Chapter Eight

John ran his hand through his hair. How was this happening? How did something that merely confused him at first turn into a matter of life and death? And why had he not received the threat himself. If he had known about it, he could have just refused to help the police. He could have just done what Sarah suggested, concentrate on his work and his own life. But they knew; whoever had sent that threat knew that he couldn't stay away from Sherlock, he couldn't refuse to help him, just as he now already formed the plan to find the person behind all of this. And Sherlock must have known as well, otherwise he would have said something to him.

Something about that seemed comforting, even though he knew the effect of that realisation should be the opposite.

"John, do you want us to send someone down?"

"No. If your guys show up here, it means that I involved you and that's exactly what I can't do. I will go to bed now, I'm knackered. If you hear anything from him, call me."

Lestrade sounded a bit irritated. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine." He said it more to himself, trying to sound convinced. "Who should I call, in case something happens?"

"I don't know, John. If you think it's safe to call us, then do, but I cannot guarantee…" The line broke. John threw the phone away in shock. How in the world did one break off a mobile phone conversation when both parties were alone and both phones were working just fine. This was definitely not good.

Against his instincts, he stood up and pulled on his jacket. He needed air. He needed to walk and he knew that he would go mad if he stayed in here, letting whoever it was play with him like they did. He left the phone where it had ended up, under the bed. If they decided to trace him, it would not lead them to him. He opened the drawer and took out his gun. He disliked carrying it around, but it had saved both of their lives more than once and his gut feeling told him that he needed at least one thing to make him feel safe, otherwise he would not get far.

Then he wrote a note for Mrs Hudson and locked the door, just in case. "I'm afraid it's not getting better, don't come in, you might catch it as well. Good night, John." Then, very carefully, he tiptoed down the stairs, feeling ridiculous. But if Mrs Hudson heard him, she would know that he was up to something and that would place her in immediate danger. Letting himself out, he closed the door quietly. Instinctively, he took a right and then a left, walking towards the British Library. O'Neill's was just closing across the street, people filing out of the pub and he stopped in front of the heavy iron gate looking up at Newton.

He wondered if Sherlock was here, somewhere, close. He felt the urge to call out for him, just yell his name loudly, but he knew it would be silly and attract unwanted attention.

"Can I help you, mate?" A young man in too wide clothes had stopped next to him. "It's not open at night, you know?" John frowned and looked at him. "Would you mind…could I borrow your phone?" The man looked at him sharply and then whistled through his teeth. "Trouble with the birds, aye?" Watson couldn't help but smile sadly. "Something of the sort, yeah."

"Sure mate" the man handed him the phone while he dug in his pockets with the other hand to produce a pack of cigarettes, offering them to John. "Thanks." He said, shaking his head. He dialled Sherlock's number. Straight to voice mail. Again, hearing Sherlock's voice made him feel strange, like he was really just standing next to him, digging away at a case.

He hung up, handing the man his phone back. "Thank you." He said, shrugging, walking on towards Kings Cross.

"No trouble. Good luck with the birds."

John couldn't help but smile. London was full of surprises, and he was glad that he had decided to stay. A decision that had put him into the position he was in in the first place. His life would look completely different had he not moved in with Sherlock. Tracing the red bricks with his eyes as he walked along the outer wall of the library, he found that it was the best decision he had ever made in his life. He hoped he would still be able to say that tomorrow or the day after.

He ended up walking around the whole library building without noticing anything strange. There was no light, so apparently the cleaners had not yet started or were already finished. For a while he considered climbing into the inner court, but he didn't want to be arrested, because that would most certainly put Sherlock and himself in more danger than they were already in.

When he reached the iron gate again he sat down on the stairs leading towards it. This was getting him nowhere. His eyes fell upon a notice board that was attached to the wall on his left. A poster with the famous drawing of Darwin as an ape caught his attention. It hadto be here, he was sure now. Something was going to happen and Sherlock had known about it.

Had he known too much?

He needed to sleep, he could feel his body aching from the tension he had felt all day and he forced himself to relax. His shoulders fell and he breathed deeply. If he walked back home, Mrs Hudson might hear him, but if he stayed out here he would most likely freeze to death. He wondered how the homeless survived winter, apart from those who did indeed die. The homeless! They knew Sherlock, they worked for him; if he could find someone they would surely be able to help him find Sherlock.

He got up and turned around himself once, thinking of a place where he could find someone. Kings Cross was unlikely, the police had started to chase them away from train stations as Sherlock had once pointed out. He would try Cartwright Gardens, although he had never seen anyone sleep on the benches there.

He found it empty and moved on to Travistock Square. It was easy enough to climb over the fence that surrounded the garden and he found two figures huddled up in a heap of newspapers and rags under a tree. He now realised that he had nothing but money to give them if they were able to help him. By the look of it, some warm clothes would be much more needed.

"Excuse me," he started, hoping not to startle them, but they had long seen him approach. "Could you help me?"

"You're the doctor, ain't ye?"

"John Watson, yes." He wondered why he was even surprised by the fact that they knew who he was. Sherlock certainly didn't know everyone, but apparently he had been lucky to find two people who did know exactly who Sherlock was; and he himself, for that matter.

"Ah, where's the brain?"

