When they arrive at the station, they're barely through the door before Beatrice is there, throwing her arms around John's neck, sobbing. Sherlock backs away very quickly, remembering the strength behind those fists.
John stiffens, not sure what to do. "B-Beatrice.." he stutters, uncertainly, looking pleadingly at Sherlock. His hand awkwardly pats her back.
She buries her face in his neck. "John I'm sorry I didn't think and you were never supposed to know and I don't know what happened—"
Sherlock, now over the initial shock of her arrival, frowns deeply at being detained, and gains a bit of backbone. "Come on, John," He prompts tersely.
John seems to wither a little under Sherlock's criticism, but still finds the strength to pull Beatrice to at least arm's length. "Beatrice." he starts uncertainly, picking up speed to a daring finish. "I'm sorry, but I am here to talk to the police, not my ex-girlfriend." He can only make eye contact for a short moment, looking away quickly and dropping his arms, looking to Sherlock to guide him away somewhere safer.
If you were to fill the room with smugness, it still probably couldn't match the smug look on Sherlock's face as he takes John by the wrist and pulls him safely away from Beatrice, who is staring after them with dejected shock written all over her face. Once they're far enough away, Sherlock drops John's wrist and picks up his stride.
"I'd like to be in Lestrade's office by the time she recovers. She might try to hit me again."
He doesn't even seem to register John's discomfort with the situation.
John doesn't disagree, despite the little nagging feeling deep in his stomach. Come on John, she was cheating on you. It doesn't matter if she didn't think you would ever find out. But she was crying, for god's sake. But she was two-timing you!
John follows doggedly behind Sherlock, trying to get his spirits up to think about the case, assuming there turns out to be much of one.
Sherlock waltzes into Lestrade's office like he owns it, expecting John to follow. The DI looks up, a bit surprised at the entrance.
"Kenneth McCallister," Sherlock says, taking one of the seats and crossing his leg at the knee, looking not perturbed in the least that the man he attacked is dead. "About 43, give or take a year, in good health. Vegan, practiced maritime law, dog-owner, boring. Last seen walking away from a scene in Regent's Park where he was assaulted by Sherlock Holmes for being a prat."
Lestrade stares at Sherlock, then at John, then back to Sherlock without saying a word. Flabbergasted.
John follows as quickly as he can, mentally hitting Sherlock for his bluntness. He looks, a bit pleadingly, at Lestrade. "Ah, what he means is that he didn't have anything to do with whatever happened after the last time he saw you. Earlier." God, Sherlock, can't you see how that would look to a policeman? He already thinks you're unstable enough.
Sherlock smirks tightly at John, perhaps glad that John sticks up for him, even if just a bit. Then, back to Lestrade:
"I have a iron-clad alibi, you'll find it difficult to blame me for this."
Detective Inspector Lestrade looks, typically, frustrated. "Look, Sherlock. You were last seen with this man, Mr. McCallister, at around 6 pm today. At 7:48, we received a call to 999 reporting a corpse, with a tall, trench-coated man seen leaving the scene with his collar turned up." Lestrade angrily throws the packet of related papers onto his desk, leaning back in the chair. "Personally, I can think of no more reasonable suspect!"
John's lips go into a straight line, glancing at Sherlock. Lestrade does have a point.
Sherlock frowns, sitting up straighter. "I was with J-" He pauses, then frowns more deeply. That was most definitely the time period in which he'd taken the tube and John had been in a cab. Anything could have happened.
He pats his pockets, but he'd thrown out his ticket. Of course.
A bit flustered at being taken off-guard, he says, "I was on the tube."
"Oh brilliant." John says, almost at the same time as Sherlock, having come to the same conclusion regarding the timeframe.
Lestrade sighs. "You don't have your ticket, I'm guessing. You're going to have to stay here, then, as a murder suspect. However I will note that you came here yourself." Lestrade starts to write, letting out a long sigh. This is the end of a bad day for him.
Sherlock's done nothing, and he knows it, and yet he can't help but feel anxious at the revelation. Perhaps someone is setting him up. Moriarty? It wasn't anything like his previous attempts, but there was no knowing when he would change his MO, and for what reason. The deductions go lightning fast through his brain, and he's all steel when he looks back up at Lestrade.
"Very well. Can I keep my phone?"
There isn't even so much as a knock as Anderson shoves the door open, craning his neck around in faux astonishment. "I heard the freak finally did it! Are you in as a witness, Watson? Told you he'd snap."
"Er.." John looks uncomfortable, eyes flickering from elated Anderson to concentrating, oblivious Sherlock. "No, not a witness. Sorry." Though he knows that, quite honestly, he could be one day. Given recently.
