"It's gonna be you, next," Donovan warns seriously, shaking her head.
John might not have heard her for all he reacts, and he goes quickly out of the room, trying to catch up with Sherlock's sure strides. "Sherlock, what about the case?" He asks plaintively.
Sherlock rounds quickly to pin John with a serious stare, and Sherlock presses a single digit to his own lips before turning back for the doors and striding confidently out. "We mustn't disappoint Mrs. Hudson and let breakfast get cold."
John's eyebrows contort themselves into a confused but accepting look "Well- alright-" and he follows after Sherlock once again. He assumes they are headed for the tubes. "Breakfast. Right." His stomach is starting to alert him of his plight, anyhow.
Once outside, Sherlock sends a look over his shoulder at the building, at all of the surveillance cameras surrounding them, and finally speaks in a very low voice so as to remain unheard. "Go have breakfast, tell Mrs. Hudson I'll be there presently."
John doesn't look happy about this. "No, I'm coming with you. What on earth are you doing? The minute you do something odd-" He pauses. "Well, odder than your usual, they'll have you back in there."
There's a long moment where Sherlock stares John down, trying to get a read off him, and finally lets a low smirk bloom on his face. "Yes, all right." Sherlock holds up a hand to hail a cab. "Once again, I'm doing Lestrade's job for him. We're looking for Wallace Rice."
John brightens up immediately, smiling in return. He remembers the food. "Rice's workplace, then?" John slips into the cab Sherlock has hailed.
"Obviously not," Sherlock says, climbing in beside John. He gives the cabbie an address on Tottenham Court Road before leaning back deep into the seat. "I will be owing my brother a rather embarrassingly large favor for everything he's done for me, but nevermind that. We're headed to Rice's flat."
John wonders exactly what sorts of favors are asked by Mycroft, but rather thinks he doesn't want to know. Lost in thought about that, he doesn't find anything much to ask Sherlock other than the obvious. "How did you find his flat...?"
Sherlock gives John a dull look that says Mycroft, idiot before he turns to look out the window. "If he's not there, we'll have to break in. He could already be halfway to Leeds if he wanted to."
John looks worriedly toward the front of the cab, but the partition is up so they are probably unheard. Sherlock must have already.. deduced that. "And what are we hoping to find, exactly? It's not like there'll be a, a murder weapon lying around."
"Never eliminate what you can't confirm, John," Sherlock says. "Murder weapon, evidence of his presence in Holburn when McCallister was killed, the coat that's similar to mine: anything that could prove useful in a case helpful to me and hindering to him." He pauses, his thumb on his lip in thought. "Not sure what we'll do if he is there."
John concentrates. "Well, we could say that I just wanted to meet him. Though.. if Moriarty is involved, that might not go well."
At the mention of Moriarty, the playfulness of the case drains out of Sherlock's eyes and he goes strangely silent. "Yes," is all he says, and his gaze is locked steadily on nothing in particular out the window of the cab.
They arrive outside the address Sherlock had specified, and John reluctantly pays. Spending money, what spending money?
It is three stories, and they all look to be residential. Brown paint, peeling of course. London is getting old, in parts. The roof is flat, fire escape winding down the building's left side, stopping with a floor to go (it's collapsible). John glances at Sherlock, knowing that the other man will know what to do sooner than John would.
Sherlock surveys the location briskly, then turns his head to John. "Go to the front door. Number twenty-seven. If he's home, engage him in conversation to keep his attention. If he's not at home, text me." He rests his hand on John's shoulder briefly, instilling confidence, and then leaps up to grab the fire escape and begin his climb.
John frowns slightly, obeying anyway. He ascends the steps (one two three four) and knocks, looking around as he waits. He is not certain about this. And how long does Sherlock think John will be able to keep the man out of his apartment if he's home, anyway?
The silence gets uncomfortably long, so John tries to inconspicuously take out his phone.
Not home, or at least not answering the door. Let me in?
JW
After a moment, there's a loud screech and a bang, followed by nearly a minute of nothing.
Then at last, the front door unlatches and Sherlock opens it from the inside. "No one home. He's taken the opportunity to tidy up, it stinks of bleach. You take the kitchen. Look for any sort of large knife. Wear your gloves." And he disappears back inside, heading for Rice's bedroom. "And latch the door behind you."
