After about half an hour of mumbling, frowning and note taking, Lestrade finally seemed satisfied with Sherlock's explanation of Al Dayr's death and the attempt on his own life. He had some how found out that Al Dayr owed Moran a large sum of money, which he had been unable to pay back because he'd gambled away most of his late father's fortune and spent the rest on a few expensive male prostitutes. Moran had ruthlessly murdered him.
However, he'd made a mistake- by using the air gun to shoot Al Dayr from across Hyde Park, he had unwittingly revealed to Sherlock just how he'd planned to kill him. Sherlock had been anticipating it for months, so when the Al Dayr murder signalled that Moran was back in London, he was completely ready. He'd had a wax bust made and one of Mycroft's faceless Foreign Office operatives had set it up, much to Mrs Hudson's confusion.
The bullet had shot straight through the temple of the bust and squashed itself flat on the opposite wall. Sherlock let Lestrade have it as evidence, although John thought he had probably wanted to keep it- for scientific reasons of course; John knew Sherlock would never admit he was being sentimental.
"Well, thank you Sherlock- it was a tough one." Lestrade seemed to be struggling with something. "I just wish your fake suicide wasn't necessary."
Sherlock looked down at the floor and for a moment, almost looked sorry. Then he met Lestrade's eyes.
"Oh no, Lestrade. You've been doing so well without me. I read about how you cleverly deduced that it was the father who did it, and not the mother, when those twins were found dead last year." There was a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
Lestrade had been on his way to the door but he stopped and turned around again.
"I had a note through my letter box the day I closed that case," he said, eyes narrowed. "Are you-"
"The note said simply: 'Investigate father. He is lying about his alibi.' I'm glad I could be of assistance."
Lestrade just gaped for a second, then closed his mouth and shook his head.
"God help me, even when you're dead you can't stay there. I don't know." He sighed and left the flat, whistling quietly to himself
Sherlock smirked as the door closed with a snap behind the policeman.
"So he does have a sense of humour."
John frowned. "What?"
"He was whistling O Fortuna from Carmina Burana. Don't look at me like that- you can use Google."
John sighed.
"You're perfectly right, John. Nothing's changed."
"I know."
"You must have enjoyed tonight. Just a bit?"
"Yeah, okay, I did." John sighed again, more heavily this time. "Listen, Sherlock, I've made a decision about staying in the army."
Sherlock's ears visibly pricked up.
"I obviously have to complete the tour of Cyprus that my battalion's been assigned, then after that I'll have two months left until my contract ends. Those two months will no doubt be spent doing either paper work or PT on base, neither of which are that exciting; however, I'm pretty sure my promotion's coming up. I'll be taken off active service because I'll be the same rank as the regiment's commanding officer, Major Horrocks, and he's younger, so they're not likely to transfer him away or pull him off tours to do a desk job. I'll probably be asked to renew my contract for an indefinite order, where you can give notice and leave, like any job. And, with a large dose of luck, I could be assigned to work in London. But that is rather unlikely."
Sherlock nodded pensively. "And if you were assigned here, what would you do?"
"It'd probably be teaching work, or else administration in the MOD offices. I could be asked to become a health adviser for the strategy planners, but you'd normally rank higher than Major for that."
"Sounds like fun."
"Well, teaching wouldn't be that bad, but again, it's a question of rank. I'm too old to gain much more time in the field, but too low ranking to do any decent job out of combat. It's a bit of a Catch-22 really."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You had me worried earlier John, with your terrible knowledge of opera, but I have to say, an apt comment about cult literature far surpasses Lestrade's feeble attempt at humour."
John chuckled. "I do try."
"So what would you be after Major?"
"Er, Lieutenant Colonel, or possibly straight to Colonel depending on how long you've served and in what capacity. If I do get promoted after I'm a Major, it's actually fairly likely I'll be made a Colonel, because I've been serving for, ooh, twelve years now. But the whole scenario's pointless to imagine anyway. I'll be made a Major, given my medals and stuck in a dusty office for ten years until they discharge me. Maybe I should leave..."
"No. You'd regret it." Sherlock's voice cut sharply through John's thoughts.
"I know."
"So, we wait until after Cyprus, I suppose?"
"Yeah. Good old Cyprus. I'll be leaving in three weeks, by the way."
"I'd better make the most of this then," Sherlock pulled a few papers out of his desk. "Did you hear about this kidnapping case?"
A/N: And so, my merry band of followers, we come to the end of this part of the story. But fear not! for the next part is waiting in the wings. This actually marks the first time I've ever completed a multi-chap story. I actually hadn't planned to end this here, but it felt natural to do so anyway. Look out for the next part within the next few days- tentatively entitled "Small Worlds". It will chronicle the next chapter of John's life, starting with Cyprus- where romance may be brewing ;) Thanks for joining me on this whistle-stop tour of Sherlock's return. I hope the next installment proves to be even better! :D
-Gnome