"
I've decided it's a game of chess.
"Not good?" "Bit not good, yeah."
"I'll burn you."
"I don't have friends."
"Stop it! You can't giggle at a crime scene."
It is marvelously easy...
"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."
"Just so I know, do you care about that at all?"
"Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."
"That's what people DO!"
"On the count of three, shoot Doctor Watson."
"SHERLOCK!"
"Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."
"Jesus, Sherlock, you do care, don't you?"
"Are you all right? ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?!"
"Yes, of course I'm alright."
"But then, people get so sentimental to their pets-"
People can be guided to a certain conclusion...
"'M fine- it's okay, it's-"
"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake."
"And you find that easy, do you?"
"You machine!"
Moriarty wouldn't ever say something without a double meaning. Pawns, chess game- that's a riddle, no doubt. He gave me this message the day we captured his henchman... it was also the day we were reviewing the tapes, to see where he had gone... "smudged, erased, littered mess of confusion-" now, this letter is impeccably written. No smudges, no erase marks, even though it's written in pencil, and it isn't sloppy. I've read it quickly and slowly and aloud and I haven't figured anything out about it... what else could there be? It was 'marvelously easy.' What's easy to manipulate? Well, other than people, obviously. What could be edited, erased, read differently that's relevant to the-
"THE TAPES!" Sherlock yelled as he scrambled to his feet, grabbing his coat and scarf as he thundered down the steps and burst out the door. He practically jumped through the window into a cab, barking out "police department, as fast as you can, now" as he slammed the door shut.
As soon as the cab was slowing to a stop, Sherlock threw the man some money and dashed out the door, crashing into it and throwing it open. Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson were just a few meters in front of him, and whirled around in shock.
"Sherlock-!" Lestrade began, but he was cut off.
"Lestrade! The tapes! Where are the tapes? I need to watch them. Where are they?"
"Jesus, calm down," Donovan snapped. "They're in the video room. Why-"
Sherlock sprinted off towards the room, coattails flailing after him like a cape. The three policemen turned to each other and gave a collective sigh.
"We might as well go after him," Anderson muttered, turning. "So he doesn't accidentally blow up the building."
Lestrade and Donovan nodded in agreement- a small smile on Donovan's face at the thought, for some reason- before they turned and followed after the consulting detective.
When they reached the room, they found that- somehow- Sherlock had dragged poor Agent Eastlake into the room with him. She was uploading the videos, and sent Lestrade a helpless look as they walked in. He waved his hand in a gesture of it's fine, while Sherlock bounced on his heels impatiently.
"Go to right before the video skipped," he ordered as soon as it had uploaded. She did so, and Sherlock and John came up onto the screen, chasing after Moriarty. Seconds later, Sherlock and John jumped several meters ahead, accompanied by the black smudges.
"Stop!" Sherlock yelled. "Now rewind to right before the skip."
"These blasted cameras…" Anderson muttered, shaking his head.
Eastlake rewound the tapes to seconds before the change, glancing at Sherlock.
"Can you play it slower?" he asked, turning to her.
"How slow? I can do just a slower version, or frame-by-frame-"
"Frame by frame," he interrupted, turning back to the screen. She did so, and they watched Sherlock and John as they (painfully) slowly ran up to the spot before they disappeared. The black smudges came on screen, and Donovan groaned momentarily before Sherlock raised his hands. The frame-by-frame seemed to speed up, so that it was almost playing in normal time.
"Stop! Watch!" He pointed to the screen as the 'black smudges' took a rather humanoid shape and- tackled John to the ground. Another one quickly came out of the shadows and chased after Sherlock as the first two dragged John, who was struggling like a madman, back the way he had come.
Lestrade swore loudly while Sherlock slammed his hands onto the computer desk. Donovan was staring openmouthed in shock before turning to Sherlock.
"And you didn't notice?!" She screeched. "You didn't notice that John was tackled and dragged down the alley?!"
"Sally!" Anderson hissed, pulling her back, but Sherlock whirled around.
"No, I didn't notice! That was when Moriarty turned over the trash cans, look- rewind it." Sherlock pointed back to the screen as it rewound. They focused on Sherlock and Moriarty instead, just as they saw Jim push over some trash cans. As he did so, he tripped.
"I remember that," Sherlock growled. "Stupid- if he hadn't sent them behind himself I wouldn't have tripped, either."
Surely enough, one of the cans crashed into Sherlock, who stumbled and fell hands-first onto the alleyway.
"Oh my g-"
As Sherlock fell, Moriarty knocked over another can and 'tripped' over it. As he did, another 'black smudge' came up, taking the humanoid shape again, and crawled out of the trash can before breaking into a run. The first man- Moriarty- rolled to the side, behind the cans, and was hidden in the shadows as Sherlock dashed by again, followed by John. The video immediately slowed down again to the normal-time's frame by frame play.
