The Rice Affair Chapter 5, a sherlock fanfic

AN: Time for a night scene (hee hee). Please review, thank you for reading! We love to hear what you think. There are a ton of italics in this chapter, my apologies if anything is confusing! Just ask, if you need to. I'll listen.

Lestrade almost rolls his eyes when Sherlock offers himself up for handcuffs, answering dryly. "No, I think it's probably safe for you to just walk down there with me, don't you?" He opens the door; John had closed it behind him. The others may be convinced, but Lestrade sees no need to give further bait to the likes of Anderson- no offense to the man.

John leaves the station alone, nodding to the man at the desk as he passes and is wished a good evening, sir. Another cab? John is tired of that whole affair, so instead he heads off toward the nearest tube station. Something in the back of his head wants him to follow in Sherlock's earlier footsteps.

Circle Line to Embankment, exchange to Bakerloo. Waited six minutes for service to Harrow & Wealdstone. Not crowded, made it home four minutes before you. How does Casino Royale end?

John, sitting on the couch, smirks slightly, habitually glancing over at Sherlock's usual chair before everything clicks and he remembers that the flat is his for the night, and that Sherlock is suspected of murder.

He replies anyway, but though he did continue watching when he got home, he hasn't quite finished Casino Royale so he ignores that part, remembering what he had figured earlier.

My connection came quicker on my way home your way, only two minutes wait. Between that and the wait for the first line they might think that you had time to go out of your way. This is not good Sherlock.

This is ludicrous. If I'd have murdered anyone, it would have been Beatrice.

How's the situation going, there? Anderson hasn't shown up has he? Are you doing alright?

Fine. Boring. Donovan took pictures and sent them to half the floor. The woman that Bond is with, she's a plant, isn't she? Is she going to steal the money?

Double agent. She ends up pointing a gun at Bond near the end. But then Bond's nephew blows the whole place up. Sort of ridiculous really.

John is wondering what he is going to do until he falls asleep. It's already close to midnight, but he's too tense to be tired.

Bond doesn't have a nephew. Or, if he has, it's a poor last-minute plot device. I think I've been set-up, John. There should be no other reason that a man matching my description was seen leaving McCallister's murder. I can't do anything from in here. Don't want to call Mycroft.

I could go look around, but that might look suspicious. Who would be trying to set you up, anyway?

Moriarty.

Well, I can hope not. Have you... deduced anything else?

John turns off the tele, heading upstairs. Maybe he'll think of something helpful. But probably not.

Yes. Not about the case, never mind that. Lestrade will go over finer points in the morning. Keep your gun out, if it is Moriarty.

It's probably better, given earlier, that I don't literally keep it out.

Another text soon follows.

I'm going to try to get some sleep.

There's a long (for Sherlock) break.

Fine.

John doesn't reply but mentally he adds I'll be here if you need something, of course. Just so long as it doesn't involve going into your bedroom. Never again. But John does intend to sleep, soon.

It's only shortly after 3AM when John's phone buzzes.

Call Beatrice. Ask her how many lovers she has on right now.

Sorry, why? And wouldn't she be sleeping?

Need to know if any of them are tall.

John considers replying about how unlikely it is that Beatrice would volunteer that information, but supposes she might be thrilled enough to share if he doesn't seem too mad about the whole thing. And honestly, he's more resigned.

I can try.

He gives a short sigh, dialing her number and holding the phone up to his ear. "Beatrice?"

She's awake, and she's been crying. "John? I thought you didn't w-want to talk to me." She sounds hopeful, but not stupidly so.

"It's fine." He's a little ambiguous, he knows he wouldn't be talking to her if he weren't trying to aid Sherlock. "I just.. wanted to know more. About the people you're seeing." He hesitates. "I mean, other than me. Was it just him?"

She sniffles horribly and the wobbling in her voice starts again. "John, it wasn't—Is this so that psychopath can go around stabbing every bloke in London I've had a fling with?" She's halfway between crying and shouting.

"I- Beatrice- no, it isn't like that." John's head drops slightly, fingertips on his forehead while he concentrates on the conversation. "I just.." He tries to sound genuine, even though it's a little painful. Maybe it only hurts because it's more than a little true. "I just need to know. For me."

Beatrice gives herself a moment, and speaks through the end of a sob. "Two other blokes. Wally and Tom. It's nothing against you, John, really it's not. I really like you." She blows her nose.

Then why are you seeing them? John asks in his head, getting a bit bitter for a moment. "I mean.. well.. what are they like? I guess I'm just curious." LIE LIE LIE his brain shouts, but he tries to shut it out. It's for the case. It's for Sherlock.

There's another long pause, sniff. "John, it's late. Why're you asking me this? Tell me the truth."

"I woke up... and I thought you might still be awake, too. Just because of... how today went." He's dancing around the answer a little, but it's all genuine and she shouldn't notice. "My world has basically been thrown for a whole loop." He manages a little smile at this, though she can't see it of course.

Beatrice gives the tiniest, saddest little laugh and blows her nose again. "All right, okay. Wally's the manager at the Pret in Trafalgar Square, not much but he's real funny. Tom's off a job now, but he does music at his friend's studio flat in Chelsea on weekends."

John is a little boggled by the scope of keeping four lovers at once, all not knowing of the others. Though looking back he can see how he just thought she was pretty busy all the time, so it could have worked like that. "Oh yeah, what do you see in them?" John asks, trying to cover up his hurt with a small joke. "are they taller than me or something?" He lets out a short laugh.

"Wally's a beanpole, yeah," she laughs tearfully. "John, listen, I think we can still make this work, if you want to. Keep that weird, nosy flatmate out of it, and I think we could."

"I.. don't know, Beatrice." John in back on the level and glad to be. "I mean you realize you were.. cheating on me. Who were you even dating first...?" He's curious now, and a little emotional, but lucid enough to remember to switch the call to speakerphone and silently hit off a text to Sherlock.

She says Wally, who manages the Pret in Trafalgar Square, is tall. JW He doesn't mention how hard this conversation has been for him, but he hopes that Sherlock isn't too thick to have though of that. However unlikely this hope is.

"It was... John, it doesn't matter! I can leave off Wally and Tom, I really can."

The phone buzzes.

Excellent. Thank you. Brilliant.

A pause from Beatrice's line. "John? Have you got me on speakerphone? What was that noise?"

"Sorry, yeah. Just my phone buzzing. Didn't want to have to hold it up to my ear the whole time." John lets out a long sigh, dropping the bombshell. "I don't feel comfortable continuing a relationship in which I've been.. cheated on. More than once, and for no real reason."

There's quite a long pause from the other end of the phone, and without another word, she disconnects.

Another text comes through quickly.

While you're up, could you check on the houseflies in jar in the fridge? Seven were dead this morning, I need to know if the number's gone up.

And then another.

You were asleep. But you called her anyway.

"Beatrice?" John moves the phone, glancing at it and realizing that she's ended the call. "Well, that's that." He mutters quietly to himself, frowning and starting to read Sherlock's texts.

I'm in my bed. Can the flies wait till morning, Sherlock? Or at least till after sunrise?

He ignores the other one, slouching back into bed.

Fine. But you'll send a text when you wake up proper. Do we have the next Bond film?

I don't think we have another, no. Aren't you more worried about getting out of lockup, Sherlock?

Within a few seconds, Never mind, what ever. I'm going to try to sleep some more. JW

Goodnight, John.

And with that, Sherlock finally puts a call in to Mycroft.