A/N – No dirty bits this relatively short chapter. But there can't be dirty bits in every chapter.

Day 4

I listen as the phone rings. John's voicemail picks up. I sigh and dial again. I glance back at the file and the laptop. I'm so close to wrapping up this case all I need is John to verify a few things for me.

Why isn't he answering his phone?

I get the voicemail again and am redialing when my phone rings. It's John.

"Is everything okay?" his sleepy voice comes through the phone. I wince, glancing at the clock. It's almost midnight in Las Vegas. I hadn't considered that. He has to be up early for the wedding. He's up now though, might as well get my answers.

"I need you to describe, in detail, the effects of syphilis if it goes untreated. What are the symptoms, order of progression, et cetera?"

"What?" John groans. I know that he is rolling over in bed, trying to wake up. "Why, do you think that you have syphilis?"

I roll my eyes. "Do keep up, John. You are speaking nonsense." Then the conversation yesterday about the priapism comes back to me. I roll my eyes again. "This is for a case." I don't point out that it's a twelve-year-old murder case. I don't think that he'll appreciate being awoken for something that could wait until he returns.

"Oh," he says, still trying to get his brain working. "Well, um…"

I need this information quickly. "I'll get directly to the point, could it make someone act irrationally?"

He's quiet for another moment, I hear the release of air that lets me know he's yawning. I suppose I can wait for him to get a proper amount of oxygen.

"In theory yes, but with modern medicine it never gets that far. It's treatable with penicillin."

"Henry VII had syphilis, correct?"

John's lost again but it's inconsequential as long as he can answer the questions.

"Yes, but he had syphilis when people could die from paper cuts…"

"So, if untreated, it could appear that there were mental deficiencies such as schizophrenia?"

"If the infection penetrates the brain, yeah. Why? What case is this?"

Solved, I think and bring up the train schedule. If I call Lestrade we can probably still make the next train to Birmingham. I almost end the call, but John doesn't like it when I ring off without offering the usual end of conversation pleasantries. And he's speaking again.

"…case about?" I glance at my watch as I pull my shoes on.

"I will happily provide you with all the details when you get home. I need to leave now though. I have a train to catch."

"Um, okay." He sounds disappointed. I feel momentarily victorious that he's missing me, too. "Be careful, call me later."

"I will. Go back to sleep." I ring off.

I grab my coat and head down the stairs. I'll call Lestrade from the cab.

2.

I have a bruise on my shoulder from where I slammed against the ground. It aches, but it was worth it. I just solved a twelve-year-old murder case.

I'm sitting on a bench while waiting on Lestrade to finish up with the forensic teams. It's interesting to watch them, they appear to be even less competent that Anderson. I didn't know that was possible.

I cross my legs and start doing some "people watching" as John calls it.

I realise that I still have to take a photo of myself in the jeans. Perhaps I'll take a picture of my ass, that is John's favourite thing about me in jeans. I wonder if Lestrade will take it for me. I imagine it will be awkward if I ask him. I'll work something out myself.

I pull my phone out just as it rings. I see John's picture on the screen. I notice the time and smile to myself. The wedding must just have ended. There is a reception being held afterwards but I'd expected John to take a minute to call me.

"Hello," I say noticing the man coming out of the coffee shop. He's in the UK illegally, from Eastern Europe, most likely Lithuania. He's buying coffee because he has a new baby at home and needs help staying up with the child.

"Hey," he replies. He sounds tired, lethargic. "I just wanted to see if you were all right."

"Fine," I reply, feeling a little euphoric. "I solved the case and am currently waiting on Lestrade. I hoped to make the train at 22:30 but I will have to take the later one."

"I'm glad you are safe, I can't wait to hear about it." He sounds sad again, ready to come home.

"How was the wedding?" I'm not particularly interested, but these are the kind of trivial questions John likes me to ask.

He sighs. "Nice. Actually a lot nicer than I thought it would be, not gaudy at all. Made me miss you though." I smile, glad to hear that. For once I'm glad for John's sentimental nature. Truthfully, I'm glad for his sentimental nature more often than I am not, a lot more often than I am willing to admit.

"Well, from where I am you'll be home in just over 24 hours."

"Lucky," he says, "It's longer than that from here. I've got some time to make up in the air tomorrow."

There is a pause, the conversation seems strained because of the distance. I don't like it, I'm glad he's coming home tomorrow. "So, who had syphilis?" he asks, grasping for something to talk about.

"Actually, it turns out that the syphilis wasn't a factor at all. However it did lead me to the correct suspect."

"Oh, I'm glad." I miss him suddenly. It's amazing to me, a few minutes ago I was satisfied and happy and now I'm aching for John again. This relationship has certainly added complications into my life. Things were easier before all these feelings.

And so much less interesting.

"Well," he says, "It looks like they've finished the pictures. We're going to eat now. I'll call you before I get on the plane. I miss you."

"I'll talk to you later." Lestrade is coming my way. He doesn't need to hear me express any sentiments towards my husband.

John chuckles, "Tell Lestrade I said hi. I'll talk to you later."

"Good-bye."

"Ready?" Lestrade asks. I nod.