Lestrade glances at Sherlock's flatmate, though addressing Anderson. "Well, possibly, depending on where you were at the time." The inspector is clearly trying to ignore how abruptly Anderson has butted in. "Anderson, what are you still doing here? Your shift ended fifteen minutes ago."
Anderson grins. "I had to see. Can I take a photo?" He holds up his mobile.
Sherlock frowns intensely, but his voice remains deadpan. "What did your mother inject during pregnancy to render your brain completely unusable, Anderson?"
John looks slightly amused, eyebrows raising though he keeps quiet. Lestrade looks, despite himself, a little amused. "Get out of my office, Anderson." He says, lacking conviction. His tone is light. "Go home and get some rest." He's also trying to avoid a fight between Anderson and Sherlock. Or John, he reflects. That's just as likely.
Anderson, clearly thoroughly upset by the comment about his mum, bristles and doesn't move.
"But you've done it this time, freak, and I hope you go down in sodding flames."
"Heroin, was it?" Sherlock asks, narrowing his eyes.
"You son-of-a-bitch!" And Anderson breaks forward at the same time that Sherlock shoots up out of his seat, backing away defensively.
John and Lestrade both spring into motion, but John isn't impeded by a desk so he reaches Anderson first, colliding with him and forcing him back against the wall, looking cold. John's forearm presses against Anderson's windpipe, other arm supporting. Lestrade is standing, looking confused as to what to do, slowly coming around the desk. "Now, John..." He starts uncertainly. You never know with former soldiers.
Sherlock certainly wasn't prepared for that. He takes a horribly long time to register it, and has blinked at least twice as much as is necessary, but recovers quickly. "John, let him go."
Anderson claws uselessly at John's arm, sputtering around the pressure on his windpipe and perhaps ready to explode.
John can't hear Sherlock at first, and he just watches Anderson's eyes. He doesn't blink at all for far too long. Lestrade is coming closer, about to lay a hand on John's shoulder when suddenly, the tension breaks and John's hands are at his side and he is turning around and walking over to a chair. Not sitting, just supporting himself with it a little, closing his eyes briefly and trying to make the images go away.
Lestrade looks Anderson over. He'll be alright. "I think it's time you went home, officer."
Anderson overreacts, naturally and storms from Lestrade's office shouting about pressing charges and how freaks of a feather flock together.
Sherlock doesn't quite put a hand on John's shoulder, because he thinks better of it and retreats before he can. Instead, he only says, "John?" It was a very odd experience, having someone stand up for him. It just doesn't happen. Especially not so violently.
After a moment John looks up, trying to offer a small smile, at least with his mouth if not his eyes. "I'm fine."
Lestrade sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll deal with him. Sherlock, I know you say you didn't do it but until we have a better suspect I am going to need you to stay here. Mr. Watson here will be free to go. He wasn't implicated as an accomplice."
Sherlock attempts to replicate John's expression, but he's not sure how it sits on his face. And then, he gave John an awkward clap on the shoulder before locking his hands behind his back. "Thanks. Thank you, John. You, ah... You can keep an eye on the flat, if you like. I should be fine with Anderson gone. I can keep you updated if Lestrade doesn't take my mobile..."
John looks a little worried, but Lestrade interrupts. "You can keep your mobile." Of course Lestrade isn't really worried, Sherlock may be socially inept but he's not an idiot in any way, shape or form.
"Well, alright. I suppose I'll come back here tomorrow morning?" John looks between Sherlock and Lestrade for confirmation. Lestrade has none.
"I'll be fine, John," Sherlock assures him. "If not bored. Even Scotland Yard can go through the surveillance in the tube stations. They'll find me eventually. A long and wasted night in lockup." He shrugs.
John thinks it odd that Sherlock isn't more indignant at being thrown in there. But he supposes it isn't like his flatmate had anything better to do, other than further irritate John by prodding into his personal life. "Well," John says stiffly, feeling more than a little awkward, "Good night then. I'll see you tomorrow." Looking Sherlock up and down once, John turns to go.
"Good evening, Mr. Holmes." Lestrade adds. He is slightly distracted, deciding whether it is better to question Sherlock now or wait for the morning. The morning would mean more time to collect data and thoughts, but that is so for both Sherlock and the police side of things.
Sherlock cocks his head slightly at John's eye sweep, and one corner of his lips twitches up. "Yes, goodnight."
He turns to Lestrade, holding his wrists out in front of him, looking slightly less amused but nonetheless willing to have a bit of fun when the alternative is mind-numbing boredom. "Handcuffs, detective?"
A/N: Hope you like! Continue to review and things, please, we really appreciate it. :) Thanks for reading!