John smiled at the title, but at the same time understood that they probably knew as much about Sherlock's whereabouts as he did.

"I was hoping you could tell me." He admitted, being glad that they were at least talking to him after he had intruded on them. "He's been gone and I was wondering if you might know what he was up to?"

"Hmm, last time I saw him was a few days ago and he wanted to know if we had seen anyone with duffle bags." The other figure was speaking now. "I think he was waiting for something to happen. But what it was is a mystery."

John chewed on his lip. At least he had been in contact with his spies, and considering he had been speaking to those staying close to the British Library and Euston Station, it might just be possible that Sherlock did indeed anticipate for something to happen in the library. He couldn't be sure, of course, but at this point he was happy to take whatever they were willing to give him.

"Has he said anything else? He doesn't answer his phone, he left no message, nothing. I can't find him."

One of the figures peeled itself out of the rags and stood up. He realised it was a woman, and despite her deep and tired voice she seemed rather young. "The word on the street is that you put him in danger, doctor."

"What?" He automatically took a step back.

"See, what we heard was that someone wants your head, and that Holmes is trying to prevent that. Nobody knows who is behind this, but it's certain that you're dealing with people who mean what they say and he might get into a lot of trouble because of that."

"But you know nothing about it?"

"We could ask someone who might know something."

"You could?"

"If you care to buy me and my hubby some dinner…"

John smiled, his heart in a knot. "Certainly."

She smiled back, or so it seemed in the dim light that filtered through the tree from the street lamp and turned to help the other figure out of the pile. Together they covered it with a large plastic foil, securing the ends with little rocks and turned to go. They did not climb over the fence, but opened the gate with a large key.

"Where did you get this from?"

The woman smiled proudly. "We know people," was all she said.

In the light of the street lamp John got a first good look at the man. He was also much younger than he had thought.

"May I ask why you live out here? I mean, how old are you?"

The woman looked at him from the side. "Sometimes it's not a choice, you know. Sometimes life simply fucks you no matter your age and you have nowhere left to go. At least we have a home here."

"But aren't you incredibly cold? Why don't you stay in the shelters?"

She smiled again, but it wasn't a happy smile. He could see that there were a few teeth missing. "Me and Jack are together, he's all I need. And the shelters aren't really an option. They steal there and treat you like dirt. No, we're good out here and the fresh air is nice."

They walked until they found a fish and chips shop that was still open. John told them to buy whatever they wanted, and was rewarded with another wide toothless smile, a genuinely happy one this time.

"I'm Conny, by the way. Nice to meet you doctor."

John smiled, thankful that they did not see him as someone who had put the most important man in their lives in danger and paid for the food they had ordered. As he picked up the change he noted, more in the back of his head than consciously, that Sherlock was also the most important man in hislife. They sat down by the window. In the light he could see how dirty they were, and he wondered about their history.

"So, Sherlock Holmes is missing." She picked up the thread where John had dropped it. "He must be around somewhere, though. I mean, I don't know anyone who has seen him, but we would have heard if something had happened to him. He has ears and eyes all over the city."

"Who is the person you said who might know something?"

"The night watch," she answered, and just as she took a bite from her burger, a bulky man entered the shop. He waved at the man behind the counter, grumbling "the usual," and sat down next to John.

"Hi."

John looked at him and wondered how he had ended up in this situation.

Conny chuckled and nodded at him. "You haven't seen Holmes around, have you?"

The big man shrugged his shoulders. "He's been in and out, but I haven't seen him today."

"In and out of what?" John couldn't help but ask.

The man looked at him funnily. "The doctor?" he asked, making John sigh.

"Yes, I'm the doctor. I'm looking for Sherlock and I need to find him. Can you help me?"

The man looked at him in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. Then he pulled out his walkie talkie and started speaking into it.

"Eleven fifteen, come in, eleven fifteen." Noise. "Eleven fifteen, come in."

"Eleven fifteen, what's up"

"Code delta."

"Delta, are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay."

The conversation ended.

"What was that? What's code delta?" John stared at the man and then at Conny and Jack. He felt that he knew nothing about their world and he wondered how Sherlock had managed to become part of it.

"Delta is code red."

"Ah." He nodded and then shook his head. "What?"

"Highest stage of alarm. It's an order to keep eyes and ears open for him, that's why you're here, no?"

"I suppose…" He was confused. Had he just triggered a city wide search of the underworld for Sherlock Holmes? The thought baffled him. "Thank you."

"If anyone sees him or hears of him, we'll let you know. But you should go now, because if the rumour is true, you're putting us in danger by being here."

John nodded and got up. He had spent almost all of his money on the dinner he had bought the couple, but he placed the last few notes on the table. At the questioning look, he smiled and shrugged. "Not much, I know, but you're the only people right now that are actually helpful, so…"

Conny took the money and pocketed it. "Thank you, doctor. It was interesting meeting you personally. Take care of yourself. Oh, and he meant the BL."

He left the shop, still a little overwhelmed by the experience. They seemed to know a great deal about him, and he wondered what exactly Sherlock had been telling them.

A.N.: Thanks for reading. I'm trying to upload the rest of the chapters as soon as possible, but I'm very busy, and I'm trying to get rid of typos etc, so it might be a bit until the entire story is up.