"Jesus C—how did we not notice that?" Lestrade yelled, pulling at his hair in frustration.
"Can you zoom in on the faces?" Sherlock asked, silently fuming.
Darcy nodded, clicking away at the computer. The video paused, and she zoomed in on the face of "Moriarty." Sherlock narrowed his eyes as it loaded, and when it came up, the three policemen gasped in shock. Sherlock clenched his fists.
The face, instead of Moriarty's, was now the face of the man they were currently still holding in the interrogation room. The nameless sniper. Definitely not who Sherlock had been chasing.
"What about not-John's face?" he asked, whirling around.
Darcy pressed some more buttons before shaking her head. "I don't get a clear shot at it."
"Well, try, please," Lestrade asked. "Now we can arrest this man for being an accessory after the fact, at least."
Sherlock ran for the door, throwing it open and briskly walking down the hall.
"Sherlock, where are you going?" Donovan yelled after him.
"To tell John," he yelled back over his shoulder. The three policemen exchanged a worried glance and began to chase after him.
"Sherlock, don't! We just left there," Lestrade went on. "He's-"
"He's what?" Sherlock abruptly came to a halt and turned around, eyes wide. "What?"
"He's probably asleep right now," Anderson panted as he walked up. "We visited a couple of hours ago, then had a lunch break. He was exhausted- his doctor insisted he get some sleep."
"The only doctor's orders I listen to are John's," Sherlock replied, and Lestrade couldn't help but smile helplessly.
"Sherlock, I would let you go see him, but he's wiped out, mate. He looked awful."
"All the more reason to go pay him a visit." Sherlock yanked his shoulder out of Lestrade's grasp and dashed out the building doors, hailing a cab. Donovan let out a loud sigh.
"He missed him, didn't he," she mumbled. Lestrade nodded slowly.
"I mean, I knew he did," she went on. "You just-"
"You can't really… tell, with Sherlock," Anderson cut in.
The three of them stood there for a moment, staring at the doors, looking rather comical.
"You know, I could have punched him right there," Anderson suddenly yelled in frustration. Lestrade and Donovan turned to stare at him before they burst into laughter. They headed up the elevator into the office, Donovan immediately being carried off by Bristow, a thick file in her hands. Lestrade's radio beeped, and he picked it up to answer.
"Inspector Lestrade."
"Sir, there's been a disturbance on King Edward's and Angel Street…"
Meanwhile, Sherlock used his usual throw-money-at-the-cabbie-while-jumping-out-of-the -car sketch and darted into St. Bart's, impatiently wading through the crowd of people towards the elevator. He was a few steps away when the intercom crackled to life.
"Patient John Watson," it began. Sherlock froze. It took him barely a second to switch his path towards the stairwell- it would be quicker, anyways- as he broke into a sprint.
"John H. Watson. So good to see you, Sherlock Holmes. I've been waiting for you. So good, indeed, to see someone back from the dead, isn't it?"
Author's Note:
I totally warned you guys there would be cliffhangers. Three guesses, and the first two don't count. And, yes, that first bit was for all of the Big Bang Theory fans out there, and if you caught that reference, congratulations :)
So, yes. I had written Sherlock's little mind-flashback thing a couple of chapters back, actually, and I was glad to use it. Not exactly a mind-palace or amazing-deduction equivalent just yet, but there you go. Sherlock solved the mini-case yay, four for you Sherlock, you go Sherlock (sorry). And, again, a bit more of my ideas for Donovan and Anderson. With John talking nonstop about the guy, they can't help but get a little more used to his antics, and grateful they don't have to put up with him even at home. They're more endearing, even though they partially can't stand him. Donovan's beginning to care more because, well, it's easier for me to make her do stuff, with Anderson trailing behind. I feel like that's how their relationship is, honestly. (and that concludes this episode of Going Way Too Deep on Minor Characters!)
You'll also be glad to hear the next chapter is more than halfway done and is full of suspense and action and a bunch of stuff. It's great you guys. I'm prrretty excited.
As much as I need to get John out of the hospital (for sake of time progression and the story as a whole and for this cliffhanger/next chapter), it's actually kind of fun to imagine him sitting in the hospital bed, swapping stories and sharing laughs with Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson (and sort-of Mycroft). I like writing humor scenes into stories, too, and I hope you guys enjoyed that.
So, yes. I hope you enjoyed the longer chapter, because I couldn't split it in any way so I just put it all together for you guys. The next chapter will be up soon and wOW OH MY GOD YOU GUYS this has almost 40 reviews and 50 follows and 2,800 views and you have no idea how unbelievably amazing that is it's so exciting. Geez.
Anyways. Enough of that. Thanks for reading, and comments/critiques/reviews are greatly appreciated :)