John follows, awkwardly trying to fish his gloves from his coat pocket. He glances around the impeccably clean flat, putting them on. So this is where Beatrice spent some of her nights. Stop thinking that. That is helping nothing. The sane voice in his head scolds.
Hearing the creak of some cabinet or door Sherlock must have opened, John enters and surveys the kitchen, opening a cupboard with a gloved hand. Plates, bowls, cups. Nothing unusual. Closing everything after himself, John slowly wanders the perimeter of the room. In the center is a little island containing a sink, some counter space, and a dishwasher. He'll get to that soon.
How's it coming? JW He texts Sherlock, pausing for a moment. He'd just yell but somehow he doubts that would be appropriate.
There's no answer from Sherlock, and the noise from his search has ceased completely.
"John," his voice comes at last from McCallister's bedroom, and it's not as steady as it usually is. It's not his normal disinterested level of detachment he usually saves for these sort of cases. But it's not new. It's almost the same sort of sound he made at the pool.
"Yes?" John calls in reply, straightening up from the cupboard he had bent to peer into. He turns and quickly goes the length of the hallway, looking for which room Sherlock is in. "What's wrong?"
Sherlock is standing in the middle of McCallister's room, having figured out the combination to the electronic safe under the man's bed. He's holding photos in his gloved hand, and his normally unreadable is written over in gray anxiety. He flicks his eyes up when he sees John, and he holds up the photos wordlessly.
They're all of John and Beatrice.
John stops stock-still when he sees what it is. He just stares. "Sherlock... why would...?" His mouth opens and then closes again. "Wh...?"
Sherlock presses his lips into a firm line and drops the photos on the bed. "I've made a mistake. We shouldn't be here. Stupid." He takes a step back, examines the situation with horrifyingly wide eyes. "I've completely misread the situation. It's not a frame-job, just unhappy coincidence. John, we need—" And he gives John an agonizing look (the I don't have to look when John tells him what it's like to feel like he's dying). And he's moved past John and back out into the foyer, looking about as if expecting villains to leap from every corner.
John rubs a hand across his face, forgetting that it is gloved. "Alright, so we leave. No harm done.
Just then, he hears the unmistakable slam of a car door just outside the building that they are in. Balking, John turns and looks for another exit. He catches a glimpse in the window and sees that outside, are the police.
Sherlock snaps his eyes shut for an agonizingly long moment, and when he opens them again, he has John by the arm and is dragging him to the door. "Into the hallway, turn right, then left; back set of stairs. Detour onto the second floor, wait five minutes, then out into the alley." He looks slightly frantic, and grips John's arm. "Got it?"
"Five minutes?" John starts to object, eyes searching Sherlock's. He suddenly realizes. "You aren't coming with me." He frowns. "That's absurd, come on now."
Voices are heard outside, it sounds like a female and a male. Donovan almost for sure, then, and... Lestrade? Oh honestly, as if this weren't looking worse and worse.
And now Sherlock seems almost furious. "McCallister's description fits mine almost perfectly. Don't be an idiot, John." He snaps the last and jerks John by the arm for effect. He stumbles on a word, forgets it and moves on. "Out the door. Now." And he's heading for the window, tucking his scarf into his pocket and pulling the wide collar up to hide his face.
John almost trips in his hurry to follow Sherlock's instructions. Hall, right, left, up. Wait. It is the waiting that will be hard. He is tense, remembering long days of stakeouts. This isn't so different, only shorter. His hand falls to an inside pocket, checking and reassuring himself that something is still in it.
Lestrade, shoulders hunched slightly in the cold, strides long, reaches the building's front step, peering in to check the number. It is only fair to follow up on Sherlock's comments, though the man himself is still a viable suspect given the history. Lestrade rings the doorbell, waiting.
Donovan sighs harshly; she quite obviously doesn't want to be here. "We could'a just arrested the Freak, y'know. Saved us the legwork." Nevertheless, she respects Lestrade and does whatever he asks. It's just bloody cold.
High above them on the fire escape, there's a sudden noise of feet dropping onto the metal catwalk. It's a man matching Rice's description: in a long dark coat, with a knit cap on his head and the high collar of the coat obscuring the man's face. He gives the police a long hard look, and suddenly he's running up the fire escape. Noisily.
Lestrade gives a split second's thought, then eyes the fire escape. "That must be Wallace." He takes off, unusual exuberance showing itself as he refuses to lose the man he is looking for, taking the fire escape's steps two at a time.
John's ears are open and he hears the loud clanking noise and a shout that could only be the police in chase of someone. Screwing his eyes shut for a moment, he takes a deep breath. Five minutes, did Sherlock say? Or two?
Sherlock reaches the roof long before anyone can possibly follow him, and he takes scope of his surroundings very quickly. Lead them away from the back alley, that venue is closed off for him. Other way then, to the next row of flats. He waits until he can see Lestrade's head peek up over the edge of the roof before he takes a flying leap down to the next roof, landing with a jarring thump but refusing to let the blow take him. He makes a beeline for the ladder on the far edge of the new roof.
Donovan gives a curse, stowing her gun and turns to their backup, directing them in the direction that Sherlock is running, before she follows Lestrade up the fire escape.
Lestrade makes the roof, following the other man. Rice? He is surprisingly athletic but even so he almost thinks this is too easy. The man, presumably Wallace,'s strides are so long that he should be getting away easily. Nevertheless Lestrade quickly judges the jump then makes it, crouching on impact then springing up again to resume. It looks like the man is getting back to street level. "Stop! Police!" It's worth a try.
John is waiting, counting seconds. Is it long enough? He peers around the corner he will be taking to leave. Nothing.
Sherlock doesn't turn (if they see his face, it's over), instead vaults for the ladder and rockets down as quickly as he can. Away from the building, away from John. The alley is a good three floors below him, and the fie escape will take a hell of a long time, but he doesn't fancy a broken leg, so he winds down the catwalk at lightning speeds.
Donovan has her gun out when she reaches the roof after Lestrade, but she falters at the edge of the building, peering down with growing dread at the place he's leapt to. Oh, this is no time for vertigo to kick in, but she feels slightly nauseous.
Lestrade glances back at Donovan. "Come on!" He calls back. But it's fine if she lags, he knows she has called backup, and this Wallace will have some time explaining why he was fleeing the police. Lestrade glances down, following quickly. "He's heading onto the street" He shouts.
John can hear loud voices, shoes thundering on the roof above his head. He edges out around the corner, trying to look inconspicuous, and pulls open the back door, out it before anyone would have time to see. He wanders down the alley before melding into the street's traffic.
Sherlock knows the streets like he owns them, and once he's sure that he's being followed away from John's escape route, he ducks into a dark alley, shimmies up another ladder and tucks himself into the shadows atop a short building. He is ready to spring back into running if he has to, but he's completely silent and steady.
Donovan braces herself, gives a loud curse, and makes the jump. She's unsteady, goes to one knee, and despite her shaking limbs manages to stand and follow Lestrade. "Is that Rice? Are we authorized to shoot?"
"No shooting, no." He is looking left and right, half-paying attention to Donovan. "Damn it, where did he go?" Lestrade is walking quickly, still moving though he has lost sight of the elusive figure. "Did you see?"
John is gone, and he takes out his phone. Hopefully Sherlock has gotten away unscathed. But it can't be sure yet. He is afraid to send a text; even a phone's vibrations could.. pose problems. John wonders if he is being paranoid.
Donovan frowns. "No, I was too busy fearing for my life. I don't usually have to chase any perps over bloody rooftops. I've got backup posted at the end of this apartment block, but how long d'you want to stick around if we can't fox 'em out?"
Sherlock smirks slightly from his hiding place, watching noiselessly as he waits for the officers to pass underneath him and double back. Perhaps he should stay here, just until all the officers have gone. But he knows John, and he knows that if there's no word from him for too long, he'll do something bravely stupid.
So, Sherlock waits until he's sure the alley below him is clear for the moment and quickly sends off a text.
Hiding from Lestrade. Safe. Go home, tell Mrs. Hudson I'll be after. Thank you for listening for once.
SH
Lestrade lets out a heavy sigh, continuing to walk, but with less purpose now. "We seem to have lost him. Report we need a 24/7 discreet watch on Rice's house. he'll probably return sooner or later." This isn't really a great start to the morning...
John's phone buzzes just as he thinks about it. He judges the distance and decides to just walk home. It won't be more than ten minutes, tops.
I'm walking home. See you there. Don't do anything stupid.
JW
AN: Epic chase scene! Well, a chase scene at least. Just close your eyes and imagine the AWESOME London rooftops they have in the show. So great. As always thanks for the reviews, faves, and alerts! They are our lifeblood! Well not really. But you know. Sorry this one took longer to get up- I have no excuse. Thanks for reading!